“Are you sure this is it?” Ray asked Aaron, raising his voice over the wind. He squinted to get a better view through the storm. A cabin sat in a small clearing, illuminated by moonlight filtering through swirling snow. Unidentifiable wooden structures surrounded it, casting shadows across the garden.

Aaron glared at Ray, but nodded. A satisfied smile curved over Ray’s lips.

This would end tonight.

The wind and snow had died a little in the last hour, making the final leg of their journey slightly more pleasant. If Ray was a religious man, he’d believe God was showing him he was on the right path.

The snow they’d trekked through had been anywhere from ankle deep to waist high. He was frozen solid, face chapped, wet through, and more than ready for this to be over. The only thing that had kept him moving through the worst of it was the chant he’d developed in his head with every step. Kill. Gia.

Simple, but effective.

That bitch had got him into this mess, and he intended to make her pay. Slowly, if he could.

Through the flurries of snow, he could just make out the cabin. It was pathetic. Tiny, and run down. If Ray hadn’t seen the hints of smoke from the chimney or the glow from a fire through the cracks around the doors and window, he’d believe Aaron had led him to an abandoned building from a hundred years ago.

It was hard to imagine the Gia he’d known deigning to live here for even a moment, but no doubt she was desperate. She’d have to be.

Well, it wouldn’t be standing for long.

“Burn it,” he instructed.

Aaron stumbled back. “Fuck off.”

Ray gritted his teeth, fighting to hold onto his temper. He didn’t have time for this. He almost regretted killing Howie now. That man would have done whatever Ray ordered without complaint. Now, he was stuck with this asshole who couldn’t follow instructions.

He cocked his gun and aimed it at Aaron. “Burn it,” he repeated, firmer this time.

“Fuck. Off,” Aaron repeated, even firmer. The wind picked up again, drowning out any noise and bringing new gusts of snow.

Ray hesitated for a moment. “Fine.” He raised the gun and aimed it at Aaron’s head. The asshole was of no use to him now, anyway. He’d found Gia, found his money. As long as he kept heading down the mountain, he’d make it to safety.

He tightened his finger on the trigger. Before he got a shot off, Aaron dived forward, slamming the breath from his lungs. They went down in a tangle, Ray landing hard on his back with Aaron on top of him. He took half a second to suck in some air so his head would stop spinning, then he swung his arm around to aim his gun.

Aaron got there first, holding Ray’s gun arm to the snowy ground with all his body weight. He struggled, but he couldn’t throw the man off. His heart thundered, pumping rage through his body like blood. How dare this shit attack him?

Aaron kicked back, foot landing on the burning cut on Ray’s leg. Pain arced through him. The shock of it made Ray’s finger tighten on the trigger, firing off a shot that exploded in a nearby tree trunk.

Fuck. If Gia heard that, she’d know he was coming. Hopefully the wind was loud enough to snatch the sound away.

As he recovered, Aaron took the opportunity to slam his fist into Ray’s face. His head swirled.

“Get the fuck off me,” he choked, but that, too, was drowned out by the onslaught of wind and snow.

Aaron ignored him, or simply hadn’t heard. Instead, he reached down to pry the gun from Ray’s hand. Ray waited for a moment, then fired off another shot. The blast was muted but still managed to make his ears ring. Aaron made a sound of pain and his grip on Ray’s arm loosened. As Ray had intended, the vents had blown the heat from the firing mechanism straight into Aaron’s hand, burning him through his glove.

Ray used Aaron’s pain and distraction to throw him off. Aaron recovered quicker than Ray expected, grabbing for the gun as Ray scooted away.

But Ray wouldn’t be caught unawares again. Instead, he pulled the gun around and squeezed the trigger, sending a bullet straight into Aaron’s gut.

Aaron grunted and fell to his knees, his hands pressing into his side. Then, he collapsed into the snow, curling around the wound.

Ray almost shot him again, in the head this time, but he didn’t want to waste his bullets. He needed to save those for Gia and whatever asshole she had with her. Aaron would be dead soon, anyway. Either from the wound or the weather. The snow would cover him, and bleeding out from a gut shot was one of the more painful ways to go. Ray grinned in savage satisfaction at the thought.

He turned his attention to the rotting pile of wood and stone that contained his wife. The wind buffeted him, chilling him to his bones. He stumbled but stayed focused on his goal.

There was only one door, and he hadn’t seen anyone come out yet. They must still be inside. He considered charging in there after them. But if they’d heard the gunshots, they’d know he was here. They could be waiting for him with weapons of their own.

No, it was a much better idea for him to smoke them out—literally—and then off them as they fled.

Ray peered through the snow at what the remaining moonlight revealed. He had a lighter in his pack, just needed something to set on fire. Something that would catch quickly and wouldn’t be snatched away by the wind. His eyes landed on the garden. Or, a pathetic approximation of one. There were little structures over where the plants would be.

He grinned and stalked over to them, ignoring Aaron’s groans of pain from behind him until he couldn’t hear them anymore.

He tore apart the garden, ignoring the splinters that dug through his gloves and scraped his palms. More pain to ignore, along with the cut on his leg and his aches and pains and chills. The structures were wood, so he used them as a base. Then, he pulled up the mostly-dry plants and threw them against the cabin door, which was the only part of the cabin visibly made of wood. The wind must have drowned out his movements, because there was no sign of anyone coming out.

When he had enough fuel for his fire, he pulled out a flask of whiskey he’d brought and splashed what was left of it over the pile. Then, he dug out his lighter and held it close. It caught quickly. The wind—partially blocked by the cabin, but still strong—picked up the embers and landed them on the roof, which looked like it was made of straw. After a long, fraught, moment in which he waited with baited breath, flames raced across the roof and down the side of the cabin.

Ray stepped back to admire the flames merrily consuming the cabin, fueled by the intense winds flowing over the mountain.

Then, he waited.