If I Should Die

Sean now had the advantage: with both his skill and the Raptor’s power in open space, he closed the distance between them to fifteen feet.

The other rider headed toward an obscured path. But he was slowing down and messing with the dash. The guy jerked forward and his wheels caught in a rut. He released the throttle and jerked again, nearly hitting a tree. Panicked, he overcompensated and turned one-eighty, facing Sean.

Sean rode straight toward him, hoping to force him back to the trees where he could block his escape route. Sean was bigger, stronger, and-he hoped-faster.

The other quad’s engine was sputtering and a faint whiff of oil told Sean it had a leak. He wouldn’t be getting far. Sean went full throttle until he was only feet away, spun into a controlled stop, and leapt from his quad toward the man in black.

Sean tossed his helmet and sprinted toward the guy. The quad stalled out, and Sean tackled him as he tried to run. He head-butted Sean with his helmet before jumping up, his helmet falling to the ground. Sean stood and drew his weapon in one motion, standing cautiously only feet from the arsonist.

He was practically a kid. Sean was surprised that he was so young-he might have been eighteen, but Sean suspected younger. Clean-cut, sandy blond hair, and pale blue eyes that looked both angry and scared shitless. He reminded Sean of himself when he was a teenager, shortly after his parents died. He’d been wild, angry, and felt abandoned-determined that if he was bad enough, his brother and legal guardian Duke would wash his hands of him. His brother never had, and Sean had finally overcome his anger and deep sadness.

“My name’s Sean Rogan. I can help you, but you need to own up to your actions.”

“Fuck you.”

Sean would have said the same thing when he was a teenager. Probably had.

“You’re not leaving here; I’m not letting you. We can dance around all morning, or you can make this easy.”

Sean looked from the kid’s eyes to his hands, assessing if he had a weapon or was going to bolt. Sean hadn’t wanted to draw his gun on an unarmed kid, but he didn’t know whether or not the kid was carrying.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

“That’s why you have a fucking gun on me?”

“We’re going back to the Hendricksons’.”

The kid was trying hard not to shake, but Sean saw the telltale signs of fear. He didn’t want to face the Hendricksons anymore than the police.

“You don’t want them to know you’re the one who’s been destroying their property?” Sean said. “I get that. Believe me, I did some dumb-ass things when I was your age.”

The kid snorted.

“Even worse than arson.”

That got the kid interested. Sean didn’t elaborate, but said, “We’ll work this out, okay? If you’re honest with me, I promise, I’ll help make this right.”

The kid’s face changed, from caution to dark sadness. “You can’t,” he said quietly, looking down.

“You don’t know me, you have no reason to trust me, but I mean what I say.”

Sean mistook the downcast eyes as shame or consideration, he realized, when the kid bolted like a rabbit along the edge of the logging road.

He fired his gun into a nearby tree, hoping the sound would make the kid stop. It didn’t.

Sean went after him. Faster, he quickly caught up and was about to tackle him when the kid turned sharply right, off the road. Sean followed, picking up speed, about to tackle the kid, when he veered again to the left. Sean took two more steps forward as he turned, and the ground gave way with a startling crunch.

His foot broke through brittle wood. A sharp cracking sound cut through the forest. Sean was falling, the sensation startling him completely, though his reflexes had him reaching for something to stop his descent. Wood and dirt slipped through his fingers. He continued to fall, shouting for help even as the daylight disappeared and he plunged into darkness.

I’m going to die.

As he thought of his death, he thought of Lucy, and then he hit the bottom of the narrow pit, his left arm twisting painfully beneath him. He cried out, his body writhing, and an excruciatingly sharp pain hit him in the thigh. His head ached and he couldn’t see. The only thing he heard was ringing between his ears.

But then faintly, from seemingly down a long tunnel, a young man’s voice said, “I’m sorry. I had no choice.”

And then silence and darkness blocked out everything.

TWO

When I was ten, I wanted to kill my brother.

I pushed him off the roof because I caught him searching my room for money. I was half his size and five years younger. I may have been born with a vagina, but I’ve always had more balls than he ever did.

He only broke his arm. I went down to the front yard and broke his fingers for good measure. He’s lucky I didn’t cut off his hand like they do to thieves in some countries.

When I turned fifteen, my daddy’s best friend tried to force me to suck his dick. I shot him in the balls.

I don’t suck dicks.

Daddy took care of that problem. I didn’t kill the prick, but he’s dead.

Amen.

Before he got himself killed, Daddy always warned me that my temper would get me in trouble. I listened. Common sense taught me I had to control the Amazon inside. Can’t push my brother off the roof because he’s family, and blood is all we can count on. Can’t shoot someone in the balls because it’s messy, and messes are hard to clean up.

I hate messes. Yet time and time again, I’m forced to clean up other people’s shit. I never forget who created the problem in the first place. The threat of punishment keeps people in line. Revenge is a dish best served cold? I say revenge tastes good any way you can get it.

My oldest brother calls me a monster, but I prefer Amazon. A mythological race of warrior women stronger, better, smarter than everyone else. And my temper has served me well, when necessary. No one screws with me, that’s for sure.

Returning to Spruce Lake after all these years was the last thing I wanted to do. It felt like being kicked back to the street turning tricks as a twenty-dollar whore after pulling in two hundred bucks an hour as a call girl. The saying that when you want something done right, do it yourself pounded in my head, taunting me. If I’d just had the damn Hendrickson property burned to the ground last year, I’d never have to step foot in St. Lawrence County again.

Yet here I was. Waiting at the curb of the tiny airport for my driver, who was late.

It wasn’t that there was anything particularly wrong with my hometown, other than I hated every square mile of the pit, but I’d grown into a city girl with city girl instincts. If Spruce Lake wasn’t essential, I would have simply ignored the situation and let the good old boys handle the problem, not caring whether they got themselves arrested or killed. But not only was that wretched piece of mountain important for my business, it was critical at this point in time.

My reluctance to return was somewhat due to some old grievances related to my last visit. But when had I ever let a threat stop me? I would face any problems head-on, like I did everything else in life.

If I hadn’t left Spruce Lake, I would never have met my husband, now deceased and burning in Hell, thanks to me. I used everything Herve taught me, used everything he had-his knowledge, his money, his