aches and pains in my body, let it fill in the hollow space where
I’d used up so much of my magic, let it freeze out everything that might distract me from what had to be done now. Oh, yes. I embraced the rage until it was the only thing thrumming through my body—along with the will to survive.
Grimes’s first mistake was not killing me while I’d been unconscious on the ridge. His second was this ridiculous blood sport. But his third and most egregious was the fact that he was giving me a chance, however small—because I was going to make the most of it.
While the men cheered and Grimes grinned at the adoration coming his way, I stared past the ring of jeering fools and scanned the camp, taking in all of the buildings and the woods beyond, comparing where I was with Fletcher’s maps that I’d studied earlier.
After a moment, a cruel smile curved my lips. If Grimes and his boys wanted a show, I’d be more than happy to give them some fireworks that they’d never forget.
The hoots and hollers finally died down, and Grimes checked the watch on his wrist.
“Your time starts now, Ms. Blanco,” he said.
“If I were you,” Hazel said, giving me an evil smile, “I’d start running, bitch.”
Hazel hadn’t even finished speaking before I started moving. But instead of immediately breaking through the ring of men, I focused my sights on one particular target: the guy with the cigarette lighter.
He’d clipped the lid closed and was about to put the device in his pocket when I jammed my fingers into his throat and swiped the lighter from his hand. He dropped to the ground, wheezing. I hurdled over his body and started sprinting toward the east end of camp.
“Hey! She hit Bert!”
“She wasn’t supposed to do that!”
Angry shouts rose behind me, but I tuned them out.
The smart thing would have been to start climbing up the rocky ridge, then find the path that Warren, Owen, and I had used to get up here in the first place. But I didn’t know that I had the strength for such a quick, strenuous climb, given the burns and blisters on my hands, arms, legs, and back. Right now, it was all I could do to run through the pain.
And just because Sophia wasn’t here didn’t mean that she and the others were off the mountain yet. I didn’t know how much time had passed while I was unconscious—maybe a couple of hours, maybe less—but I still wanted to give them as much time as possible to get away,
so I headed in the opposite direction from how we’d approached Grimes’s camp. Besides, there was something else that I wanted to do before I headed into the woods, one more little surprise I wanted to add to Mr. Grimes’s show.
Instead of heading for the path that led to the pit or plunging into the woods, I veered to the left, straight toward the building that housed the moonshine that Grimes and his men made.
“Hey!” Another shout rose behind me. “You can’t do that! You’re supposed to run into the woods!”
I grinned. They wanted to play a game with me, but they didn’t like the fact that I wasn’t doing what they wanted me to, what they
I leaped up onto the front porch, threw open the door, and burst into the building. The inside had been gutted so that it was one big open space. Three copper stills had been set up in the middle of the area, with different lengths of pipe squatting in front of them, as though they were in the process of being hooked together. A table against the left wall bristled with more pipes, along with tools and rags.
My gaze snapped over to the right wall, which was covered with shelves and, more important, jars of moonshine. Hundreds of glass Mason jars of various shapes and sizes lined the wooden shelves, all sealed with shiny brass lids. The sunlight streaming in through the windows made the liquid glimmer like white gold. Well, I was about to change that.
I raced over, grabbed a jar of moonshine, and un— screwed the lid. caustic fumes assaulted my nose, adding to the hot, sour stench of mash in the air and making me cough. Still, I rammed my shoulder into the shelves as hard as I could, making several dozen jars rattle, fall to the floor, and break. The inside of my nose felt like it was on fire, but I didn’t care. At this point, it matched the aches and pains rippling through the rest of me.
I quickly stepped through the broken glass and moved to the opposite end of the shelves. I shoved my shoulder into this side too, making even more jars crash to the ground. Puddles of liquid started to ooze over the floor toward the stills, pipes, and supplies.
When I was sure that there was enough spilled moonshine for what I had in mind, I headed for a door set into the back wall. I also tipped over the open jar of moonshine in my hand, letting the liquid dribble out a little at a time. When the jar was empty, I tossed it away and took the final few steps to the door.
Grimes thought he was giving his men an advantage by taking away my knives, but he hadn’t realized that I didn’t need weapons or that the simplest thing could be the most dangerous in certain situations—like the cigarette lighter that I was still holding.
One of Grimes’s men appeared in the doorway. His eyes locked onto the bit of metal gleaming in my hand.
“No!” he shouted, realizing what I was about to do.
“Stop—”
I grinned again, clicked the lighter on, and tossed the flickering flame onto the floor.
The thing about mountain moonshine that made it so irresistible to some folks was the high alcohol content. I’d only been sucking down the fumes for a minute, and I already felt light-headed. In my case, I wasn’t looking for a buzz so much as a burn, and I got one.
It only took a second for the fire to zip across the alcohol trail that I’d created on the floor and over to the puddles of liquor. It wouldn’t be long before the flames would cause more of the glass jars to shatter, which would add even more fuel to the fire. I grinned into the heat of the flames even as the guy at the door turned and ran.
This should keep at least a few of Grimes’s men busy and out of the hunt. Otherwise, the whole camp might go up in smoke—and wouldn’t that just be a crying shame.
Shouts rose from the front of the building as smoke boiled up and the fire started edging toward the windows.
The shimmering red-orange flames made the stills glow a bright copper.
I ducked, thinking that the idiots outside were shooting at the building, but it was only the glass jars breaking. More moonshine spilled to the floor, and the flames arched higher.
“Burn, baby, burn,” I murmured, encouraging the fire a final time before turning and running out the back door.
Chapter Twenty-two
Several working stills squatted in the backyard behind the building, but they were far too big and heavy for me to tip over and add to the mayhem, so I raced past them, my eyes fixed on the woods ahead.
Bullets pinged off the metal stills and pipes and rattled away into the trees. Apparently, my five minutes were already up. Or maybe I’d forfeited my laughable head start by not playing by the rules.
