"What if we're really in a different country?" whispered Quint.
More than likely, they were in Mexico or some Spanish villa in the south. Going anywhere but here was the only thing Anders cared about.
"Just remember, go to Montana if we lose track of each other. I don't care how many weeks or months it takes, we all need to get there." Anders shook his hand, making the blood go to his fingers, making him stronger.
"Sh." Two-crow held up his hand and stepped closer to the door. After several seconds, he looked back at the group of boys and nodded.
Anders raised his fists, ready to attack. They'd talked over their plan for almost a year. The only way they'd gain their freedom and stay alive was if they fought their way out. They had to do it during one of the days they each were taken separately to the dogfights.
The men who usually watched the outside of the building would be occupied inside the barn.
The lock on the other side of the door rattled.
Anders whispered, "Make sure Joney knows where we're going before we run."
The door crashed open. Quint and Will jumped on Mateo, the escort. Unable to take the three-hundred-pound man down, Anders attacked, punching the large man in his face, over and over.
Freedom spurred him on. Fear put the power behind each hit.
The others pinned Mateo down, keeping the man from swinging back. Anders used the only opportunity he had to escape and used all his anger and distress over the last two years to beat one of the men holding them hostage.
Every punch released the rage consuming him. The loud grunts as he pushed his muscles to work harder than ever shouted his pain. Blind to the act, he let his humiliation and fear out, hitting Mateo, spreading the contamination in his life.
Mark fell into Anders, pushing him to the ground on top of Mateo. He continued to swing. Left, right, left, right. Sweat rolled into his eyes, but he no longer looked for a face to beat. He continued his attack until Quint grabbed his arm and Will pushed him off their capture.
Breathing hard, he blinked, focusing on the man in front of him.
"He's dead," whispered Mark.
Quint pulled Anders to his feet. "Let's go."
"Where's Joney?" Anders slapped out, trying to stop them from leaving. "We need to get him."
"There's no time. They'll kill us if they see us around the pens." Will pulled him toward the door. "Let's get the hell out of here."
"No, we need Joney." Anders looked around frantically. "We promised.
Two-crow crouched to run. "How do we get him?"
"I'll go to the back of the barn and look for him. You guys go ahead." Anders shook his hands free of the ropes.
"Okay. Let's go," said Mark, looking over his shoulder as he ran forward.
Anders ran with them until they reached the corner of the barn where the pens were located. Where they fought the dogs. Where Joney was taken.
Changing directions, he ran to the back of the building, ignoring the other boys who called his name, urging him to run. He slid to a stop under the window and stood on his toes to view inside.
His heart beat frantically, echoing in his ears. Fear of being caught made it hard to focus. He rubbed his fist against the dirty window, wiping the film of dust away.
Inside, a crowd of men gathered. He couldn't see Joney.
His concentration wavered. He couldn't leave without him. They'd made a pact.
The men moved closer. The back door swung open.
Anders plastered himself against the building. Caught outside, he'd never be able to outrun them. They'd send the dogs after him. The animals would smell his fear and take him down, the way he'd trained them to.
A body flew out the door and landed on the hard-packed dirt. Anders sucked in his breath and stopped breathing.
Joney.
Staring at the lifeless body, he forgot about the others. He forgot about the men. He forgot about the dogs.
The door slammed shut. Anders crept forward and fell to his knees beside Joney.
"Hey," he whispered, jostling his friend. "Hey, Joney. Wake up."
He shook harder. Joney's head lolled to the side, and Anders reeled back, falling on his ass.
Half of Joney's face was gone. A bloody, meaty mess hung from his friend's jaw.
Anders turned, knowing those in power had turned the fighting dogs on Joney for their entertainment and money.
Stumbling to his feet, he gagged and ran away. Looking forward, he lost sight of the others. He ran toward the trees.
He ran toward freedom.
Chapter 1
Two bodies collided behind the blackjack table. Anders Stone lifted two fingers, signaling security to take the two fighting men out of Stone Lair. Arguments, punches, and even a knife or pistol were common occurrences at the only source of entertainment around without going eighty-eight miles into Missoula.
Anders called the Bitterroot Mountains home on the Northwest border of Montana—Out far enough, the law rarely set foot off the interstate.
His rules were his own.
He answered to no one.
As the owner of Stone Lair, he controlled everything from the casino, the bar, the restaurant, and all those that stayed to enjoy the entertainment he provided under one roof.
The building, built from the trees that used to populate the acreage he owned, provided a setting that blended into the mountains. Made out of lodgepole logs, the two-story building, at over twenty-thousand square feet, impressed every visitor.
He lived above the establishment, taking the second floor as his private quarters. The Lair stayed open twenty-four/seven and also had a gas station, pole building, and ten cabins.
Mac, his manager, approached him. "Our crew is outside making sure those involved in the fight drive off the property."
"Good." He gazed around the room. "Let security know I'm going upstairs if any problems arise."
Mac dipped his chin and stepped away.
