Riley Hooper stared at the rearview mirror and locked eyes with JR as he drove. “You’re gonna pay for warning that guy who murdered my brothers and two of their friends. Yeah bitch, you are gonna pay, and pay, and pay some more until I’m tired of your ass.”
“Your pervert brothers got what was coming to them for attacking me. And you can bet your ass Sam will come after you too. You’ll regret doing this.”
“Let him come. Then I’ll dump both your bodies in town to rot like he did Darrell and Patrick’s. Mutilating Darrell’s body was bad enough; but not burying them was way too far over the top. One of my friends saw you park their truck in town with their bodies laid out in the back to rot in the sun like garbage. I want your Sam and want him bad, and you’re the bait I’ll catch him with.”
“Be careful of what you wish for; you might get it in spades.” JR knew instinctively it wouldn’t be wise to brag that she and Sam had each killed one of Riley’s brothers. From what he’d blurted at Sam, she and Mona were already in for harsh treatment. Riley seemed determined to carry out what his two brothers couldn’t accomplish. Her stomach churned at the thought of the abuse she and Mona would be forced to endure in a rough and tumble gang bang with God only knew how many assholes standing in line. But she also knew she’d survive and seek deadly retribution if an opportunity presented itself. Sam was right again when he predicted what their future would likely hold. Once again they were being forced by violent people to resort to equal violence in order to live. And if she was destined to die at this scumbag’s hands, she planned to go out fighting and take him with her if possible.
While changing the truck tire, Sam reviewed his options. They were slim to none. He supposed Hooper lived where the salvage yard sign pointed. He could race up the road and charge them head on and likely get riddled by shooters waiting for him. Or he could sneak up on them and attack one or two at a time. That wouldn’t work as long as they had hostages to torture or murder. He wasn’t a Special Forces trained soldier and would likely get killed and not save JR or Mona with a frontal attack. He needed help but didn’t have any backup. He fervently wished his dad was alive to advise and assist him.
He was driving back toward the cabin at ten when a thought hit him. Maybe help was nearby. Sam made a mad dash from the truck to the Kubota and then sped recklessly to the cabin. Smokey fell to the floor as Sam hit the breaks to miss a pothole. He had one avenue of hope to get help. A small backpack was filled with extra ammunition, bottled water, and minimal food and other supplies to last two days. If his current plan didn’t work, he would be forced to attack Hooper’s bunch head on by himself, regardless of the outcome. He and Smokey set off walking deeper into the woods to the north of the cabin. Every ten minutes he stopped and yelled, “BRODIEEE.” He yelled loudly three times, then moved on.
At three that afternoon they stopped to eat and refill two clear plastic water bottles at a small, clean spring. Sam was worried. If he didn’t find Brodie fast, he would be forced to act alone. And that would likely get him and the women killed. He wondered what he would be up against when he found Hooper. Five of Hooper’s bunch were dead and one wounded, but how many other scumbags did he have backing him? It could be five or twenty-five. And what level of training did they have? Were any ex-military or law enforcement personnel, or were they all just arrogant, cruel criminal assholes?
Minutes past six, the sun was sinking in the west. It would be nearly dark in another hour. His hoarse voice showed the strain of repeated yelling as he called for Brodie again. He sat on a large, flat rock jutting from a hillside; dejection overwhelmed him because of his failure to roundup help. Time was quickly slipping away, and JR and Mona were at the hands of a man wanting unjustified revenge. True, they had murdered Hooper’s brothers, but the scumbags deserved it for attempting to rape JR. JR—he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her. He’d found the one person who fit him like the proverbial soulmate. Smokey stirred and stood attentively pointing to the west. A low growl emanated from his throat as he focused intently ahead. Sam steadied and said, “Heel.’ Smokey was warning of someone or something out there; he was sure. But was it man or beast? He’d heard nothing but Smokey’s vigilant warning. His right hand rested on the Glock as he sat still and waited. And waited. Nothing happened for fifteen minutes. Smokey remained focused and alert. Whatever Smokey had sensed must have skirted them. Sam gave up hope and shifted his position to move when a voice sounded.
“What do you want with Brodie?” a man’s deep voice shattered the silence as it called to Sam.
Even after watching and hearing Smokey’s actions, Sam was still surprised when the voice finally called to him. “Are you Eli Brodie? I’m Sam Boyle.”
“Yeah, I’m Brodie, and I know who you are.”
“I need your help. Two women who were with me this morning were kidnapped by Riley Hooper. I need help getting them back before he kills them.”
“Why would he kill them. He’ll likely screw them, but I doubt he’ll kill them.”
“Because his
