I pull her towards me, real fucking close, and look her right in the eye when I speak.
“Leave me the fuck alone, Aracelia. I won’t tell you again.”
Then I let my hand drop.
Aracelia is silent. Her eyes glaze over for a moment. Finally, he says, “Esme was right to leave you.”
Then she steps aside. I get in my truck and pull out. As I drive past, she’s standing there on the curb.
Watching me with those huge, unblinking eyes.
I feel nothing. Just an empty hollowness that sucks away my capacity for compassion, for regret, for doubt.
It’s the best fucking feeling in the world.
I drive up to the cabin fast. The wind in my hair, the sound of the car engine roaring on the climbs… it’s good. It’s right. Action. Motion. Decision. It’s what’s been missing from the moment I first stepped into the white-tiled bathroom and found Esme cowered in the corner.
When I pull up outside the cabin, the mutt is missing.
“At least someone in this fucking town can take a hint,” I grumble.
I swing open the car door and drop down to the ground.
The moment I’m out of the Jeep, however, something feels off.
I can’t see anything obvious. It’s just a feeling, warning me that someone has been here.
Someone has been fucking around in my space.
I grab the gun I brought with me and walk straight into the cabin. I kick the door open and walk in, but whoever was here has left some time ago.
One thing’s for certain: someone’s definitely been here.
I move around the cabin, trying to sniff out what the fuckers wanted. I throw the bedroom door open and walk in.
Then I see it: my alcohol is gone. Whatever remained, that is. And the pistol I left on the kitchen counter.
Someone’s gonna die for this.
I stride right back out to the wrangler and pull out a bottle of whiskey. I open it fast and take a long swig. When I lower the bottle, sensing eyes on me, I turn my head to the side and see two large brown eyes staring dolefully at me from behind a huge, thorned bush.
The mutt.
He’s shivering. It’s clear he was here when the intruders came by.
I take another swig and put the bottle down. The loss of one gun is irritating but not a tragedy. I never keep all my weapons in one place. They’re stashed around the cabin grounds and the woods at large.
I stomp over to the shed, fuming, to retrieve a rifle tucked in the ceiling in there.
The mutt follows behind me, shivering the whole fucking time.
“You better fucking learn now,” I tell him. “If you stick around, there’s gonna be a fuck ton more of this shit.”
The dog whines a little, as though refuting the fact.
“You want a peaceful life?” I continue. “You want safety? That’s not gonna happen with me.”
The dog doesn’t move. I duck into the shed. I find the rifle I’m looking for and sigh gratefully.
Then I step back out into the cold air and cock it.
Whoever you are, you picked the wrong fucking man to fuck with.
15
Esme
My heart is beating so hard. For a few moments, it’s all I can hear.
I try and block out the sound, but there’s an internal conflict raging in my head.
I can’t help her. I’m nine months pregnant.
But she’s your friend.
I have no friends. I have only my child. And my child always comes first.
You told her who you are. You trust her.
He’s too big, too strong, too powerful, too dangerous.
You’ve handled men like him before. You’ve killed men like him before.
Exactly. And I left that life behind. I don’t want to be a murderer.
Even if the man out there deserves to be murdered?
But my baby…
Can you live with yourself if you stand here silent while Sara gets raped out there?
…
No. No, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.
I open my eyes. My hands have fallen over my belly protectively. I hear Sara’s muffled scream and I know without having to look that he’s clamped his hand down over her mouth.
I look around the bathroom desperately, searching for something I can use as a weapon. There’s nothing that immediately jumps out at me, but I know I have to move fast.
I notice the ugly blue weight next to the bathroom door. Marni uses it prop the door open after she cleans the bathroom and wants some ventilation. I grab it, slightly comforted by its weight in my palm. I slip out of the bathroom without making a sound.
Noise from dining area spills down the cramped hallway even through the shut door. I can hear Eagle Tattoo’s goons laughing and throwing their weight around. The clink and clack of silverware. The low pop music that plays all day long.
I ignore it all as I tiptoe close to where Eagle Tattoo has Sara pushed up against the wall. His face is buried in her neck, snuffling like a wild animal.
Her skirt is pushed up around her hips, his hand wedged between her thighs. The sight turns my stomach and strengthens my resolve.
I’m scared.
But I have to do something. I have to fight.
I’m stronger than I look, you know.
I lift the weight up over my head with both hands. Sara turns and sees me over the bastard’s shoulder at the last second. Her cheeks are tearstained, her expression terrified, but hope flickers across her face.
I bring the weight down hard, as hard as I can. The edge of it cracks against the back of Eagle Tattoo’s head with a wet, nasty noise. His hands slacken at once around Sara’s wrists.
But I can’t see his face.
Have I struck a fatal blow or have I just succeeded in pissing him off?
I’m not gonna be able to fight him in my condition.
Oh, God, what have I done, little bird…?
Just as
