Knuckles and Tank might have been stupid, but they knew a gun would win in a fight against their machetes.
“Who’s it going to be?” Murray asked, loudly enough for the other generals to overhear. He hoped that this would give him and his son a safety net for a little while longer. “I don’t have all fucking day.”
Knuckles pictured Tank licking the general’s boot, and he accidentally let his grin slip. The general looked at him and shook his head. “What the fuck are you smiling at, you dumb bastard?”
“I’m not a dumb bastard!” Knuckles snapped.
“Then clean my fucking boot!” the general shouted.
Knuckles looked at Tank.
“Don’t look at him,” General Murray said. “You don’t need his goddamn permission. Unless you’re saving that mouth to slobber on his rotten pecker later? Is that it? Are you his bitch?”
“I’m not anyone’s bitch!” Knuckles insisted as he knelt in front of the general.
Tank looked down in shock. He was actually going to do it. Then again, what choice did he have? And it was only a bit of blood. What harm could it do?
Knuckles leaned closer to General Murray’s boot with his tongue extended. His eyes were scrunched shut. For a change, General Murray was smiling. Before Knuckles’ tongue made contact, Murray flicked his boot into the kneeling man’s face. Knuckles jerked backward and fell on his ass, holding his hands over his busted nose.
General Murray roared with laughter. “You dumb twat. Did you think I was serious?”
Knuckles wasn’t pleased in the least, but Tank was laughing along with General Murray, with tears rolling down his face. “Good one, General.”
Knuckles wiped his hand across his lips. “You fucking splashed it in my mouth.” He spat, trying to get the taste of blood off his tongue.
“And you splashed it on my boot. Now we’re even.” General Murray stopped speaking for a moment as he forced himself to keep laughing. This had all been for appearances, and he couldn’t stop now. “What kind of sick fucker do you think I am?”
Not as sick as the other generals in here, he thought. They would have actually made him do it.
Knuckles glared at him sullenly. “A twisted one.”
General Murray stopped laughing, and his face got angry again. “What the fuck did you call me?” He got right in Knuckles’ face.
Knuckle looked helplessly at Tank, then back at General Murray, who said, “I’m just screwing with you! Shit, you’re too easy. Go on. Get out of here.”
As Knuckles got to his feet, he thought about knocking the general out for being a dick. Before he could do anything, though, Tank dragged him toward the staircase.
“Hey,” the general called. “Seriously, get this shit cleaned up, and then you can get your reward. I don’t want anyone thinking I’m a sick, twisted fucker, do I?”
Chapter Twelve
Ryder’s body ached when she tried to move. She cracked her neck and opened her eyes, wondering where the fuck she was, why her head was pounding, and most of all, how the hell she had ended up in the middle of a bush.
She looked for a way out, but it was like the bush had sprouted up around her. She was trapped.
Screw this!
Ryder took her ankle knife and started to cut her way through, but she quickly stopped when she figured out that the bush wasn’t rooted to the ground. It had been placed there, which freaked her the fuck out. Who’d done it?
She got her bow ready and quickly looked around. It was dark, and no one was here, although Ryder didn’t know where ‘here’ was. Then she spotted her open flask on top of a stone, empty.
That explained the headache and loss of memory.
She’d let her urges take over and had gotten drunk on water. Terrier would have stopped her. The thought made her miss him terribly. She’d have to control herself now. And she needed to figure out where she was.
The swamp was in front of her, and the mountains were behind her. She must have passed out here, but at least she’d made it through the swamp first.
Ryder couldn't remember anyone else being with her, but she also couldn’t remember getting here. She looked at the ring of thorn branches again. Someone had either tried to keep her safe while she slept or was trying to keep her from leaving. Both options were equally plausible, but there was no way she was going to wait around to find out.
She pushed at the branches with her boot, and they opened like a gate to let her through. By the time she was out of the protection ring—or trap—she was once again thirsty. Her clothes were stuck to her skin, and she felt like swamp critters were slithering all over her.
Ryder headed over to the stone with her flask on it and confirmed that it was empty. She’d have to find water before heading up into the mountains. The swamp was filled with water, but there was no way she was going to drink it.
She stowed the flask in her pants pocket for later. She checked her surroundings, but she didn‘t get the feeling that anyone was watching her. Maybe whoever had covered her in branches had gone. Because of how dark it was, she couldn’t be sure, so she kept her knife ready.
Ryder turned away from the swamp, gratefully putting it behind her. She walked toward the mountain but saw no immediate trail leading up, so she walked parallel to it, trying to work out the best way to proceed. She hoped there was still a settlement up
