“This is one of them.” Eddie shoved him so hard, he couldn’t keep on his feet and slammed into the grass. He rolled so his other shoulder took the brunt of his fall and managed to get to this knees again.
“You fucking coward!” The woman shrieked and launched off the porch, coming at him.
She slapped at his head and shoulders, screaming while the rest of the men hooted and hollered.
“That’s enough, Sissy!” Eddie snapped. “Save some for the rest of us.”
“You’re going to die!” She spat at him, and then marched back into the house. He ran his gaze quickly over the group, trying to find one friendly face in the crowd, or at least one who didn’t agree with this, but there wasn’t one.
A man with several missing front teeth stepped forward and bent close, giving him a tobacco-stained smile.
“Guess Mike’s wife don’t take kindly to you locking her husband behind bars.” The guy hawked up a loogie and spat it on his shirt.
Zane stared straight ahead, going to a place in his mind where he didn’t need to deal with these assholes. A mental place where he’d be with Isaac. Oh, he wouldn’t stay hidden away long, just long enough to regroup and assess the new situation.
“We killing him now?” one of the younger men asked. He appeared to be no older than sixteen, but the pockmarks on his face and sniffling told him the youth was already long gone to drug abuse.
“No, we do it at dawn,” Eddie said, looking at Sheldon Chambers, who’d pushed his way through the crowd.
“Were you followed?” Sheldon eyed his son.
“They’ll never find this place,” Eddie said.
“Hanging or burning?” someone shouted.
“I say both.” Sheldon spat a wad of tobacco in the dirt.
“Yeah,” Eddie agreed. “Both sounds good.”
A hard hand around his arm yanked him upright and he was guided to a small shed that sat between the house and barn.
“We reinforced the toolshed just for you,” a man snarled near his ear. “So don’t be thinkin’ you can escape.”
Shoved inside, his face hit the plank as the door slammed shut. He’d gotten a quick glimpse of the room before the door cut off the man’s flashlight. The place was small, only tall enough to stand in and long enough to sit. The foul stench of animal shit mixed with oil and yard grass enveloped the space.
The padlock clicked into place, leaving behind only the sound of his ragged breath.
Sliding his ass to the hardwood floor, he winced. His fucking hands had almost lost all sensation and some part of him was worried about that. Another part wanted to go to sleep. Now that he was sitting, the throbbing that had grown in his right side was a sharp, pinching pain. He must had cracked a rib going down the falls. Blood had dried on his neck and shoulder, so he imagined he’d hit his head too. Thankfully, he didn’t feel like he was concussed.
The lock clicked and jerked him upright from his slump.
The door eased open and a grizzled and weathered face of an old man peeked inside. Zane stared into the tired green eyes for a long moment. He couldn’t remember seeing the old man in the group or any pictures.
“Flynn Chambers,” the man introduced himself.
“And who are you?”
“Sheldon’s my brother.” The old man shuffled forward with a hunk of bread and a water jug. Zane felt like he could have fucking cried at the show of kindness.
The old man sat the bread and water down and crouched at his feet. With a clacking thud, he dumped a pair of rusted shackles with a chain attached between the cuffs on the floor.
With gnarled fingers, the guy pulled off his boots and clamped the shackles around each of his ankles, the chain rattling.
He didn’t kick the old man in the head. What would be the sense in that when he could see three men with guns standing just behind the partially closed door.
“Lean forward,” Flynn said.
Zane did as the man ordered and the zip-ties were cut. The pain was instant and he kept this head bowed.
“It’ll ease off soon. I was cuffed for three days once,” the old man said.
His arms hung limp; his muscles screamed. Very slowly, he brought his arms around to rest his hands on his lap, unable to do more than that at the moment. The old man lifted the jug of water to his lips and he turned his head away.
“It’s not drugged.”
He turned back as the old man took a sip of the water and then held it to his lips again. Zane took several grateful swallows.
“I’ll leave this and the bread here. Finish it up.”
“Why?” he rasped, his eyes finding the old man’s.
“Every man deserves a last meal,” Flynn said.
“I’m a US soldier. They’re coming,” he rasped.
Flynn watched him with those tired old eyes for a long moment and then left him. Had Flynn called in the anonymous tip?
The door creaked shut and the lock latched and then he was alone. He brought the bread to his nose and sniffed it. It didn’t smell poisoned. The water hadn’t been, so maybe the bread wasn’t. He took a chance and tore off a piece with his teeth. It tasted so fucking good that the large hunk of bread was gone in two minutes, three tops.
With a full belly and his thirst quenched, he ran his fingers over his raw wrists, trying to sooth the abrasions.
He studied the ankle cuffs, the rusted metal like something out of an old western movie and he’d bet money they’d been around this place since the dawn of time. The rusty chain between the cuffs gave him about two feet
