I avoided her hands and headed for the bedroom. More bullets sprayed the inside of the cabin. They were hitting us with everything they had so whoever was inside could get the jump on us.
Too bad. He had to go through me first.
I pumped the shotgun as I ran, hoping to God that Cat got back down in that hole and pulled the door closed behind her.
I was almost to the doorway when a man jumped out from behind the curtain. He was big and ugly with a revolver in his hand. He opened his mouth and roared when he saw me, charging like a bull.
I lifted my gun and fired. The shot hit him in the chest. He went down like a tree, his big body hitting the floor hard.
Peering down the gun barrel, I stepped over him and went into the bedroom. Glass crunched under my boots and moonlight spilled across the stripped bed but the room was empty. No one else was lurking around.
I turned to head back out and that’s when I heard it. A shout from outside.
“CAT!”
Tate. Fuck.
“Send the girl out and he won’t die,” a deep voice shouted. Frankie.
That fuckin’ sonofabitch!
I ran across the bedroom and rushed past the curtain. But I was too late. Too damn late.
“Tate!” Cat screamed, her bare feet smacking the hardwood floor as she crawled out of the hole and sprinted for the door.
I raced to intercept her, but the big man on the floor apparently wasn’t dead. He came to, blood soaking his shirt. Seeing me, he scrambled forward on his belly and grabbed my ankle, stopping me.
I hit the ground hard, the shotgun went sliding across the floor. I flipped onto my back and kicked him in the head when he wrapped a hand around my calf and yanked me toward him. Bone crunched, blood squirted, and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. His face hit the floor with a smack.
With him out, I twisted around.
“Cat, stop!” I shouted, scrambling to get my gun.
But she didn’t listen. She flung open the door and disappeared outside.
Goddammit!
I jumped to my feet and charged forward to follow. Gunfire erupted, blasting past my head. I threw myself to the floor again, narrowly missing a bullet to the brain.
“Untie me! Untie me! I can fuckin’ save her!” Adam shouted, pulling at the rope around his wrists. “They trust me!”
Screw it.
Crouching, I jumped to my feet and ran to him.
“You better be telling me the truth or so help me God, I’ll put a bullet in you myself,” I swore, dropping down to my knees beside him. We ducked when a bullet zinged over our heads.
“I am. Trust me,” he said in an impatient voice as I untied the rope around his wrists.
As soon as he was free, he dived for the duffle bag full of weapons. I wasn’t going to wait. David was covering the window. I was going after Cat and Tate.
“Watch my back,” I yelled at David, making a beeline for the door.
He gave a jerky nod and fired a few shots out the window.
I ran, staying low to the ground. In the doorway, I raised to my full height and brought the gun up to my shoulder. I had no fear. I only had Cat and her brother on my mind.
The porch was wet. The air still smelled of rain. I expected to feel the sting of a bullet as I stood in the doorway but suddenly they stopped. I was deadly calm as I headed down the porch steps but on the inside I was a mess. They had the one thing that I would kill for. That I would lay down my life for. That I would die to protect.
Cat.
I hit the wet ground with angry strides. If one person touched her, he would die by my hand.
My boots sunk into the soft earth. My eyes adjusted to the dark. The shadows took the shapes of men. There were fifteen of them fanned out in front of me.
And they had Cat and Tate.
Tate’s hands were secured behind his back and two men stood on either side of him. One of them had a gun jammed under the kid’s ribs.
He looked ruffed up and pissed but I couldn’t see any bruises or blood on him.
Cat’s hands were being held behind her back by a tall, skinny man. When I saw who it was, white-hot rage filled me. Paul. When he grinned at me and ran a hand up her arm, I saw red.
I swung my gun over, putting him in my sights, and headed straight across the clearing with quick, fearless strides. My cheek was against the gun, my eyes squinting down the barrel. I was outnumbered and outgunned but ice flowed through my veins. They would kill me if I pulled the trigger – hell, they may kill me anyway – but at least I would take him to hell with me.
I only had eyes for the man named Paul, but in my peripheral vision I saw an old man step forward, a large gun in his hand.
Frankie. The leader of this little shitfest.
I ignored him and focused on the man holding Cat. The motherfucker smiled and ran his hand around her neck, caressing her like a lover. Like he could break her with just a snap.
I scowled and tightened my finger on the trigger. His smile grew.
Staring smugly at me, he grabbed her chin and yanked her head up then leaned down and licked her ear.
Fuck!
“Let her go,” I growled, stopping, my feet spread.
He smirked. His gaze moved behind me. I felt the skin on the back of my neck prickle. I knew without having to turn that someone was behind me.
Cat’s eyes went wide. “Cash!” she screamed.
Before I could spin around, a blow hit me on the back of the head.
Pain exploded in my skull.
Then everything went dark.
Chapter Twenty–Seven
Cash
I woke up slowly. Consciousness returned. I became aware of the pain first. It radiated to every inch of my body and tunneled into my brain. Thinking was impossible and moving was out of the question. Just breathing caused sheer agony.
My hands were numb and tied behind my back. My arms hurt like hell. I moved my fingers, testing them. They were swollen, the circulation cut off. I tried moving my legs but my ankles were tied to the chair I sat on.
I slowly opened my eyes. Pain stabbed through my head like nails. I squeezed my eyes shut again and waited for it to ease. When it did, I peeled my eyes open. The first thing I saw was dark splotches of blood dripping from my nose onto my jeans.
I took a few deep breaths, testing my ribs. They hurt like someone had kicked me in the side. Wheezing sounds came from my chest and each breath hurt. If I had to guess, I had a few cracked ribs but if I could breathe, I could fight.
I glanced up. My vision was blurry. I was in an unfinished room of some kind. The floor was smooth, gray concrete. A pile of rope had been thrown in one corner. A single light bulb hung from a dirty wire above me and exposed rafters and pipes made up the ceiling. Wherever I was, it was an unfinished building but it had working electricity.
Shit. I was in Hilltop.
I fought the bad feeling in my gut and craned my neck to see behind me. There was nothing. Not even a window or another door. Just a wall that still had pipes left exposed.
I tested the rope on my wrists. It cut into me, rubbing my skin raw. I worked at it until it became slick with my blood. Until I felt the blood drop from my fingertips to the floor.
“Shit,” I hissed. The rope was tied too tight.
Someone inserted a key into the metal door and jiggled it. I froze. Fuck! The door swung open and three men walked in.
The first was short with a mullet and mutton chops. He carried a deadly-looking weapon and reeked of cigarettes and body odor.
The second guy was huge. He had to stand at least six-foot-six and had arms thicker than a tree trunk. He wore a black hoodie and jeans that looked like he could fit two of the shorter man in them. His head was shaved to a smooth surface and his eyebrows were gone. Pale blue eyes that almost looked white fixated on me as he walked in and stood off to the side.
I narrowed my eyes. In his hand was my damn cowboy hat. What the hell?
It cou
ld wait. When I saw the third man who walked in the room, the anger I already felt turned into a dark, murderous rage.
Adam strolled in at a leisure pace. He carried a canteen and looked clean and well fed. He leaned back against the wall and crossed one ankle over the other.
“You son of a bitch,” I spit, my lip curling.
He grinned. I wanted to kill him. He had said we could trust him. He lied. I didn’t care much about me but what had he done with Cat?
“Where is she, asshole?” I snarled, wanting to get free so I could strangle him.
Adam opened his mouth to answer but Frankie walked in.
He entered the room like he was the goddamn king and everyone should bow down to him. His hair was combed back and his clothes were pristine but he looked like shit. His cheeks were hollow and the lower portion of his face was covered with a short, scraggly beard.
He strolled toward me, his bushy, gray eyebrows drawn together with irritation. “Good. You’re awake.”
I glared up at him, ignoring the blood dripping down my face. “Where’s my friends and the girl?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he made a slow circle around me, taking his time. I stayed still, keeping my gaze locked ahead and letting him size me up. When I got untied, I would show him just what I was capable of. Until then, I could feel the rage churning in me, waiting to be unleashed.
He drew to a stop in front of me and started rolling up his sleeves. His henchmen stood on either side, almost licking their lips with anticipation to get to me.
Adam was still leaning up against the wall like the cool kid in a cheesy teen movie. He would be next on my list. I couldn’t wait.
I centered my hate on Frankie for now. He finished rolling up one sleeve and started on the other. A cold warning slithered down my spine.
“Where is she?” I repeated, wanting to rip him apart.
He smiled. “That girl ain’t any of your business anymore.”
“She will always be my business. If you touched her—”
He chuckled and shook his head with amusement. “If I touched her? You mean when.”
“I’ll kill you,” I roared, taking the chair with me as I ran toward him.
Smack! His fist shot out. Knuckles connected with my cheekbone. The chair slammed back to its feet. My head snapped to the side and the pain already in my head tripled.
I took a second, welcoming the pain. Letting it feed the vicious need coursing through me. It meant I was still alive. Still feeling something.
I had crossed a line long ago, doing things that would have made my dad cringe. But I was going to add to that list when I got my hands on the man in front of me.
Forcing the pain away, I turned my head back around. Blood streamed from my nose. My face throbbed.
I raised my gaze to Frankie. “That all you got?”
He swung again. This time, the punch hit me in the solar plexus.
I grunted and doubled over as much as I could with my hands tied behind my back. Black spots appeared in my vision. Oxygen was forced out of my lungs. If I thought my ribs were cracked before, I was now sure of it.
I tried drawing in shallow breaths of air. It hurt a helluva lot. Peeling my eyes open, I blinked a few times until the room stopped spinning.
Frankie was studying me, his mouth in a hard line. “You done being a smartass, boy?”
I grinned. “Nope.”
His fist shot out again, striking me in my right eye. I felt my skin bust and the vision in the eye go completely blurry. Before I could recover, his knuckles connected with my jaw. The force sent the chair toppling sideways with me in it.
I hit the cement floor with a crack. Blood poured from my face and nose. I was wheezing badly. My eyes were swelling quickly. I forced them open and looked up.
Adam pushed off the wall and stared down at me, frowning. He had a certain look in his eyes that I should recognize but my brain was too muddled to figure it out.
I looked at Frankie instead. He was standing in the same place and breathing heavily. Thick strands of his hair had fallen over his forehead and the deep lines in his face were more pronounced. He pushed his hair back and held out his hand. The mullet man shot forward and laid a handkerchief in his palm.
Frankie wiped the blood from his knuckles. “String him up,” he said calmly.
The big giant of a man shoved my hat on his head and went over to the rope on the floor. He grabbed it and walked back to me.
“Nice hat,” I murmured, my eyes drifting open and closed.
The man didn’t crack a smile. “Got it from a dead man,” he said in a deep voice, throwing the rope toward the ceiling.
I let out a chuckle but it turned into a bloody cough.
The rope caught on an exposed pipe. The big man tied a knot than tugged on it, testing its strength.
I watched him, forcing myself to stay conscious. He withdrew a knife from his belt and cut the rope around my wrists and ankles then kicked the chair away.
The blood returned to my fingers and feet, sending a shooting pain into them. Here was my chance to fight and make a run for it, find Cat and Tate and get the hell out of there. But I couldn’t get my body to cooperate and move. Frankie had beat me too badly.
The big man grabbed the rope hanging from the ceiling and started tying my wrists back together with it. The rough material burned and dug painfully into the cuts on my wrists. I struggled not to scream as agony shot up my arms. But it was about to get worse.
He tied the rope tight on my wrists. I winced but that hurt too. He started pulling on the rope, dragging me up until I was hanging by my hands from the ceiling.
Fuck! Fuck! Unspeakable pain moved through me. My arms felt like they were being pulled out of their sockets. Agony tore through my lungs. My wrists felt like they were being sawed in half. Blackness hovered. I felt consciousness slipping away.
They were going to beat the living shit out of me, maybe kill me.
“Wake him up,” Frankie said.
Through the haze of pain, I heard someone walk toward me. I forced my eyes open and saw a pair of dusty, brown boots. They stopped in front of me. Ice cold water splashed down over my head.
I jerked my head up, spewing blood and water out of my mouth.
Adam stood in front of me. “Wake up. You need to hear this.”
I glared at him between my swollen eyelids, swearing to god I would make him pay.
“Frankie,” he said in a louder tone. “Can I get a piece of him for tying me up like a dog?”
“Go ahead,” Frankie answered.
Adam scowled at the big guy beside me. “Move.”
The man took a reluctant step back but didn’t look happy about it. I had a feeling there was some animosity there. Good. Maybe they would off each other. One less job for me.
As soon as the big man was out of the way, Adam buried his fist into my stomach with a hard punch.
I hissed and my arms jerked as I swayed by my wrists. Blackness played at the corners of my mind.
Adam grabbed a fist of my shirt and yanked me back.
“She’s safe but you’re screwed,” he whispered a second before he punched me in the stomach again.
I coughed with pain and saw stars. He let go of me and stepped back, letting me swing by the rope.
I was hanging there, my head on my chest, Adam’s words rattling inside my head. I was screwed? Really? What gave him that idea? I wanted to laugh at the absurdity but shit, I hurt too damn much.
“You still with us, boy?”
I forced my head up. Frankie’s face wavered in front of me. Water dripped off my head.
“Fuck you,” I muttered.
Frankie chuckled and turned to glance at mullet man and Adam. “Can you believe this guy?”
Mullet rolled his shoulders and Adam wiped a hand over his mouth, looking like he wanted to say something.
Whatever it was, he missed his chance. Frankie strolled to me and yanked my head back. I heard the telltale
sound of a knife being unsheathed a second before the sharp edge of a blade was thrust under my chin.
I didn’t flinch. I was in too much pain. I just stared at him, daring him to do it. I wasn’t afraid of dying. I was only afraid of never seeing Cat again.
He pressed the blade harder, pricking my skin. “You made an epic mistake crossing me, boy.”
“Oh, yeah? How is that?” I wheezed, my eyes drifting closed as pain traveled through me.
Frankie jerked my head up, forcing my eyes open.
“My son was twenty-four years old and a helluva good soldier then you set foot in this town. The day you decided to open fire on my men, he was shot. For two days, he lay writhing in pain, screaming for his dead mama and bleeding out. He died. My only child.” He jerked my head back more until I thought my neck would break. “My blood.”
Spittle hit me from his pulled back lips. I winced as his fingers tightened in my hair.
“Sorry,” I murmured with as much sarcasm as I could muster. “My bad.”
With an angry roar, Frankie pressed the knife harder. I felt a drop of blood roll down my neck. I thought that was the end of me but he suddenly let me go with a disgusted shove and removed the knife from my chin.
He started pacing back and forth in front of me, trying to get himself under control. When he stopped, the grieving father was gone. The leader of Hilltop and its militia was back.
“I don’t know if it was your bullet or that boy’s—” he began.
“It was mine,” I interrupted through gritted teeth, wanting Tate left out of it. I didn’t know whose bullet had taken the man’s son but I would take the blame if it would save Tate’s life.
“That’s what I thought.” Frankie sheathed the knife then looked at me with superiority, like the judge, jury, and executioner that he was about to be. “Here in Hilltop, we have rules. One of them is an eye for an eye. A life for a life.”
I stared at him through my one good eye, waiting for the words I knew were coming.
“In two days, you will die for taking my son’s life. You will hang. Until then, you will suffer like he did.” Frankie glanced at the big man beside me. “Reed.”
The giant stepped in front of me.
The last thing I remembered was a fist flying at me.