Smolder Road (Scorch Series Romance Thriller Book 6) Page 4

  Nothing can be done about the damaged spine. I pull out my knife and trim the quill at the broken place.

  Just like Lucy and me. Cut off at the broken place. And I’m the broken place.

  I tie the remains of the feather back into a side lock of my hair, my movements heavy and slow.

  The sun’s still out, but all the warmth and light followed Lucy into the woods.

  There’s no point to anything, to any of this.

  My chest is sore. I rub my left pec, hard, trying to get the pain to go away as my body moves through motions: donning my shirt, picking up the skins and securing them to the drying rack in the closed cabinet on the back porch. Putting away the soap, I try to forget how good she felt in my arms: satin strength, warm curves, so hot I’m still aching with it.

  How am I going to go back to the Haven and act like nothing has changed? Because it has. This was the confrontation we’ve been leading up to all these months.

  I’m not ready to see her, or anybody.

  I’ll leave a note for JT inside the back hatch of the Haven so he doesn’t call out the cavalry—his brothers—looking for me. And then I’ll go deep woods hunting, for as long as it takes to get the smell, feel, and taste of her off of my body and out of my heart.

  I’ll hunt something big. Bear, maybe, only using arrows. Or cougar. I’ll hunt something that will take me to the edge of survival, and put me back together again. Or not. I don’t much care.

  Inside the cabin, I assemble my equipment, checking and sharpening each piece. The tomahawk Grandfather taught me to throw, just the right size and weight for my hand, is sharp enough to cut hair. My Buck knife is honed to a line of blue fire. I clean, oil, and load the Colt revolver that Grandfather left out here and the Remington shotgun, stashing extra ammo in my pack along with a bedroll, some dehydrated food, my firemaking kit, and a pot for water and coffee.

  Packed and armed, I close up the cabin, shuttering the windows and putting the padlock on the door, slipping the key under an old pot that we used to grow herbs in.

  I untie Adelle’s rope, giving her a handful of grain. She pushes her forehead against my chest and leans into me, the horse version of a hug. Shadow’s weight rests on my leg. These animals know I’m hurting.

  My eyes sting. All a man really needs is a good horse and a good dog, and I’ve got both. But I’ll leave Adelle loose. She can’t come where I’m going.

  I pet her neck before heading into the trees, Shadow at my side.

  Lucy’s scuffed up the path, kicking the soil and disturbing the dried leaves. The ghost of her rage and pain are imprinted on the forest. My chest tightens, strangling my breathing.

  I push through it and keep moving. I need to just get away.

  Chapter Nine

  Lucy

  Concentrate on something else.

  My eyes scan the forest, searching for game, even though I already dropped that quail in my rage. Hunting has become a safe place for me emotionally since it takes my full concentration.

  A twig breaks under a heavy weight and I freeze, listening, unable to smell through the snot in my nose, but my vision clears as adrenaline pumps into my veins.

  Rustling to my left draws my attention.

  A man in camouflage stares at me through the trees.

  I forgot my rifle by the stump!

  Instinct kicks in and I bolt, running all-out toward the Haven. A man appears in my path—there are two of them! I spin—I have to get back to Roan!

  There is a man behind me, boxing me in. I spin away and fall backwards, my arm catching a tree to keep from landing on my ass.

  The men are dressed in camouflage with twigs in their hats, face paint on. They’re holding rifles, but not aiming them at me. A third man, the first one I spotted, approaches me. He’s dark-haired, maybe six feet tall. I make a note of his appearance so I can tell my brothers. I may not have known my father, but I’m a cop’s daughter and I know how to focus in a crisis. Six Foot appears to be the leader, from the way the others look to him.

  “What do you want?” I’m glad that my voice sounds strong.

  “You’re coming with us.” Six Foot says. He has a narrow face and dark eyes that flash with intelligence. “You can come easy, or you can come hard.”

  One of the men behind me sniggers at the sex reference.

  “Do you know who I am?” Everybody in the area knows about my family; we’re protective of our own, and my brothers are deadly.

  “Sure do. This is our lucky day,” Six Foot says. “Get her.”

  My heart thunders as they close in. I grab the hook off my belt and brandish it. Pathetic. But I’m from South Philly, and no way are they taking me without a fight.

  The man on my right grabs my arm. I stomp his foot and whirl to raise my knee, connecting with his balls. Air whooshes out of him as he folds over and I break free, sprinting in the one direction not covered.

  A fist in my hair yanks me back and tears spring to my eyes. I elbow behind me, connecting with a gut. Hot breath hisses out, but the man does not let go. An arm wraps around my waist.

  I thrust the metal hook back, over my shoulder, aiming for his eye.

  His scream hurts my ears. The metallic tang of blood hits my clogged nose as he releases me, stumbling back, crying out like an injured animal.

  I bolt again, racing through thick underbrush that grabs at my jeans, slowing me down. A shot rings out. The tree next to me splinters, bark exploding off it. Crashing footsteps close in behind me. They’re being loud now, no longer afraid that anyone will hear.

  I’m all alone.

  I weave and dive through the bushes, but I’m not fast enough. A hand grabs my shirt and yanks me back. A cloth covers my face. I writhe and lash out and struggle, but the cloth is tied behind my head by one man as another holds me from behind.

  He’s too strong!

  I kick back, and someone smacks my head so hard that my vision fills with red dots and the edges blacken. “Chill out, bitch. You’re lucky we don’t kill you right here after what you did to Joe Bob.”

  I have to leave a sign for Roan. The metal hook slips from between my fingers as they pull my arms back, tying them. The rope burns my skin. My shoulders ache.

  A shove in the center of my back. “Walk, bitch. We’ve got a ways to go, and we’re not carrying your fat ass.”

  I try to kick again and that earns me another shove and a head smack.

  I have to slow things down so that Roan and my brothers can find me.

  I collapse to my knees and drop to the ground.

  They haul me up, yanking my arms so that the pain slams through my body. A hand pushes me forward, but I go dead weight again, collapsing to the forest floor. I’m not walking off into the woods with these psychos so they can have fun with me before they kill me. I’ll die right here, thank you very much.

  I kick out, hitting nothing but brush.

  “Kill me now,” I yell, the sound of my voice muffled by the cloth. “Just get it over with!”

  A punch to the face dazes me and bright white stars flash across my vision. “There’s more where that came from, bitch. Now get up.”

  “Fuck you.” The tang of blood infuses my mouth. My voice doesn’t sound as loud, but I hope it infuriates them. Better that my family bury my body than have me just disappear.

  A kick to my stomach curls me up into a ball—a ball that can’t breathe. Hands grab me and I’m suddenly upside down, hanging over a shoulder. I kick and flail as rope winds around my ankles. I squirm harder, thrashing, but they manage to tie my feet together.

  I press my mouth against the man’s back and bite as hard as I can through the cloth.

  The man screams and drops me. I land heavily on my side, the breath blowing out of me, and swing my legs around, trying to connect.

  “What a hellcat. The bitch bit me!”

  “That’s right,” I yell. “You’re gonna have to kill me!”

  A punch connects with my face, right by my eye
, and my vision dims. Another blow and I’m disoriented, the world spinning. Roan. Roan. Come find me. Please.

  A blow to the back of my head, and darkness engulfs me.

  Chapter Ten

  Roan

  The sound of a gunshot freezes Shadow and me.

  A handgun. I know the sound of a nine millimeter, and those aren’t used for hunting anything but humans. It’s maybe a mile away, close to the Haven. That can’t be anything good.

  I don’t want Shadow running into a situation and getting shot; people see a wolf and fire first, ask questions later. I touch my thigh for him to stay close as I pull my Colt and the Buck knife. Loping, on full alert, my weapons ready, I move silently through the woods toward the sound of the shot.

  Lucy couldn’t be involved with that gunshot, could she?

  No. She’d be back inside the Haven by now, and if it were another member of the family, they wouldn’t be using a handgun unless they were chasing off an intruder. The Scorching has unleashed evil people to do as they please.

  As I run, I spot Lucy’s catch, the dead quail, lying broken and bloody beside the path.

  This is about Lucy somehow. I don’t know how I know it, but I do. Sweat breaks out as I run faster, moccasin-clad footfalls almost silent in the dense brush.

  When I see her fallen rifle next to a large stump, I know for sure.

  Someone has taken Lucy.

  I force myself to stop, straining my senses, scanning the empty forest. Shadow whines, sensing my anxiety.

  No unusual sounds.

  I drop my backpack and bend slowly to pick up her rifle, tracking around the stump. I can feel her pain emanating off it. This is where she stopped to cry her eyes out before going back home. This is why she was still out here and not safe inside.

  This is how they caught her.

  My fault.

  Further down the path, I find the marks of struggle. I recreate what happened: she ran into the brush, men came at her from different directions. She got away into splintered, disturbed underbrush. Someone caught her there. Blood on the leaves, and a bullet hole in a tree at head height—the shot I heard.

  I have to hurry or they’ll get away, but if I go too fast, I’ll miss the signs and lose her, wasting time she doesn’t have.

  Heavy scuff marks. This is where she was captured.

  I drop to my haunches, reading the ground, and pick up the wire game loop. One end of the sharp wire is bloody.

  Lucy left the wire for me to find. She’s counting on me.

  I wish I could sprint after her, but there’s no path here, and at least three men have her. For some reason, there’s no sign of Pinocchio…

  Beyond where they took her, one set of prints sinks heavier in the soft forest mulch. Someone’s carrying her. My Lucy wouldn’t go down without a fight.

  Adrenaline pumps through me so hard I can’t focus, and I lose the trail, running. I have to backtrack and find it again.

  Shadow’s not a scent dog, but he picks up on what I’m doing, and he hears or smells something I cannot. He whines to get my attention and when I nod my head, he streaks into the trees. I follow at an all-out run.

  Shadow pauses for me to catch up periodically. We must be gaining. They can’t be that far ahead—but suddenly the trees are broken by the ribbon of road that passes the Haven, and Shadow stops on the dirt and gravel track.

  The wolf lifts his head, smelling, drops it to trot back and forth. He’s lost the scent.

  Shadow’s so elemental in his gray, white, and brown coat, as if the earth and sky formed into this long-legged, lethal animal built for speed and killing. But he can’t find them. He circles back and forth, whining.

  I spot tire tracks in the soft mud of the shoulder. A big vehicle, Jeep or truck by the depth of the tread—and they reversed back onto the road.

  Whoever got Lucy is gone.

  Shadow sits down on his haunches, tips back his head, and howls. Unearthly. Deadly. Mournful. A sound like grief and revenge in one voice.

  He speaks for me. My woman has been taken.

  I should have made sure she got back safe, I knew she was distraught.

  I won’t rest until I get her back.

  I turn and run back into the forest, heading straight for the Haven’s back door.

  Chapter Eleven

  Lucy

  The gentle rocking of the vehicle wakes me. The cloth still blinds me. My eye is swollen and tender. I wet my lips and taste blood. I try to sit up but hit my head—I’m in a square, enclosed space.

  My arms are still bound behind my back, and they’ve gone totally numb. My shirt is askew and with each bounce and sway my stomach chafes against a rough fabric that lines the space.

  These guys are going to regret this!

  My brothers and Roan will kill them all.

  Anger is my friend. She keeps fear at bay. I could go ahead and get piss-my-pants scared right now, but that’s not the way to survive.

  The vehicle slows.

  I’ll pretend to still be knocked out, and when I get my chance I’ll make a break for it. This is probably my last chance to escape. Once they get me inside wherever it is they’re going, I’m dead. Raped and dead.

  No freaking way. That’s not how I’m going down.

  Not after surviving Scorch Flu, the fall of civilization, and getting rejected by the man I love. Nope, I’m going to survive this. These a-holes don’t know who they are dealing with.

  The trunk opens and fresh air rushes over me. A rough hand grabs my arm, hauling it back so that it strains my shoulder sockets. Pain stabs me, but I bite my tongue, staying quiet, trying to act passed out.

  I’m thrown over a shoulder again, my stomach resting against thick muscle.

  My hands on Roan’s bare shoulders. Caressing that strength was like touching carved stone. Roan’s stronger than this loser. He and my brothers will save me!

  The man who’s carrying me raises his free hand to stroke and squeeze my ass. I shiver, goosebumps rising on my skin as disgust brings bile up my throat.

  “She’s not to be touched…yet.” Six Foot’s voice is a whipcrack.

  The man laughs and he spanks me hard. It stings and I can’t help but jerk from the blow. “I’ve earned a feel or two. She’s a handful but will be fun to break.”

  I swallow the bile stinging my throat. Yeah. Raped, and dead. That’s my future.

  They’re walking again and I hear twigs breaking, wind rustling leaves, birds. We are in the woods. My hands and ankles are still bound. I doubt they’ll kill me at this point—obviously, they have some kind of sick plan.

  And I don’t want to find out what it is.

  It’s now or never. I take a deep breath and rear up. The man holding me loses his grip and I fall to the ground, landing on my feet.

  I start to hop. It’s my only mode of transportation.

  I hear laughter and a hand grabs my arm. “Girl’s got spunk. She’s gonna be real fun.”

  His voice is deep and throaty, dripping with the threat of sexual assault. I’ve heard that tone before, but I never thought a man like this would get me.

  My whole life people have known that I was protected. My brothers have always been an implied threat. Back in Philly, here in Idaho, everybody knows that I’m connected—that messing with me is messing with five scary dudes. Six, if you count Roan, and I certainly do.

  But none of them can help me now.

  An arm wraps around my waist. I struggle but I’m getting hauled backwards. My breath comes in short pants, face throbbing, and for the first time, fear is tickling up my spine, whispering in my mind, taking away logical thinking and replacing it with the need to scream.

  I’m in deep trouble.

  They drag me through the woods, my feet scraping on the ground as I keep fighting, trying to twist out of my captor’s grip.

  When I get to heaven and meet my Pops, I want to tell him I did everything I could to get away.

  The soft forest floor gives way
to hard rock under my feet. The temperature drops and the darkness behind my hood thickens. The scent of wet stone filters through the T-shirt, almost like what the city smells like after a good, hard rain. The man dragging me picks me up again.

  “Let me go!” I yell through gritted teeth, swinging my legs harder, trying to get dropped again, but the man holding me tightens his grip, digging his hands into my thighs so that tears sting my eyes.

  No way am I crying. No freaking way!

  “Almost there honey, don’t worry. You’ll be safe soon.” He laughs and I feel it against my chest, dangling against his back. He’s strong, bigger than Roan, a wild, dangerous animal with no morals. A man who takes a girl prisoner, threatens her with rape, and ties her up. A man who deserves to die.

  “Grab her feet.” A pair of hands takes my bound ankles and they start to walk down stairs, their steps echoing in a narrow space as two men carry me. I stop fighting, not wanting to fall here, realizing that my efforts are useless.

  The ground flattens out again and then I hear metal on metal, like hinges creaking. The texture of sound changes. We are in a smaller room, enclosed. I’m thrown forward and fall onto stone. With my hands bound behind me I land on my chest, my chin striking the cold floor so hard that my teeth ache, jolting a cry from my lips.

  A man straddles me, his feet on either side. No, no, no. I wriggle, trying to escape. He grabs my numb hands and I hear the rasp of a blade on ropes. He’s freeing me.

  “Lie still or I’ll cut you.” I recognize Six Foot’s voice.

  I stop moving, saving my strength for once my arms are loose. When the bindings fall, my arms drop to my sides, dead weights, the circulation so restricted that I’ve lost all feeling. Prickles of sensation start to return as the man moves down to my feet, but I still can’t lift them. I kick out instinctively as he grabs my ankle, and feel a sharp slice on my skin. “Dumb bitch, you cut yourself.”

  I kick at him again but he scuffles out of range.

  I hear a metal gate closing, footsteps retreating. My arms are on fire, but I need to get this revolting cloth off my face. I rub my face on the floor until it slips off. Moist, cold air brushes over my bruises. I hiss out a breath of pain.