Page 34 of Bird on a Blade (Hunter’s Heart #1)

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

EDIE

S awyer was right about the weather turning.

I sit on the sofa in the cabin, the TV turned on low to the local station. A Blood Raisers marathon, since it’s Halloween, all eight of those stupid horror movies. I’ve had it on all day, ever since Sawyer gave me a long, lingering kiss on the front porch, cold winds sweeping across us. Then he was gone. He has to set everything up for tonight, and I have to be the bait that draws Scott into Sawyer’s trap.

I’m not watching TV, though. I’m staring out the window at the fuzzy grey sky. It’s been years since I’ve watched clouds fill with snow. Years since I’ve seen a real snowfall. Scott prefers warmer weather.

It’s getting darker, too, the sun dropping behind those storm clouds. Scott should have landed in Roanoke already. He should be driving along those windy mountain roads, underneath the heavy snow clouds.

I stand up, jittery with anticipation. I want so badly to call Charlotte and tell her what I’m doing. I know when she hears I’ve disappeared she’ll be devastated. But I can’t. I trust her to keep the secret, but I don’t want to put that burden on her .

She’s not like me, willing to fall into the darkness.

I look out the window, chewing on a hangnail. The driveway in front of the camp is still empty. Part of me hates the idea of Scott coming to this place, the ammunition it would give him to see the fat camp where I failed over and over to lose weight. He’ll probably make some joke about it when he gets here. Look me up and down, his lip curled in disgust. Assuming he doesn’t try to kill me right away.

No. I can’t worry about that. Sawyer is out there in the cold. That I’m sure of. Especially after last night, the way his eyes burned black as he told me he loved me. It almost felt like a threat, the way he said it. But everything he says, everything he does, is edged in violence?—

And I love it. I burn for it. And maybe that’s the real reason why I can’t call Charlotte. I don’t want her to know what I truly am. I’m not like Sawyer, but I can accept him. I can stand here in this cabin, a lure for his next victim, and know that the next time he fucks me, I’ll come at least in part because of what I’m doing right now. Because of what he’s about to do.

Tires crunch outside. My whole body goes cold, and I take a long, deep breath.

This is it.

Time to burn my life down so I can start it anew.

I sidle up to the window and peer out through the sheer curtain. Headlights sweep across the driveway and then come to a stop, flooding the little patch of dead grass in front of the cabin with yellow light. I drop the curtain, knowing Scott can see me.

Maybe it’s from being with Sawyer, but I sweep my eyes around the room and settle my gaze on the rack of knives beside the refrigerator. One’s still missing, of course.

Footsteps outside. A thump on the porch. Three heavy knocks.

I take a deep breath, and then I go to answer it.

Seeing Scott is startling. I thought I’d memorized his face, but it’s astonishing how much his features have faded from my mind after only a month. Funny how long Sawyer’s eyes lingered even after fifteen years.

“Edie.” Scott pushes inside, his gaze sweeping cautiously around the room. He’s on guard, I realize, a thought that makes my shoulders knot up with anxiety.

He knows.

Scott turns around slowly, eyes still flitting around like he’s waiting to be attacked. I dig my nails into my palm, trying to steady myself.

“What’s wrong?” I hope my voice sounds light.

Scott settles his gaze on me. His eyes are blue and very pale. When I first met him, I found them striking, but now they seem flat and dead.

Just the way they did the night he nearly killed me.

“You tell me.” He looks me over, up and down, the judgment clear on his face. “You wanted to come out here. To talk.”

His voice drips with condescension. I wish Sawyer had stayed here with me, wish he was hiding in the closet like the villain in one of the Blood Raisers movies still playing softly in the background. But he insisted on leaving. Said he needed to do some final prep before Scott arrived.

I can sense everything that’s happening here, he told me, his arms around wrapped around me on the porch. You won’t see me, but I’m here. You’re safe.

I’m still not sure about that.

Scott stares at me, waiting for a response. I choke one out.

“Yes,” I tell him. “And can you blame me? You attacked me. If I’m going to come back, then we need to lay some ground rules.”

“Yeah, we certainly do.” Scott’s eyes narrow. “You’re fatter than when you left. Did you know that?”

I squeeze my hands into fists. But the ED voice stays silent. Because it’s not true. My weight hasn’t changed at all. I know it. Scott knows it .

“I mean, this can’t keep going.” He gestures at me. “I’m just worried about your health.”

He’s been repeating that same lie for the last two years. Undermining my recovery at every turn. But somehow, tonight, it’s easy to see his words for what they are. He doesn’t care about my health. He wants to control me.

“You’re right,” I say as sweetly as I can. The lie gives me a surge of adrenaline. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? So we can talk things through. Decide what we’ll do next.” I step closer to him. “Maybe I can start going to the gym with you again.”

He’ll like the idea. Scott married me in large part because I was a story he loves to tell: the ugly duckling who put in the hard work to become a swan. He wasn’t attracted to my body, even when I was thinner, but he was attracted to my eating disorder.

So I’ll offer it back to him.

But then Scott replies in a flat voice: “Maybe.”

With that one word, alarm twists inside me. That’s not the answer I expected.

Scott walks in a half-circle, appraising me. “You know, I only agreed to this because I have some things to talk to you about.”

I don’t like this. I have to stop myself from glancing over at the window to look for Sawyer.

Where are you ? I think desperately, as if he can hear my thoughts. But whatever magic he is, it’s not that.

“What do you have to talk to me about?” I counter, trying to press confidence into my voice. “You attacked me, Scott.”

“I did.” He stops, still watching me. “But you lied to me.”

I go very still, afraid that if I move I’ll give myself away.

“About what?” My heartbeat pounds in my ears.

Scott moves a step closer. “Yesterday,” he says, “when we spoke on the phone, you asked me about the PI. One.” He holds up one finger.

I dig my nails so deeply into my palms that I’m sure I’ve drawn blood .

I hope Sawyer smells it.

“And yet, two of my best guys came out to visit you. Matt Baro.” He holds up a second finger. “And Logan Greer.”

“I only ever spoke to one,” I say, but there’s a shudder in my voice that I know betrays me. “Matt Baro, I think? The blond? I never met a Logan Greer.”

“That, Edie, is the lie.” Scott’s smile stretches cruelly across his face, and when he steps toward me, I step back. My body rushes with panic. And still, there’s no sign of Sawyer. No heavy footsteps outside the door.

He’s abandoned you .

The thought spurns a dozen others, all cascading through my head at once. He’s not really Sawyer Caldwell. Scott hired him. This has all been Scott. This has all been some trap that Scott, with his billionaire’s boredom, orchestrated to humiliate me?—

No, that doesn’t make sense. I know it doesn’t make sense. Scott wouldn’t kill his own men… I don’t think.

But then where the hell is Sawyer?

“I know you spoke to Logan because Logan called me while he was tailing you after he spotted you buying—” Scott pretends to pause, the same stupid trick he uses when he’s talking to potential clients “—house painting supplies? That can’t be right. I told him, Edie Hensner isn’t doing any kind of manual labor. It would interfere with stuffing her face.”

I glare at him, barely registering the insult. The panic overwhelms it. We never checked Logan’s phone, did we? My mind, at least, had been elsewhere.

“The last I heard,” Scott says, “you were pulling up in front of an abandoned church, and he was getting out to talk to you. And then—” He ripples his fingers. “Silence. Now, bear in mind, this is after Matt also went missing while here in scenic Altarida.” Scott’s grin widens further, and his teeth are too white, too neat, too perfect. “So why are you lying to me, Edie?”

My mind has gone blank. I’m certain Sawyer’s not coming .

“What do you want from me?” I whisper, tears turning the question jagged.

In response, Scott lunges at me.

I react purely on instinct, darting sideways—toward the hallway, away from the door. Stupid. But I am stupid, aren’t I? I thought I could trust Sawyer.

I ran into the hallway, tears streaking down my face. Scott is faster, and he grabs me by the arm and jerks me backward so I land hard on my ass, pain shuddering up through my spine.

“This is why you don’t let yourself go.” Scott jerks me across the floor, pulling so hard on my arm that it feels like it’s going to wrench out of its socket. “Fatasses can’t run.”

I’m sobbing now, and I hate myself for it. I hate myself for everything I’ve done in the last month. For being such a stupid fool.

Something thin and cool wraps around my wrist, and I hear a sound like a zipper. I choke back my tears and look over to see that Scott has zip-tied both of my arms to the leg of the heavy wooden coffee table, forcing me to stretch out an awkward angle.

“There,” he says, stepping back with his arms crossed over his chest. “You can stay right there while I call back the others and we can figure out what the fuck is going on here.”

Others?

Scott pulls out his phone and taps against the screen. There’s the whoosh noise of a sent text. “I figured you hired someone,” he says, still looking down at his phone. “God knows you aren’t exactly capable of taking out two grown men.”

I stare at him, my whole body shaking with a new fear. Sawyer didn’t abandon me. But if there are others ? —

I’ve seen him die once.

What if he dies again?

I pull desperately on the zip tie, flopping my body around. It doesn’t do any good. The plastic digs painfully into my skin, and all I accomplish is jerking my arms around in their sockets .

That’s when I hear it. The echoing report of two rifle blasts from deep in the woods. I scream, adrenaline bursting out of me. All I can think of is Sawyer’s head exploding from a gunshot fifteen years ago.

Scott hears them, too, and he tilts his head, listening. “So you did hire someone. Sounds like one of my boys took care of him, though.” He squats down and looks at me thoughtfully. I glare up at him, desperately trying to hide my fear with anger.

“I wanted to kill you,” he says calmly, turning the phone around in his hand. “But I almost think I like this better.”

“Kidnapping me?” I don’t know how I get it out without sobbing. Sawyer’s still coming , I tell myself. Maybe if I repeat it enough it will be true.

He laughs. “No, of course not. Having you arrested.” He stands back up, shakes out the sleeves of his jacket, glances down at his phone. His face doesn’t give anything away. “This whole little trip was a ruse, wasn’t it? And as soon as I opened the door, you attacked me. Fortunately, I thought you might try something like that, and I was able to subdue you.” He glances at his phone again, frowning, but then slides it into his pocket. “I’m sure once the cops start scouring around here, they’ll find some kind of evidence to prosecute you for the murders.”

I want to snap something back at him, some clever one-liner that will cut him down and put him into place. But he’s right, isn’t he? Sawyer’s a murderer. Two of those murders he did to protect me, but not the others. Which means no one will believe me when I say Scott was trying to kill me first.

Scott gives me a slow, easy smile. “My boys are taking their time, aren’t they? Let me guess—you had your man waiting in the woods to attack me.” Scott laughs. “Well, I bet he can’t go up against three military-trained mercenaries. This is going even better than I expected.”

I scream in both rage and terror, yanking hard on the zip ties. I keep telling myself Sawyer will be here. He hasn’t been shot. He’s still coming. He’s still coming. He’s still coming.

Scott pushes his hand through his hair and gives me one of those appraising looks. “We could kill the time—” he says, then laughs. “Kill! I didn’t even mean to do that.”

I thrash against the coffee table. Tears edge through my lashes, and I blink them away. Scott can see me scream, but I won’t let him see me cry. Never again.

“How about a blowjob for old time’s sake?” He steps toward me, his hand on his belt.

“Fuck you,” I snarl.

“I don’t think so,” Scott says. “Not with you looking like that. But you give good head. Fat girls always do.”

Enraged, I swing my body around, kicking out my legs. Scott sees it coming, but I still manage to clip his ankle. It does nothing. Doesn’t even knock him down. But he lunges at me, shoving my head back against the edge of the coffee table. He does it hard enough that the world blinks black and white.

“Open your fucking mouth,” he says, yanking out his belt. Unzipping his pants. Taking out his half-limp cock. I blink at him, my vision still fuzzy. It’s unreal, what’s happening to me. I feel like my thoughts have split apart from my body. “And if I feel even a hint of teeth?—”

He reaches behind his back, under his shirt, and pulls out a small, black gun.

“I’ll shoot you in self-defense.”