Page 31

CHAPTER 31

REDLEY

I didn’t get my damn soda pop, and Penny is really low on gas, but it’s been a hell of a few days.

As I pull up my drive and toward my house, screams echo, and rather than being concerned, I sigh in soul-deep frustration. I wonder if I’ll hear the sound often enough that I’ll eventually just stop responding. Like the little boy who cried wolf except there is a wolf, but he’s just a man who enjoys killing, and maybe I just can’t afford to care anymore because when the hell am I supposed to sleep?

Night has fallen, and I climb out of the truck slower than normal, even sorer than I was earlier from having dealt with Porter. It’s colder than I would have expected with how warm the day was, and I regret not starting the woodstove before I left. There are a few more screams, and I leave the keys in the truck so the headlights stay on and the night isn’t so dark.

I grab my shotgun out of the bed of the truck, with my eyes wanting to fall shut. I really wasn’t ever planning on taking the saying “sleep when you're dead” so literally, but this mountain seems determined to deprive me of sleep until my body just stops.

Walking out into the clearing in front of the house with the gun over my shoulder, I’m as ready as I can be for a fight. The only problem is if it’s Wolf, I’m not sure I want to win.

“I’m not in the mood for any more goddamn shit!” I shout, my voice comes out strained and reedy.

I don’t need to wait long for his response.

“So sorry, Muffin, that’s exactly what I’ve come to deliver,” his familiar voice greets me, and he actually has the audacity to sound apologetic.

But the next sound is a thump and a masculine groan of pain.

“Wolf,” I say. “What the hell is going on?”

Another grunt follows. “Come see for yourself, Muffin.”

“I’m too tired for games. What the hell are you doing now!” I demand as I take a few more steps toward the firepit outlined by the headlights.

The matches are still in my pocket, and I light one and drop it on top of the already assembled timber. This pile is nothing but dried out brush with a log or two at the bottom, and it goes up quick. I take a step back as the flames catch and rip a few feet high.

“Shit, Muffin, why don’t you just turn on a light? No need to start a forest fire.” That tone has a nasty little insinuation, and I think about shooting him again just for fun.

“Just got the one light, and I’m not wasting it on looking at someone ugly like you.” God, I wish that he were ugly instead of the best-looking thing I’ve ever seen.

“Hear that, Bobby? She’s not wasting it on someone ugly like you,” he taunts the man sitting at his feet. Bobby , shit, and my stomach drops. He's not being funny.

The flames settle glowing brightly and, widening my field of vision. With the help of the fire and the headlights, I find them about fifteen feet away. All six-foot-seven of Wolf leans against a tree, relaxed like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Bobby kneels on the ground at his feet.

Wolf’s yellow eyes gleam in the light from the fire, his hair hangs to his chin, straight and blunt. I’m sure I’m going to hell for wanting him the way I do, but fuck, he’s sexy.

It takes some effort, but I pull my eyes off Wolf and give my attention to Bobby, who was here just a few hours ago. How the hell he went from kissing me and dropping off checks at the post office to this, I don’t know, but I’m sure I don’t envy his night.

Bobby’s arms are tied behind his back, and the bandanna tied around his mouth explains why he’s moaning but not speaking. There’s a flash of worry for him, but also the anger from him kissing me earlier. He had no right to touch me, and even though Wolf did much worse, Bobby is by far the one I’m more upset about.

Finally, that petty violence inside me is thrilled “the Wolf” got him when he told me I was crazy all those years for believing in him at all. No, he wasn’t a monster, but they certainly weren’t fucking accidents either.

The light from the fire casts a red tinge as it dances over them, but the effect is worlds apart. Wolf appears even more mysterious, darker, and more delicious as the flames and shadows flirt with his evil yet playful expression.

Bobby’s face is as pale as death by contrast, the pain and contortions in his expression, a horridly macabre sight. His bruised eyes search my face for help, puffy lips wrapped around the fabric, begging me to do something, but how many times did I ask him for help?

There’s no such thing as the wolf, Red. You sound crazy. Doc’s worried about you. His countless refusals run through my head. Even today, he tried to take advantage of me rather than be my friend. There were so many times I needed someone, anyone to believe in me, and even though things weren’t as I suspected, something was still happening.

I was wrong. I wasn't crazy.

He didn’t need to be such an asshole. He didn’t need to act like everyone else when he was close enough to know I wasn’t crazy like that. He asked me to be his damn mistress because he thinks I can’t manage my life out here, just like Porter thought, not because he believed I’m insane.

How exactly are you different from the victims who came before you? The ones you didn’t believe? I don’t ask him, though I don’t help him either.

“What the hell are you doing now, Wolf? What’s he got to do with me and you?”

Bobby shrieks, like the news that I’ve also had dealings with the Wolf is the really frightening part. Maybe it is, for someone like him who’s convinced himself I’m a hysterical woman who’s better off as his mistress than on my own.

In fact, the more I think about our interaction earlier and the things he said to me, the less inclined I feel to shoot Wolf. Maybe I’ll kill Bobby myself just to ruin my nemesis’s power trip.

“This fucker?” He kicks Bobby again. “He doesn’t have a damn thing to do with us except the fact he put his nasty lips on my wife.”

“I’m not your wife, you psychopath. I shot you!”

“Barely, and let’s not worry about your little love mark right now.” He pats his shoulder. “I’ve got it all wrapped up don’t you worry.”

Love mark? I’m so angry I nearly snarl at him, hell if it was any colder tonight you’d see steam coming out of my ears.

“I’m not worried.”

“Don’t get worked up, Muffin. It will scar. You marked your territory.”

“My territory?!” I do shriek this time. “Your mounted head on my wall is going to be my territory!”

“Then actually kill me this time, Little Red. You brought a gun you can handle this time. The question is, can you shoot me?”

I lift the gun and point it at him, but I don’t put my finger on the trigger, goddammit . When did I completely lose my nerve? I square my shoulders, holding my posture hard, making it seem like I want him dead more than I want anything else, and maybe I’m just holding off so as not to spray Bobby with buckshot.

“Muffin, I see your hand.” His voice is a sickly sweet singsong, and I wish I could blow his brains out. “You don’t have any plans to shoot me.”