Page 48 of DFF: Delicate Freakin’ Flower (Family Ties #5)

Webb

W e spotted them just past the tree line—eight figures moving in the moonlight with enough tactical gear to make a Navy SEAL feel underdressed.

Head-to-toe black, vests cinched too tight, weapons that looked freshly polished, and that stiff, overcompensating kind of posture that screamed, “I watched too many action movies in my mom’s basement. ”

Jesse leaned closer to me and murmured, “I hate LARPers.”

“God,” I muttered back, “they really think they’re starring in some low-budget military film, don’t they?”

We both snorted under our breath, crouched in the shadows, our eyes trained on the group as they spread out. Barris was front and center, swaggering like a bad decision made flesh.

Behind us, Ira’s gravelly whisper cut through the dark like a dry twig snapping. “What’s really pathetic is that people are still kidnapping in this day and age. Especially after how many times it’s happened to your family. And don’t even get me started on the rattlesnake.”

Jesse rolled his eyes, whispering, “Oh my God, not again .”

I clenched my jaw. “He didn’t see it in the car where it was planted . Who the hell does that? You're right, though, people have grudges, sure, but this whole kidnap-the-witness routine is tired.”

Jesse made a noise in the back of his throat. “There’s a whole world of crime out there. Maybe they could try credit card fraud or art theft. Something classy.”

Remy, crouched nearby with his rifle drawn, turned just enough to glare over his shoulder and made a sharp slashing motion with his hand. “Really? You wanna argue this right now while we’re eyeballing eight heavily armed assholes trying to commit the most uninspired crime imaginable?”

We shut up immediately.

The woods went quiet for a breath, then Barris raised his hand, and his men split off like chess pieces being moved across a board. One broke right, stepping too close to the path that circled the cabin.

I grinned to myself. Clayton Barris’s men had no idea what kind of welcome they were about to get.

The moment the guy’s boot hit a tripwire tucked behind the roots of a pine, there was a sharp click and a pressurized hiss like a snake about to strike.

The man had just enough time to yell, “What the—” before the bear spray bomb detonated.

A high-pitched whoosh of it burst into the air, catching him square in the face.

“Shit!” Jesse whispered as the guy immediately collapsed to his knees, clutching his face, gagging and coughing violently, his weapon clattering to the ground, forgotten.

Barris and two of the others scrambled back, keeping their distance as they covered their mouths with their arms as the orange mist curled through the trees like a furious cloud of mace.

Ira snorted softly, as we all pulled our t-shirts over our noses. “That one was mine. I call it ‘The Eye-Peeper.’”

Remy groaned quietly. “You named it?”

“Of course I did. It’s art, and art always has a name.”

The rest of the intruders had frozen, clearly rattled by one of their own dropping like a sack of potatoes.

Barris cursed under his breath, looking around, trying to pinpoint the source.

But we were already shifting position, closing in.

They wanted a fight? Well, they were about to find out that we had all the imagination—and all the traps.

Let the real games begin.

The woods had stilled, the silence thick and uneasy, like the air knew it was seconds away from cracking apart.

The man who’d caught the full blast of bear spray was still curled up on the forest floor, sobbing like a child who’d licked a jalapeno on a dare.

Two of his buddies tried to drag him away, but they were moving slow, cautious now—good.

Let them be careful. The second they forgot where they were, they'd meet another surprise.

And we had plenty.

To the left, another of the intruders stepped over a fallen log, moving fast, eyes scanning but not down. That was his mistake.

Snap . A thin tension wire pulled taut.

Then, there was a twanging noise as the next trap launched from under the brush, accompanied by a mechanical groan and a hiss of compressed air. A bundle of cans, nails, and sharpened sticks shot upward like the angriest wind chime ever assembled.

He screamed as the barrage caught him across the legs and side, the sound echoing through the trees like an alarm.

Remy winced next to me. “That was mine. I call it ‘The Noisy Divorce.’”

I raised an eyebrow. “Because it rips things apart?”

“No,” he said flatly. “Because it’s loud, painful, and you lose your footing.”

I might’ve laughed if another snap hadn’t pulled my attention forward—this time followed by a grunt and a very distinct, very satisfying sound.

A solid thud. Then a high, reedy scream cut through the woods. It was the sound of a man who hadn’t expected the earth to literally swallow him whole.

“Ohhh…” Jesse breathed, eyes wide with delight. “That sounded deep.”

“That,” I whispered with a grin, “would be the pit trap.”

Remy blinked. “You actually dug a pit?”

“Of course I did. First time I brought Gabby here. We spent two hours arguing about how to camouflage the lid. She wanted to use moss, I said leaves, and we compromised and used both.”

Jesse shook his head, almost impressed. “What are the odds?”

“Gabby’s the one who suggested I make it deep enough to break spirits but not bones.”

Another scream echoed from the pit, followed by a desperate string of curses in a voice that was quickly growing hoarse.

Jesse muttered, “That guy sounds like he’s rethinking his entire life.”

Behind us, Ira let out a satisfied huff. “That one’s what I like to call ‘natural selection.’”

Another crash came from somewhere to our left—someone had stepped into one of the noisy traps strung with tin cans and crinkled foil, setting off a cacophony that sounded like a metal band falling down a staircase.

They were losing momentum and control, which meant we were winning.

I adjusted my grip on my rifle, eyes narrowing on the direction of movement. Barris hadn’t gone down yet—and he wouldn’t be the type to run. No, he’d continue hunting for Gabby regardless.

And if he was headed for her, he had one hell of a gauntlet to get through first.

The screams from the pit were dying down into moans now, the guy probably trying to figure out if his pride or his spine had taken more damage.

A gust of wind stirred the trees above us, but underneath, everything was chaos—crashing brush, shouted orders, and the beautiful, unrelenting symphony of traps triggering everywhere.

Just ahead, one of Barris’s men crept through the underbrush like he thought he was smarter than the last guy. He was crouched low, moving carefully.

I watched, tracking him, just as his boot nudged a wire strung low to the ground.

There was a click, and he paused, his eyes going wide—and that’s when the thick branch Eddie had previously rigged swung out from the left. It whooshed through the air, a blur of wood and bark.

To his credit, the guy ducked. Too bad for him, ducking was precisely what he shouldn’t have done. The first branch was a feint, the real trap was above him.

The swinging branch triggered a second release: another log hidden behind him, suspended just high enough in the trees to be missed—until it came crashing down. It slammed into the back of his head with a meaty crack, and the guy dropped like a sack of potatoes, limbs twitching before going still.

Jesse, crouched beside me, gave a satisfied nod. “I call that one the Home Alone .”

Remy snorted. “Seriously?”

“Hey, if it worked for a kid in Chicago, it'll work in Mississippi,” Jesse shrugged. “Classic misdirection.”

Ira, just behind us, let out a low whistle. “You know, it’s rare that crazy wins the day—but I gotta say, I’m glad to be surrounded by it.”

I kept scanning the trees, my finger on the trigger, holding the AR15 in position. The brush rustled again, too controlled, too measured—Barris was still out there.

“We haven’t won yet,” I said grimly. “There’s still a few of them left, including Barris.”

That name sent a cold knot down my spine because if there was anyone among that group who wouldn’t step in a trap, wouldn’t flinch when a man screamed, and wouldn’t back down when things got messy—it was Clayton Barris.

And while he was still out there, this wasn’t over. Not even close.

A flicker of movement near the eastern edge of the tree line caught my eye—lower than the others had been, slower, and far more deliberate.

Clayton Barris was crouched low, slinking through the shadows like the predator he thought he was. He moved with purpose, avoiding the paths his men had taken. He wasn't shouting or panicking, his face was pure ice-cold calculation as he aimed straight for the cabin.

My jaw tightened. Barris wasn’t just guessing anymore—he’d been watching, learning, and now he was confident enough to move in himself, ready to get his hands dirty.

I shifted lower behind the brush, adjusting my stance as my heart pounded in a steady rhythm, locked onto his every move.

He was close now. Closer than he’d ever been, but so was I.

Gabby

Inside the cabin, I sat perfectly still, every muscle pulled taut with fear and anticipation.

Outside, the noise had built into a chaotic blur—shouts echoing through the trees, heavy thuds, something metallic crashing through the underbrush like a wrecking ball.

At one point, I could’ve sworn someone yelled like they’d just been hit by a truck, followed by a solid, unmistakable thud that made the floor beneath me vibrate.

I gripped Tinkerbell with both hands, the cast on my arm making the hold awkward but still workable.

The pepper spray was within easy reach, exactly where I needed it to be.

I’d already shifted the cushions around, positioning myself for the clearest view of both the front door and the narrow kitchen window—every angle covered, just in case.