Page 109

At Dom’s words, Mateo’s brows fly up, and a startled grin flashes over his angelic face. He shakes his head to himself, glancing at Alastair... who has only tilted his head curiously. It shows the shiny, slow-healing burns that crawl up his neck, mangling his tattoos.

Burns from his last loss, right here at Bristlebrook.

To us .

The reminder steadies me.

“You fucking what ?” Bane drops his casual sprawl over the chair, and he starts to laugh. It’s a harsh, chopping sound. “You hear this shit, Alastair? They’ve got some heavy fucking balls, I’ll give them that.”

Bane gets up off his chair, stalking around behind it, his dagger swinging up so he can rub his scalp with the hilt, and the sudden motion makes me flinch. With apparent boredom, Jasper crosses his legs. It shifts him slightly closer to me. Close enough that his leg brushes mine.

The light breeze makes my scalp tingle.

“You don’t seem to get it, shit for brains.” Bane snorts, then points his dagger at the trees. “ Army .”

Turning, he points it back at Bristlebrook. “A whole lot of dead bitches.”

His blade glints in the fading sun.

Dropping his arm with a smirk, Bane turns back to Dom and grips himself through his jeans.

“Unless you want to hand your whores over for a bit of fun. We can work out a good price... like your neck.” He smirks, and he glances at me.

“I’ll even let you keep that one. Though she looks like she has a real fat pair of?—”

“Ugh, Bane,” the older man interrupts, waving a hand like he’s fanning away a bad smell. “Can you think of nothing else?” He turns to Alastair, dipping his head confidingly. “Respectfully, I think we should at least hear out the suggestion here. It’s certainly more sustainable than?—”

“Yes, Sullivan. I’m aware of your position,” Alastair murmurs with cavernous finality as Bane sneers at the back of the older man’s white head.

My gaze flicks between them, then over to Mateo, who is glaring into the sky like the lone cloud has committed some personal offense against him.

Alastair sits back in his chair slowly, watching Dom, the hint of something dangerously humored in the cut of his face. “I am curious why you think we would agree to your demands. As my dear friend Bane here has... eloquently... pointed out, we do have you at a disadvantage.”

Dom’s face doesn’t change. “We have ten pounds of C-4, two dozen frags, more than a hundred trained recruits, all armed and ready to fight, a Gustaf with dozens of rounds—you might remember it,” he adds to Alastair, who dips his burned chin in polite acknowledgement.

“And that’s just what I’ll tell you about.

You know what Rangers can do, SEAL. I have no concerns at all about doing it to you. ”

Alastair’s eyes gleam.

His body is lean and hard and dark-clad. He has a pistol at his hip, but no other weapons visible. Just his tattoos snagging their thorny branches and poisoned flowers into his skin.

Alastair doesn’t need to throw himself around like Bane.

The more still he is, the more he makes me afraid.

Mateo’s curls shake again. “These Rangers, Alastair. The egos. Always with the egos.”

Alastair exchanges a brief, knowing look with him before glancing back at Dom.

“You have all that and you haven’t used it yet,” Alastair muses. “Why?”

“We want peace, Alastair. It’s all we’ve ever wanted,” Arthur interjects evenly. His damp hands haven’t stopped anxiously knotting in his shirt since we sat down.

“They haven’t used any weapons because they fucking can’t! They’re afraid ,” Bane mocks.

Whipping around, Bane stabs his knife into his chair, then yanks it out again... and he watches my face the entire time. A sick, expectant anticipation crawls behind his eyes.

And it twists into a hot, dark rage when I only glance back at Alastair.

I hide the clammy nervousness that courses through my stomach at Bane’s look. I hate that I’m still so afraid of men like this, when they’re so unworthy of it.

But his reaction tells me a lot.

Sullivan’s tells me more.

The division among the Sinners clearly wasn’t cured by hanging Sam and a few of his cronies. It’s still thriving, and Alastair is still riding the chaos.

Only, this time, Alastair isn’t playing the quiet hero.

Alastair is dismissing me to pander to Bane, and he’s sidelining Sullivan for the same reason.

So, how much pull do Sam’s men still have among the Sinners?

Is this all just a show of strength for Bane’s benefit?

Are these attacks on the Reapers, on us , designed to appease the bloodthirst and resource-mongering of Bane and all the rest of Sam’s disgruntled men?

Is he here to put us in our place and be seen doing it?

If that’s the case, if that’s who Alastair is catering to—if that’s who really controls the Sinners—then the captive women have no hope.

Alastair won’t risk losing his position.

That, I can be sure of.

“You know why we haven’t attacked,” I say softly to Alastair, testing the waters.

I’ve never wanted to be wrong more in my life, but right or wrong, I’m tired of being his pawn.

Alastair doesn’t turn his head, but his eyes flick to me, and I examine his face.

“A lot of our people will die if we need to fight, Alastair. We want to avoid that, if we can.” My gaze hardens. “But if we can’t, I will personally ensure that we wipe out as many of your men as we can while we do it. Starting with you.”

“ Why is the bitch talking?” Bane shouts, his cheeks flushed with anger.

Before I can flinch, Dom has me yanked onto his lap, and Bane’s knife slams down again.

This time into the seat where I was sitting.

I stare at it as it vibrates—and I’m vibrating, too. The metal winks in the day’s last sun, and my pulse roars in my ears as Dom shoves me behind him, his pistol drawn.

A bullet explodes in the grass between Bane’s feet, and I scramble back.

Another comes from the trees, and it buckles one leg of Sawyer’s chair.

This isn’t a game.

Someone grabs me, taking me to the ground as the men start to surge together. Bullets mince the ground around me as my blood roars in my ears, adrenaline flooding me. I cringe, and damp dirt smears against my cheek.

It’s not a game, it’s not a game, it’s not a game.

Damn it, I know it’s not. It never was.

I watch Sawyer’s back as he flees across the bridge. Arthur is sprawled over me, and his large, soft body shakes around mine in a protective shield.

“... weapons down ,” Jasper is saying sharply. “We have several sharpshooters with you in their sights. That was a warning shot, Bane. The next will be between your brows, even if your men take us all out in the next moment.”

“Idiot!” Sullivan is shouting at Bane. “You’ll kill us all with this!”

“Whores. Shouldn’t. Speak ,” Bane shouts back.

“Eden?”

Alastair hasn’t moved from his chair.

He’s the only one still seated.

The chaos around us pauses at his soft, spidery voice, and it takes me a moment before I can lift my head. Two tries before I can speak, one wary eye on Bane.

“Yes?” I whisper.

“Go and fetch us all some ale and a pot of this morning’s lunch.” Once again, Alastair’s gaze only glances over me as he nods toward the trees. “My dog will help you bring it out.”

He gives Bane a slight, amused smile, and finally, Bane stops glaring at me long enough to snort.

His dog.

I remember the leash. Her collar.

He’s talking about Heather.

I stare at Alastair, horrified, trying to find any hint of the man who told me harming women was not his vision for the future, but he doesn’t so much as look at me.

He’s so cold, I catch the chill.

“Mateo, show her the way?” Alastair asks dismissively, and Dom steps forward in warning as Mateo stands.

Mateo has his own wickedly sharp dagger in hand in the next instant—but he only palms it once, and then it disappears as fast as it came.

“She’s not leaving the clearing,” Dom says bluntly.

He looms over Alastair, and Jasper’s hand falls to his pistol.

Alastair only smiles. “Then neither will you.”

The air feels too thick to breathe—soupy with tension and testosterone.

Beyond the moat, I hear the creak of wood and Jayk’s distant shouts to hold fire... so many friends who have my back. I can have theirs.

Defuse. I need to defuse this.

I need to go, like Alastair said.

It’s not trust. Maybe I will die if I walk into those woods—out of range of my brutes’ snipers and in among the snakes. Maybe I’ll become their hostage. Maybe something awful will happen.

But something awful will certainly happen if I stay.

And there are worse things than getting a glimpse behind enemy lines right now.

Especially if I can see Heather.

“I’ll do it,” I whisper, and Mateo’s shoulders loosen. I hide my frown and raise my voice. “I’d... I’d like to serve you all. It would be my pleasure.”

Jasper’s eyes press closed in defeat, his lashes a dark crescent against his cheekbones.

“Eden...” Dom starts tightly, but I turn to him, resting a hand on his arm.

“Please, sir, I want to do this,” I whisper. “ Trust me .”

He flinches, looking away, and his jaw clenches.

“Shit.” Bane smirks, the angry color riding his gleaming scalp beginning to calm. “ Sir . Now that’s fun.”

Dom’s arm is trembling under mine, and I ache for his restraint.

I won’t go if he refuses.

I won’t undermine him again... even if it kills me.

“Go, Eden,” Jasper says, his voice so sharp and clipped it slices me.

This hurts him too, but he knows better than most why I need to do this. And as his gaze lingers on Mateo, I know he sees it.

Because Jasper plays chess, too.

“Bring us back something good,” he murmurs.

Finally, Dom nods, and I breathe out a sigh of relief.

As Mateo leads me into the woods.