Page 31 of For Cowgirls and Kings (The Trauma Bonded #2)

TWENTY-FIVE

MATEO

I’m jolted awake. The hairs on my arms are at full attention, and sweat clings to my skin in sticky droplets. Fog covers the front windshield, crystals forming along the edges, and I can’t see a thing. When did I even fall asleep?

I look over my shoulder into the recesses of the van, noting Gus and Stetson on the back seat, Stetson’s face buried into Gus’s chest, his own eyes closed. He shifts slightly, and I flick my eyes away. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was actually awake, but just avoiding me. And I don’t blame him.

Everything’s so fucked up.

Faith’s curled into a ball in the middle seat, her normally perfect bun sitting like a crown on her head, frizzy and slumping to the side.

And it’s the sight of each of them—haggard but here—that nearly crushes me.

I’ve put each one of them in this position, especially Dale, and I don’t know how to fix it.

As silently as possible, I sit up in my seat, zipping my jacket, and move to open the door. I know the light and noise will likely wake everyone up, but I have to see what’s out there. Just to make sure.

Grabbing a flashlight in the cupholder, I press open the door.

“What is it?”

I halt, the door cracked open enough to signal the lights. I peek into the rearview mirror, finding exactly what I expected—a very wired and awake Gus. My throat feels achy and dry, and part of me wants to apologize, but now isn’t the right time.

“Uh, I have to pee.” It’s a lie, but I don’t want him to worry over nothing. My stomach has been in knots for days now, and even though this feels different, I know it’s probably not.

He grunts and leans back, pulling Stetson closer, but his eyes remain fixed on mine through the mirror. I’m the first to concede, pushing the door, and tiptoeing out. I pause, looking around. It’s still pitch black, and so quiet, the breath sawing in and out of my lungs sounds closer to a scream.

I can’t shake that crawling feeling against my neck, so I flick on my flashlight, and walk past the van. After a little while, I stop, listening.

“Do you hear that?” I nearly jump at the sound of McCrae’s voice, way too close for comfort, the familiar waft of cigarette smoke curling around me. I hate that he’s here—and so fucking close. And in the same breath, having him here somehow calms me too.

How can the same person who makes my skin crawl, give me a sense of safety? Like a devil in flesh, but wielding his evil on my behalf. Not good, but also not unwelcome.

Without responding, I step toward the blanket of darkness, straining my ears.

And that’s when I hear it: crunching, and heavy breathing. It could be an animal, but it’s cold, and dark, and even if I want to rationalize it, something tells me it’s not. I should have grabbed a gun.

I contemplate turning around and heading back to the van, but my body remains frozen—every cell straining and hyper-aware.

And then I hear it. I hear her.

“Mateo?” Her voice is hoarse, like she’s strained her vocal cords so thoroughly they’re raw and brittle. And in that singular use of my name, my heart detonates into a thousand tiny pieces.

I rush into the dark. “Dale?” I still can’t see her, but I can hear her—closer now than before. I keep moving as quickly as my legs will carry me toward the growing sounds of her labored breathing.

And then she materializes, like a flickering light in a dark room.

Her legs are bare, feet clad in enormous shoes, an oversized, holey hoodie wrapped around her shoulders.

Her face is black in more spots than it’s not, her left eye swollen over, lips cracked and bleeding.

Her long hair flies in a wave behind her, but even that I can see is matted with god knows what.

If I wasn’t so desperate to get to her, I’d fall on my knees and cry at the sight of her.

“Mateo, help me. They’re coming!”

In two more seconds she’s in my arms, her body crumpling, the fight leaving her body completely. She doesn’t cry, like I so desperately want to. She simply clings to me, her hands gripping my jacket so tightly I’m certain she could rip through it.

“Oh my god, Dale.” I brush the hair back from her face with shaky fingers. “Dale, baby, are you okay?”

“Boss.” McCrae’s gravely voice advances toward me, concern lacing his words. Even with Dale in my arms, unmoving, the crunching of grass and heavy breathing continues, and I realize we’re not alone.

They’re coming, she said. Who?

“Dale, who’s coming? How many are there?

” I hoist her into my arms, walking with heavy purpose to the van.

I want nothing more than to climb inside and take her away from here.

Protect her, soothe her, help her. But I know this has to end now.

They’re hot on her heels, and there’s no time to get out before they’re on top of us.

She quivers in my arms, her hands fisting my jacket. I fight the urge to shout for Gus or Stetson or Faith, but we might yet have the element of surprise on the pursuers. It might be the only advantage we have, seeing as we don’t know who or what they want.

“Marco.” Her teeth clatter. “Three.” It’s not much, but it’s enough.

I slide open the van side door, and Gus and Stetson instantly sit up, their faces a mix of confusion, relief, and devastation—something that I’m sure my own expression mirrors.

“Oh god.” Stetson scrambles over the middle seat, her hands tenderly brushing over Dale’s broken face. She trembles, a sob breaking from her lips, but she remains focused wholly on Dale.

And even though it guts me, I set her down, retreating from her nearly lifeless form. I look up, making eye contact with Gus. His eyes harden—sharpened black diamonds in the pale light of the van, and nods, just once.

He’ll protect them, no matter what.

I reach around the front seat, grabbing the pistol I kept concealed by the driver side. I don’t want to use it, but I’ll do what I have to, to protect those I love. Moving to close the van door, and find McCrae, I pause. “Where the hell’s Faith?”

Stetson freezes, her eyes widening. “She said she needed to pee. Oh god, what’s going on?” Her voice borders on hysterical, and Dale whimpers from her place curled on the seat. This can’t be happening.

“I’ll find her.” I slam the van door closed, whirling on my heel. I pause, straining to hear anything. There’s no longer movement that I can tell, but the overwhelming sense of being watched skitters over my skin. “Faith,” I whisper into the darkness, only to be met with eerie silence.

Where the hell did she go?

There’s a grunt to my left, followed by the scuffling of several feet. I advance in that direction, gun in hand, breath frozen in my lungs.

That’s when the first sound of a gun firing cuts through the night, followed closely by a second. I instantly drop to the ground, looking through the thick grasses, unsure of which way the shots came from.

Heavy thudding hits the ground, and I crawl back up, moving as quickly as I can in the direction of the scuffle once more. Breaking through the trees, I freeze as pale streaks of hair dance in the darkness, hovering over two large lumps on the ground.

“McCrae?” I hiss, and he whirls on me, gun drawn. It takes him several seconds, my hands in the air, for his to lower. Even from this distance, I can see his chest heaving. I move toward him, my own gun still firmly at my side, in case they move.

But as I get closer, even in the darkness, I can see the two perfect, inky holes through they’re skulls. My stomach turns at the sight—the sight of such violence nearly too much for me—but the guilt I expect never surfaces. Not after how Dale showed up, not after how they abused her.

And I don’t even know the extent of her injuries yet.

An unfamiliar wave of rage of courses, unchecked through my veins, and I raise my gun, pointing at the two men lifeless in the dirt.

My hand quivers for several seconds as I war with putting a second bullet in each of them, for Dale , before McCrae’s tattooed hand wraps around the barrel, pushing it back toward the ground.

“They’re gone, Boss.” His voice is hoarse with a hint of something I can’t identify. I stare at them for several more moments, before exhaling completely.

“What happened?” I ask.

“I saw someone head this direction, and I followed, but these two jumped me, and then—” He pauses, silence stretching so long I finally lift my eyes to his, eyebrows pressed together. His mouth snaps shut, his own eyes scrunching together in concentration. “I was able to get two shots fired off.”

I look back down at the men, and back at McCrae. “Two perfect shots straight through the head? They look like fucking sniper kills.” Not that I know anything about snipers.

He shrugs, dropping his hand around the barrel of my gun. “Lucky I guess.” But I know in my bones, this had nothing to do with luck.

Apparently, McCrae’s more deadly than I realized. Which should terrify me, but all I feel is relief.

We both whirl around as the sound of grass crunching, guns drawn. But I instantly drop it as Faith emerges, her hair loose around her face, eyes wide as she takes in the scene before her. I want to shield her from it, but relief pumps through me at seeing her safe.

“Faith, you’re okay.” I move forward, placing both hands on her shoulders, twisting her to look for any glaring injuries in the darkness.

She giggles, a chilling sound, before she shrugs off my hands. “Yeah, I’m okay. Are…” She leans around me, looking at McCrae and the men laying at his feet and I cringe. “Are you guys okay?”

“Yes, let’s go. Dale’s in the van. You don’t need to see this, and we need to get her to a hospital now that you’re back and these guys aren’t after her.”

She pauses, her eyebrows scrunching. “Was it just these two?” There’s no fear in her voice, only confusion. And then I remember Dale said three.

“Shit,” I hiss, moving back to McCrae. “Dale said there were three. Didn’t you say you saw someone and then these two jumped you? The third one is still out there.”

McCrae’s eyes flick to Faith for a second, a question I don’t understand written on his face, before he shifts his gaze to mine.

“I’ll clean this up, and look for the third. Get Dale and everyone out of here.”

A better person might feel bad leaving a lone man out here to fend for himself, and clean “this up,” whatever that means.

But I don’t. These men got better than they deserved in my opinion, and McCrae’s doing exactly what we hired him to do.

Even if I’ve never been brave enough to let this side out before.

I nod, motioning for Faith to follow me as I move back to the van.

I have to get Dale out of here. I have to make sure she’s safe.

Looking over my shoulder to make sure Faith is following, I spot a split second of her and McCrae locked in some kind of silent conversation, their eyes glued, before she severs the contact, moving to race ahead of me in the direction of Dale.

I watch McCrae’s face contort into a look of pride, before he sees me watching and it melts into indifference.

I don’t know what all that’s about, but something tells me, I still don’t have the answers to this puzzle, even though the most important piece is safely back—broken but alive. My Dale, alive but barely, running out of the impossible darkness, straight into my arms.