Page 5 of Kane

I have nothing to wield as a weapon except the water bottle, so I hold it in both hands, ready to hit him with it, or throw it at him.

“What’re you gonna do with the bottle, sweetheart?” He is amused, whoever he is.

There is a lilt to his voice, an accent. Not of the American South exactly, and I do not know of what.

“Leave me alone!” I cannot find him in the shadows, but he must be off to my right, coming from the deeper desert.

My heart slams in my throat, fear now at an all-time high. I am about to cry, and Ihatecrying in front of men.

“Hey, relax, darlin’. Just put the bottle down. You’re all right.” He’s closer, his voice at my ear.

I spin, bottle upside down, held in my hands by the neck. It impacts something, and is taken from me.

Something thick, warm, hard, and implacable wraps around my waist, both of my hands captured. I smellman—woodsmoke, deodorant, sweat…not the unpleasant oniony musk of body odor, but some kind ofcleansweat smell.

“Let me go!” I screech, wrestling away from him.

“Then quit tryin’ to bean me with the fuckin’ bottle.” He is behind me, and his voice comes from above my head, a low smooth growl. How a growl can be smooth, I do not know, but he manages it.

“Release me,” I snap, using the authoritative tone I give to Pappa’s men when they are annoying me. “Now.”

He does not. “Not gonna hurt you, sweetheart. I’ll let you go, but no tryin’ to smack me. Hear?”

“Let—me—go.”

His arm, curled around my belly like a too-tight seatbelt, loosens. “Lettin’ go. Hit me, you ain’t gonna like it.”

I believe him, whoever he is. “I will not hit you. Just please remove your hands from me this instant.”

“Bossy li’l thing, ain’tcha?” He laughs, amused by this, for some reason.

I turn in place, moving slowly, hands at my sides. I see the shape of him—he isenormous.His shoulders block out the stars. All I can see of his face in the darkness is white skin and blond beard—more of a yellowish hint than anything, in the dim, moonless light.

“Who are you?” I ask. “What do you want from me?”

“Name’s Kane. And what I want is to know where the fuck you think you’re goin’.”

“Mr. Kane. Where I am going is none of your business. And I would thank you to constrain your vulgarity.”

He just laughs. “Where you’re goin’ismy business, sweetheart. Because out here, you with a dead ride? I’m it for you, babe.”

“I do not know what you mean.”

“You know where you are?”

I shrug. “Outside Las Vegas, Nevada.”

“Sure. Where were you goin’?”

I shrug again. “Anywhere that isnotLas Vegas.”

A laugh from the very large man. “Babe. Way you were headed, ain’t shit but desert, more desert, and…guess what? Desert. For two hundred-plus fuckin’ miles.” I hear the grin in his voice, and it is amused, but not in a kind way. “You’re gonna walk two hundred miles, alone, dressed likethat, in the desert, at night?”

“Two…” I swallow. “Twohundredmiles?”

“Yeah, babe.”

“I am not your babe.”