Page 28 of Nave (Henchmen MC: Next Generation #14)

He was expecting the girl I used to be.

But I wasn’t her anymore.

And I was never going back.

I ducked before I could think it through.

My hand closed around the apple, finding it wet and gritty from rot and dirt.

A part of me would have recoiled once.

This new me gripped it harder as I stood, cocked back, and sent it sailing.

It whacked hard at the center of his chest, leaving a dirty spot right there on his perfect shirt.

His gloved hand went up instinctively, wiping frantically at the spot. He only accomplished making the stain spread, dragging a frustrated grunt out of him.

I might not have been the same.

But Ben was.

And I wondered how well I could use the general filth all around us against him. How far would I have to push him before he flipped, focusing on the dirt more than me, giving me a chance to flee?

With him distracted, I turned and ran.

My pulse rattled so hard I thought I might pass flat-out.

But I didn’t have that luxury.

I had to get away.

I had to get to safety.

I had to call the police, call Nave, call someone.

My shoes slipped in damp soil as I ran.

I heard footsteps behind me, and I carefully swung my leg out, then back, scraping the ground and sending the mud flying.

The disgusted growl that escaped Ben told me I at least got some of it on him as I charged forward, ducking between the rows of trees.

“Stop this,” Ben barked.

Was he gaining on me? I swore I could feel his breath on my neck. Was that real, or just my worst imaginings playing tricks on me?

I didn’t know.

I just had to keep going.

“This isn’t good for the baby.”

Ice sleeked through me.

He knew.

Of course he knew .

This was a man who could hack any camera, who could watch people without them realizing. There was no way to hide anything from him if he was looking.

“Not that it matters,” he added. That time, I could hear him gaining on me. “You’re not keeping it.”

Fury detonated in my chest.

He’d taken everything from me once.

I’d be damned if he did it again.

His fingertips—grippy and rubbery from the gloves—closed around my upper arm.

There was a second of panic, of defeat. So strong I nearly stayed planted.

But, no.

It wasn’t over.

I wasn’t screwed.

I had the home-field advantage.

I knew where I was going.

He didn’t.

Especially not in the dark.

I yanked away hard enough to make both of us stumble. Ben whacked back into a tree. I used the momentum to propel me forward out of the orchard.

He wasn’t far behind as I rushed past the rows of carefully sewn fields, pivoting over toward the back of the pig pen.

But before my hand could reach toward the compost pile—teeming with dirt, with rotting food, with crap, with bugs—a hand crushed my wrist, jerking me off balance. Pain shot all the way up my arm, making me cry out as I staggered backward to ease the ache.

It moved me closer to Ben, though.

And the closeness to him had my belly flipping over, had bile rising up my throat.

He yanked my hand up, nearly pressing me against his chest.

“You’re coming back with me. And you’re going to forget all about this little attempt at freedom.”

He was deranged.

Well, I could be just as crazy.

I whipped around, ignoring the jolt of pain through my wrist as I reached toward the compost with my free hand, ignoring the way my own instincts recoiled at the filth that was coating my skin, was wedging under my fingernails.

It didn’t matter.

I could get clean again.

If he got me back to the glass house, I would never get free again.

I whipped back around, lifting my hand, and smearing the reeking compost down Ben’s face.

A roar escaped him as he released me to lift his shirt, trying to get the mess off of him.

My heart lurched, half triumph, half horror.

But I knew how his mind worked.

He would never feel clean again.

He would feel the rot and bugs and shit all over his face for the rest of his life.

I was riding high on that knowledge as I turned and ran again.

But there were obstacles all around here, remnants of the farm stand build that the girls had been working on strewn about, making me slow so I didn’t trip.

My hand shot out toward the items sitting on top of a piece of plywood set on sawhorses.

My fingers tightened around the handle of the screwdriver, wondering if I would have it in me to drive it through flesh, through an eyeball.

I thought of the glass house.

I thought of never seeing Nave again.

I thought of the baby Ben would take from me.

And I knew I would do whatever was necessary.

I flew forward when I heard Ben behind me. He was driven by disgust and anger, I was sure, would want me to pay for what he’d done.

I’d just curved around the pig run to the main path back toward the houses.

When a foot kicked out, colliding with the back of my knee, sending me flying forward.

The screwdriver flew out of my hand as I threw out my arms, bracing for the fall, my heart shooting up into my throat at the thought of the impact, of the damage.

I landed on all fours, the pain from my already aching wrist intensifying, making tears spring to my eyes even as I scrambled forward, trying to get away.

But he was there, his hands reaching out, grabbing for me.

I whipped over, dragging my knees to my chest and kicking out with everything in me.

He was too far gone to care about the marks on his shirt.

He was animalistic in his fury.

Well, I could be feral too.

My arm arched upward, feeling around in the dirt as Ben came over me, reaching toward my neck.

To do what?

Suffocate me into unconsciousness, so he could easily carry me away?

Like hell.

His fingers tightened around my throat as my fingers finally found the handle of the screwdriver.

But before I could swing it inward toward Ben’s throat, a shot rang out, loud enough to make me jolt, to make the birds lift from the trees, to make nearby dogs start barking.

A spray of something hot and liquid smeared across my face.

I looked up in horror to see the source.

A hole in the center of Ben’s head.

My stomach lurched, bile rising, as Ben’s body wavered, then fell forward.

I scrambled to the side, a scream caught in my throat, to avoid his weight coming down on me.

I was aware of footsteps.

And I don’t think my brain was firing on all cylinders right then, because I had no idea who to expect.

But it was Kit standing there, a gun held between both outstretched arms.

Her silky black nightgown danced around her in the breeze as she moved to my side.

Her leg shot out, kicking Ben’s body until he rolled onto his back, staring unblinkingly at the night sky.

Kit watched him for one long moment, gaze on his chest, looking for any signs of life.

Satisfied when she didn’t see any, she looked at me instead.

“You okay? Are you hurt?”

“You shot him,” I said, dumbly.

“Slightly less labor-intensive than shoving a screwdriver into his carotid,” she said, giving me a small smile despite the situation.

“He’s dead?” I asked. “You’re sure?”

“He’s not getting up, but if you’d like to shoot him a few more time, for funsies, I can loan you my gun.”

Free—finally, completely—it all came rushing back.

The fear, the struggle, the pain.

My entire body started to shake violently.

“Okay. It’s okay,” Kit cooed at me. “Come on. Let’s get you up, okay?” She reached for my hand before I could stop her and the slightest touch had me crying out in pain. “Fuck. Alright. Here,” she reached toward the other hand instead, slowly pulling until I was sitting upright.

My insides felt like they were rattling around, but I managed to get myself to my feet.

Kit’s arm slid around my waist, silently walking me away from Ben’s body.

“How did you…” I started.

“Edith,” she said, giving me a squeeze. “She came scratching at my door and shrieking like a banshee. I knew something was wrong.”

And she came to rescue me.

She’d killed for me.

We were just nearing the clearing by the houses when the rumbles of motorcycles grew louder and louder.

Headlights cut through the night air.

Then the engine cut, and Nave was running toward me, his face a mix of tension and relief.

“Don’t touch her left wrist,” Kit warned as Nave pulled me against his chest, his arms wrapping me up tight.

“It’s okay,” Nave murmured.

And, finally, it was.