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CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

AMbrOSE

G od damn this fucking wind. It’s blowing in from the east, and I haven’t fired a long-range rifle in nearly two years. The last thing I want is to miscalculate and hit Mercy instead.

Fortunately, I get Sullivan in the leg.

I immediately jerk my sight over to Gunner, who snatches up the briefcase and dives into the car. Selfish fucker. I know Sullivan is still alive—even at this distance, I can hear his heartbeat. Hear Gunner’s, too. And Mercy’s, of course, although I can’t risk taking eyes off Gunner to make sure she’s gotten her hands free like we talked about. Her heart’s been racing since Gunner pulled up in that slick Escalade.

The Escalade that’s still sitting in the dirt. Sullivan must have the keys, and Gunner’s too much of a coward to dig them out.

I shoot twice: once through the tire and another into the engine. Then I fire a third shot through the driver’s side window. Gunner’s smart enough to keep his head down, I’ll give him that, but hopefully, the shattered glass will do some damage. Can’t smell it over Sullivan’s blood, though .

I need to get over there. Not just to finish it up for Mercy but because?—

Well, I want to. Haven’t had a proper hunt in ages.

I sling the rifle over my shoulder, grab my hunting knife, and whistle for the dogs to stay. They both whine in protest, especially Max—he can tell Mercy’s in trouble.

“Let me handle it now,” I tell them. “If I need backup, I’ll call.”

Then I duck out of the blind and run as fast I can over the open desert. Black spots swirl overhead; the buzzards are already here, waiting for death. Even after me and the dogs take our fill, they’ll have plenty to eat.

I put out my senses, taking stock of the situation. Sullivan’s suffering. Gunner feels like he might be running. And Mercy?—

Mercy’s getting closer. I can smell her fear, rich and sweet and sharper than I expected. She knows I’m not gonna hurt her. But I realize death is a hard thing for a human to witness.

Sun glints off the Escalade’s metal, a flash on the horizon. But two dark figures are surging toward me. One’s Mercy.

And the other’s Gunner, in pursuit. Motherfucker. No wonder she’s scared.

“Ambrose!” she screams, her voice lifted by that damnable wind. “He’s after me!”

“I’m coming, baby,” I mutter, pumping my legs harder, gun bouncing against my hip. I clutch the knife and surge forward, moving faster than a human can, the landscape blurring around me. All my focus is on Mercy: her blonde hair streaming out behind her red, panicked face. The sound of her racing heart. The scent of fear. Her tears.

“Ambrose!” she screams, and then I’m on her, grabbing her by the waist and throwing her behind me.

Gunner shouts when he sees me and stumbles to a stop, sweat pouring off his brow.

“Hello, Reverend,” I say with a smile .

He yelps in fear and stumbles backward, kicking up dirt. He’s got his eyes on my knife, and I don’t blame him. “I’ve got your money,” he says, lifting his hands in surrender. “Back at the car. You didn’t need to shoot Henry.”

“You’re right.” I stalk toward him, twisting my blade back and forth so the light dances in the sunlight. “I was actually aiming at you, Reverend.”

Gunner’s eyes widen in fear, and then he turns and takes off the way he came. His breaths are thunderously loud, louder even than Sullivan’s whimpers of pain.

I flip my knife around and catch it by the blade. Close my eyes to feel the wind. It’s slowing down. Fucking finally.

“Not yet, asshole,” I mutter, throwing the blade with a precision I learned decades ago. It flashes like a camera and embeds in Gunner’s back with a satisfyingly wet thud.

I breathe out, pleased with myself. Hard part’s done. Now the fun can really begin.

“A-ambrose?”

Mercy’s voice is small and terrified and I cringe with a little burst of guilt—I’d been so caught up in the hunt I nearly forgot she was there, watching me. I turn around to find her standing with her arms wrapped around her chest, her whole body shaking, tears turning the desert dust to mud on her face.

“Oh, fuck, Mercy. He didn’t hurt you, did he?” She’s not bleeding, I can smell that much, but he might have done something else. To my relief, though, she shakes her head.

“There was so much blood,” she whispers. “When you shot?—”

“I know.” I draw her close to me, half-expecting her to pull away. She doesn’t, though. In fact, she buries her face in my neck.

“I was afraid they were going to come untie me,” she sobs. “I thought you had left me. They were just standing there and nothing happened. And then when Pastor Sullivan—” She chokes, takes a deep breath. “I got out of the ropes but Reverend Gunner came out when you shot up the car and he started screaming that he was going to kill me?—“

“No one’s going to kill you.” I rock her back and forth and smooth my hand over her hair. “Because the only one doing any killing here is me.”

Mercy shudders at that, and I pull away and look down at her, searching her tear-streaked face. I want to torture both of these men for hours. I want to set them free so I watch while the dogs hunt them down. I want to languish in their screams. But I also don’t want to see Mercy cry.

“I need to finish them,” I say softly, wiping her tears away with my thumb. “I’ll do it quick if you want. Then it’ll be over, okay?”

I can’t believe I’m fucking saying this. Can’t believe I’m saying it to a human woman, of all people. But it’s not just any human. It’s Mercy . My Mercy.

“Th-thank you,” she stammers. “I’m sorry, it’s just—it’s too much. It’s?—“

“Shh.” I pull her into me one last time. “I know. But it’ll all be over soon. I promise.”

She nods against me and then steps back, wiping her tears with her hands.

“You don’t have to watch if you don’t want to,” I tell her. “If you keep going that way—“ I tilt my head to the left. “You’ll see the blind I’ve got set up. Looks like an old shed. The dogs are there. You can wait with them.” I don’t mention my full arsenal of weapons will be in there with her. Don’t want her thinking about what I planned to do with them all.

But she shakes her head. “I don’t want to be alone. Even with the dogs.”

“Well, then.” I smile at her, trying to be reassuring, but the wind shifts and I get a hot whiff of blood, and it makes my eyes water and my cock ache. “Then you’re gonna need to be brave for me.”

Mercy stares at me with a hot fire in her eyes. And that makes my cock ache, too. “I know how to be brave.”

“Good girl.” I grab her hand and braid our fingers together. “Then you can watch me work.”

She shudders at that, but when I pull her forward, she comes with me. I’m vaguely aware of her storming emotions, but I set them aside for the time being to focus on my two kills.

We hit a blood trail first, bright red splatters against the dirt. “Looks like Sterling thinks he can escape.” I drop Mercy’s hand to bring the gunsight up to my eye, and I take a look at the kill site. Sure enough, there’s Gunner, stumbling toward the car, my knife sticking out of his back. Sullivan’s slumped on the ground, passed out from shock or blood loss or both. Not dead, though.

I whistle for the dogs, the sound tearing across the desert.

“Is he getting away?” Mercy asks quietly.

“No.” I drop the gun and stalk forward, the wind pushing my hair back from my face. Mercy follows behind me, and although I thought she might be distracting, I find that I like it, having an audience. I like the musk of her fear, the way it layers over the musk of Gunner’s and Sullivan’s blood.

I just hope she can handle seeing me at my best.

“Sterling!” My voice rings out into the wind. The shift in his body is palpable, and I grin and run my tongue over my teeth. “Don’t even fucking think about running.”

His head pops up, wild and frantic, and when his gaze lands on me, his fear becomes overwhelming, drowning out even Mercy’s sweet scent. Of course, he doesn’t listen and tries to take off running in a sloppy, stumbling lope. My knife is still sticking out of his shoulder blade, and the blood waterfalls down his back, splattering across the dirt. He doesn’t know he’s leaving a trail for Max and Roxi to track him down .

“I told you not to run!” I shout at him, which just spikes his terror. It also makes him look back at me again—which means he’s not looking where he’s going, and his foot catches on some loose rocks and he goes sprawling across the dirt.

“Told you!” I taunt him, laughing. Gunner desperately tries to get away, but he’s in too much of a panic. Probably in too much pain, as well.

Footsteps patter behind me, along with a pair of panting breaths. The dogs are here, hackles raised and ready to hunt. They fall into step beside me, and by the time the three of us reach the meeting point, Gunner’s still scrabbling around in the dirt, sobbing in terror.

“Why?” he gasps when I approach, his eyes glazed over. “Why are you doing this? I brought the money like you asked!”

I don’t answer him, just tower over him with one hand on my rifle butt. Max and Roxi step out from behind me, growling and baring their teeth. He yelps and tries to drag away.

“Why?” he asks again, gaze flicking from the dogs up to me—and then past me, at Mercy. My good mood is swallowed by a sudden flare of rage. I kick him square in the chest, hard enough that he slams down on his back, howling as the knife jams up to the hilt. Fortunately, it was on the right side, not the left. I’m not sure if it missed his lung, though.

Gunner keeps screaming, arching his back up, smearing blood everywhere. The dogs wait for my orders, both of them slavering for meat. “Hold,” I tell them.

Then I leap onto Gunner, pinning him down by the throat and pressing my knee into his belly. He goes rigid beneath me, blood-flecked spit bubbling up between his lips.

Yeah, I definitely nicked his lungs.

“Why?” he whispers.

I look away from him. To Mercy.

She stands a few feet away, her arms in fists by her side.

And she’s not afraid anymore .

“Her?” he sputters, and then he laughs a little. “She did what all women should do. Marry a good man. Keep a clean house. All she needed was the bab?—”

I squeeze his throat tight enough that the words strangle in his mouth, and he flops beneath me, trying to grab at my wrists. He’s got fight in him, I’ll give him that.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” I say, leaning close to him, my hair hanging in damp curls between us. “I need to field dress Sullivan over there?—”

Gunner panics, but I grind my whole weight into him.

“Listen,” I snarl, tightening my grip on his throat again. I can feel Mercy behind me, watching this, her emotions flat. She’s not scared. She’s not pleased. But she accepts it. “I’m going to field dress Sullivan. Won’t take me long. Once he’s draining out at my blind, I’ll come for you.”

I let go of his throat and grin down at him. Gunner trembles, his eyes wide, his breath shallow.

“Think you can escape, Reverend? I’ll even let you have a head start before I send my dogs after you.”

On cue, Roxi starts to growl.

“Demon!” he shouts, but I just grin wider.

“I suppose I am,” I say. “My question still stands.”

I jump off him, landing deftly on my feet, and Gunner immediately scrambles up, his limbs shaking and his torso covered in blood. He’s not going to bleed out anytime soon, but there’s also no way in hell he’s going to get to safety.

Gunner’s gaze flicks over to Mercy again.

“Don’t look at her!” I roar, and his flinch is immediate and satisfying. Tears shine in his eyes. Good.

“Run, Reverend.” I swing my gun around and point it at his chest. He looks at the barrel. A tear falls.

I notch a bullet into place. Gunner cries out and stumbles backward.

“Go!” I shout as he turns and starts his escape in earnest, loping awkwardly over the desert. Every system in his body is lit up in panic. Tracking him will hardly be a challenge—I doubt I’ll even need the dogs. But it’ll scratch the itch.

I whistle the stay command to Max and Roxi. They both sit back on their haunches, even though I can tell they want to start the chase.

There’s a sharp intake of breath behind me. A hot flash of anger.

“Why you’d let him go?”

I turn. Mercy stares at me, her expression imploring. Furious. I want to fuck the rage out of her, but we don’t have time.

“I didn’t.” I stroll up to her and cup her face, leaving smears of Gunner’s blood on her cheeks. “He thinks I did, but I didn’t.”

Mercy stares up at me. Her eyes are dry. “If he gets back to the church?—”

“He won’t.” I kiss her, sweetly, to scratch that itch. “Trust me, darling. I’ve been doing this for two hundred years.”

Then I pull out my gutting knife and get to work on Sullivan.