Page 49 of Wrecked for Love (Buffaloberry Hill #1)

With a hissed curse, Hank disappeared and returned a minute later, holding a pair of bolt cutters. “You better pray I don’t take your whole damn leg off with this.”

“Just cut.”

Shaking his head, he knelt beside me. “This is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” I said dryly.

Hank positioned the cutters and clamped down. The pressure sent a dull shockwave up my leg, but I gritted my teeth and stayed still. He worked section by section, breaking through the hardened plaster like he was snipping through fencing wire.

“Lucky for you, I know what the hell I’m doing,” Hank grumbled as he pried off another piece.

“Debatable.”

He shot me a look but kept going, sweat beading at his temple. After a few more snips and some careful prying, the cast finally came apart, crumbling like a busted fence post.

Hank sat back, exhaling hard. “All right. It’s off. Happy now?”

I flexed my foot, wincing. “Your old ankle brace—the one from your legendary rodeo comeback. Tell me you still have it.”

Hank’s brows pulled together. “Hey! I didn’t do too badly. Just landed wrong.”

“Yeah. Would’ve gone better if you’d aimed for your ass instead of your ankle. Now go get it, Hank.” I had no doubt he still had it. He wasn’t the type to let go of things—practical ones, sentimental ones, and especially reminders of the times he should’ve known better.

With an exaggerated sigh, he fetched the brace. It was frayed, stained, and had seen better days. I didn’t want to know what was still stuck to it, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Hank knelt and strapped it on.

“I need your boots,” I added.

His stare could’ve burned a hole through me. “Seriously?”

“Your shoes are two sizes too big. My braced foot will fit, and I’ll double up socks on the other.”

Muttering something about stubborn fools and bad decisions, Hank shoved his boots toward me.

I slid them on, inhaled through the pain, and stood. The pressure on my leg was sharp, but I could walk. It was enough.

Hank stood back, watching me. “Well, I’ll be damned. You actually look like a regular man again. Just one who’s gonna collapse any second.”

I managed a smirk. “That’s the trick, Hank. I only need to make it look like I can keep going.”

He eyed me warily. “Let’s hope you don’t have to prove it.”

I pushed forward, striding toward the front door and ignoring the steady shocks of pain through my leg. “Did they find my truck?” I asked.

“Yeah…it’s, uh…” he trailed off, fumbling for words like he was trying to piece together some advice he knew damn well I wasn’t going to take. “I’ll get it.”

He fetched my truck and brought it around, coming to a stop right in front of the porch.

“Hank, keys.” I held out my hand.

“Let me come with you,” he pleaded.

“No. You stay the hell away from this,” I said sharply.

“Dammit, El! You’re gonna get yourself killed,” he muttered, frustration bleeding through every word. But his eyes told me everything I needed to know. He knew there was no stopping me now.

I stepped closer and put a hand on his shoulder, trying to ease the tension. “Can I trust you?” I asked.

“Of course!” he shot back, sounding almost insulted.

“Then don’t tell anyone,” I repeated. My look made it clear—this wasn’t just a request. It was about survival.

Reluctantly, Hank handed over the keys, and I wasted no time hopping into the driver’s seat. My leg screamed, but by now, I’d gotten used to its cries. I gripped the steering wheel, focusing on what had to be done. I had to start with the only lead I had—the intel from that boy, Daniel.

That kid had been a godsend, though he was just a mule for Lucien’s notes to me.

He must’ve been scared out of his mind and backed into a corner with no choice but to run their dirty errands.

Daniel had seen Armand Voss tucked away at a secret house.

The bastard was far from mobile now, stuck in that damn wheelchair. He needed round-the-clock care.

The Vosses had always been careful. But Armand? I’d stake everything on the fact that he wasn’t straying far from the comfort of home and certainly not tagging along like some entourage or welcoming committee for The Revenants.

I followed the map Daniel had sketched. People said he was a bit slow, but his sharp memory captured every detail. He’d done well biking these winding roads while I clenched my teeth with every turn.

The destination couldn’t come fast enough—the two ponderosa pines, the green metal fence, and the looming, dark house.

I stepped out of the truck. This gamble—this one shot—was all I had left.

And it paid off.

“On your knees!” I barked the order as soon as I burst inside. Fritzy, spoon in hand, had been feeding Armand.

“Mr. Lucas…I’m so sorry,” Fritzy stammered. “They threatened to kill me. I had no choice.”

I wasn’t buying a word of it!

“Where’s Claire?” My voice was a growl full of barely controlled fury.

“I don’t know, man!” Fritzy’s panic rose, and in an instant, he shoved Armand’s wheelchair toward me and bolted.

My body was still on fire, but I wasn’t going to let him slip away. I sidestepped Armand’s wheelchair, every muscle hurting like a motherfucker. But I forced myself forward and chased after Fritzy. He was fast, too far ahead, but I wasn’t planning on catching him with my legs.

I yanked out my Glock, took aim, and fired. The bullet caught him in the thigh, sending him crashing to the floor with a cry of pain.

I hobbled toward him and pressed the Glock’s barrel against his temple. His breath hitched, and so did mine.

“Now tell me where she is.” My voice was cold, edged with a threat that couldn’t be ignored.

“I don’t know where they are,” Fritzy gasped, desperation creeping into his words. “I was just paid to mess with your farm and take her. That’s it, I swear!”

“Are you sure?” I pressed the Glock harder against his temple, cocking it.

“Yes! I won’t lie to you, man. My only job now is to look after Little Vossy, nothing more. They don’t tell me anything.”

“You must’ve heard something!”

“I don’t know where they are,” Fritzy stammered, but his eyes darted, his mind racing—for his own sake, I hoped. Then, with a sharp breath, he caved. “Listen, man. Lucien…he mentioned meeting someone named Gideon in Great Falls.”

“Where in Great Falls?”

“I don’t know!”

“You’re lying!” I released another fire, lodging a bullet in his knee.

He screamed, the pain and panic finally breaking him. “No, no, please! The Vosses have a property there. They call it Powerhouse. It’s on the outskirts of Great Falls, near Giant Springs.”

I released him, stood up, and turned to find Armand Voss looking pitiful as he fumbled with the lever of his electric wheelchair.

His face drooped, and it was clear his body was useless from the waist down.

The bastard. Let him live like that, trapped in that chair for as long as possible, thinking about what he’d done to Tessa and what he’d tried to do to Claire.

He was getting a taste of his own medicine now, and I hoped he choked on it for the rest of his miserable life.

Right now, I only had one mission—Claire.