Page 4 of Handcuffed By the Bounty Hunters

I’m not lying down on that cot, no way. There could be rats living in those blankets.

Instead, I take off my hoodie, which is basically soaked through at this point, and my long-sleeved shirt. My shoes and socks are next. I have an extra tank top in my backpack, and although the pack isn’t waterproof, the tank is only a little bit damp. I pull it on and wonder if I should take off my jeans. They’re damp, but I’m too cold to remove them.

“This is the worst night of your life, Penny,” I say aloud. “And if it doesn’t get worse than this, you’re fucking lucky, so suck it up and try to sleep.”

With that little pep talk, I lean against the dresser and close my eyes.

I don’t think I fell asleep—I’m in that in-between stage. But asleep or not, something disturbs me—a weight pushing against the door, causing the dresser to press hard into my back.

Fuck. Someone’s outside. And they’re trying to get in.

Cameron

We got a lead that our girl is in Grasshopper, a tiny mountain town a few hours away from San Esteban, so now here we are. Me and Stick-Up-His-Ass.

The thing is, I know he can let loose. I’ve seen him at Low Vice. He usually double-teams a woman with another guy—never the same people, so I don’t think he’s in any sort of committed relationship. They don’t usually leave the curtains open, but one time they did.

So I watched, of course, curious motherfucker that I am. He went about the scene with a level of seriousness that surprised me. The woman was bratty and caused Roark and the other guy all sorts of mischief, but Roark handled her with skill, punishing her, not allowing her to drive the scene but bringing it to a place where everyone would be happy. I found myself jealous. I’m dominant, too. And dominating a brat with someone like Roark would be hot.

Unfortunately he seems to barely tolerate working with me. I doubt he’d be open to finding a woman and fucking her together.

I don’t know who died and made Roark Willis the Supreme Emperor of No Fucking Fun Ever, but he seems to take the title seriously. As we travel up Grasshopper’s one big street, I put on music because a little punk rock never hurt anyone, and it’s the only playlist I have downloaded to my phone. Streaming, maps, everything else no longer works. We’re too far out in the middle of nowhere. People living around here must use a different service.

“Shut that shit off,” Roark says. “We have to be able to listen.”

“To fucking what? The sound of souls dying from overexposure to small-town life?”

“Cameron, I swear to god, if you don’t—hey, is that the convenience store that called her in?”

“Yeah.” I peer past our rain-spattered windshield to the tiny store in question. Oberon apparently posted a picture of Penny online, offering a hefty reward for information in a post that quickly went viral. The tactic doesn’t sit well with me, to be perfectly honest. But I guess all’s fair in love and corporate espionage.

Roark starts to drive toward the store, which is about a mile away, but I say, “Hold up. Something’s weird with this car.”

“Our car?”

“No.” I point to one parked haphazardly on the side of the road. “The door isn’t even closed all the way.”

“Maybe someone abandoned it.”

“Recently. Maybe our girl seduced someone, dragged him out to the woods to knock him out so she could come back for the car.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Roark scowls. “And what’s with calling her our girl? She’s a bounty, a target. Not our girl.”

I shrug. “Either way, let’s check this out.”

He looks like he wants to argue, but Ironwood hammers it into our heads that we should pay attention to our instincts, and my instincts are shouting at me to look at this car.

“Fine,” he says, pulling up behind the old sedan.

We climb out of our SUV. Rain immediately soaks through my t-shirt. Roark reaches into our back seat and pulls out a rain jacket.

“You’re prepared for anything, aren’t you?” I ask.

With a shrug, he says, “Just about.”

We walk up to the sedan. Roark sets a hand on the hood, then quickly pulls away. “Engine’s warm.”

“Right? So then where’s the owner?”

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