Page 83 of Rock Bottom

Nothing to lose? My stomach turned. He couldn’t mean… No. Dante was alive. He had to be. I couldn’t believe anything less. I wouldn’t.

I swallowed my fear that the worst had already happened. “Where’s Dante, Oscar? He’s all we want.”

There was a beat of silence before Oscar let out a choked sob. “All I wanted was for us to be together. I never wanted to hurt him. I never wanted this…”

I lifted my head from the dirt and a chill went through me as I watched Oscar put the gun to his head. I shot to my feet and screamed for him to stop. If he shot himself, we’d never find Dante, but I was too far away to stop him, even if I ran at full speed up that hill.

Lightning flashed. Behind the growl of thunder booming through the sky above came the gallop of hooves in the dirt. Wattson appeared on the opposite ridge next to Oscar. The horse reared. The gun went off and Oscar stumbled back a step, but I couldn’t tell which had happened first until I reached the top of the hill. By then, Wattson had already dismounted. Oscar was bleeding from the side of his head, and he was dazed, but he was still alive. He blinked when he saw me and rolled, reaching for the gun he’d dropped.

I stomped my foot down on his wrist, pinning it in place. “Where is he?”

“Fuck you!” He tried wildly to pull his arm free, but I was too heavy, and he couldn’t swing his other arm over far enough.

Wattson grabbed the gun from where it fell and stepped back.

“Nice moves, doc,” Bowie offered as he took the gun from Wattson.

I lifted my foot and Bowie helped me haul Oscar up. He howled in pain as we twisted his arms behind his back, tying them in place with a zip tie. The one I’d been standing on was broken, but I didn’t give a damn. We needed to find out what he’d done to Dante.

As soon as he was secure, I grabbed him away from Bowie and shook him hard. “Where is he? Where is Dante?”

Oscar just hung his head and shook it. “I invoke the fifth amendment!”

“Nice try, fuckwit!” I slammed his back into a nearby tree trunk, making him hiss in pain. “I don’t give a bloody rat’s arse about the damn American constitution. You’re going to tell me where he is and what you’ve done or I’m going to start breaking pieces of you off. Do you understand me? Now where is he?”

Wattson grabbed my shoulder. “Look at him, Church. He’s soaked.”

“Of course he is. It’s raining.”

“He’s right,” Bowie added. “We’re all wet, but the trees have kept a lot of it off of us. His jeans are so soaked, they’re practically falling off of him, and he’s lost his shoes. He’s been somewhere else.”

I grabbed Oscar by the hair and yanked his head back. “Where did you take him?”

Oscar gritted his teeth. “You’ll never find him. He’s gone.”

I couldn’t think. I couldn’t even breathe. All I knew was that this monster had done something to Dante and that if he didn’t talk, I’d never see him again. No more of his teasing, or his crooked smiles. No more soft songs played just for me. No more tea with pleasant company or any of his constant overblown flattery when it came to my cooking. I’d never hear his laugh again, or that exasperated sigh. He’d be gone forever, and I wouldn’t even have a body to mourn.

Before I knew what I was doing, I had my hand around Oscar’s throat and I was screaming in his face. “Tell me where he is! Tell me, dammit!”

It took both Bowie and Wattson to pull me off of Oscar, and by that time, his face was blue. Oscar collapsed, gasping in the mud while my brothers in arms held me back.

“You’ll never get anything from him if he’s dead, Christian!” Wattson shouted, stepping between us.

I glared past him at where Oscar was sputtering in the mud. He was right, but that didn’t make me want to murder Oscar any less. You’re wasting time, Church. Finding Dante is more important than killing Oscar. Think. There has to be another way.

I blew out a breath, trying to calm myself, and turned to Wattson. “You call back to base camp and see if they’ve found anything useful on Dante’s phone. Bowie, take the dogs and scout ahead, see if there’s any cabins or caves nearby where they might’ve taken shelter.”

Wattson nodded and stepped away, bringing the satellite phone to his ear.

Bowie was a little more hesitant. He put his hands on his hips and frowned at me. “You sure you can handle him by yourself?”

I gave Oscar a hard glare. “I can handle him.”

Bowie nodded and held my gun out to me. “Just in case he gets any stupid ideas about running.”

While Bowie found his horse and Wattson called back to the base camp, I checked Oscar’s restraints. Part of me wanted to go with Bowie to find Dante, but there was also a part of me that was afraid of what we might find. The image of Dante lying dead at the bottom of a ravine kept flashing through my mind, haunting me.

Trixie trotted off after Bowie, but Morticia had stayed with me. She circled Oscar, ears back, emitting a low growl every time he moved.

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