Page 7 of The Wrong Drive

Quickly, I check the doors and see they’re unlocked. I know Gunner will keep pressure on her, giving me a chance to check this out. I rip the door open and spot the bags in the backseat. Looks like she’s going somewhere.

Home for the holidays?

My stomach rolls.Fuck that.I slam the door shut and hear a yelp somewhere out in the woods. I grunt out a low laugh,wondering if she mistook it for more gunfire. Lucky for her, I don’t waste ammo. Not usually, anyway.

Sometimes, I can’t stop once I start.

I make my way to the back of the truck, my rifle still in a ready position. I check the license plate.Oklahoma.“You’re a long way from home,” I say under my breath. More thunder cracks overhead, and I know I should be checking the weather radio. When I went into town for supplies, they said we might get snowed in for a few weeks. That didn’t matter to me. I only go to town once a month, if I have to. I can’t handle the crowds.

Actually, I can’t handleanyone.

Gunner’s bark cuts through the howling winds, and this time, it’s choppier, letting me know he’s waiting for me. Target has been cornered.

I raise my rifle in the direction and stealthily cross the terrain, my boots crunching quietly in the snow. I’m covered by the wind. It’s blowing north, northeast, gusting up to fifty miles per hour. She won’t hear me as long as I continue the way I’m going.

And then what do I do?

My lip twitches as I conjure up possible scenarios. I could shoot upon arrival, or I guess I could interrogate, have a little fun… I follow the sound of Gunner’s bays, keeping my wits about me for the moment.Or maybe I should just let her go?I mull it over, knowing the odds aren’t in her favor.

No one’s ever made it out of here alive.

My muscles tense as I catch sight of Gunner, his body mirroring that of my own. He understands the drill of a good hunt, and his excitement drums up mine. I skirt along the trees, unbothered as the weather continues to worsen. My eyes lock onto my target, and I’m unsurprised by her lack of winter clothing.

She’s from the south, after all.

Her green eyes widen as she spots me, her back up against one of the old pine trees. Her hand is still bleeding, and the sight makes me feel…nothing.“I…I…” Her voice is meek, fragile.

I glare at her, but I can’t find the words as I take in the damp hair sticking to her face, the shitty cheap coat, and her soaked denim. She won’t last two hours out here.

I’ll put her out of her misery.

I raise the rifle, and her teeth audibly chatter as she wraps her arms around herself. The absolute terror in her eyes suddenly help me find my voice. She’s so fragile, I have to pry.

“Why are you here?” The gravel in my tone booms as my gaze bores into hers.

“I…” Her lips are tainted a light shade of blue. I was wrong. She might not last the hour. “I was trying to… I thought this was…”

“Speak in full sentences,” I bark, taking a step toward her. She winces. My finger is on the trigger now, reminding me of my old nickname.

‘Get ‘em, Trigger.’I hear Bradford’s voice in my head, his hand on my shoulder. Those were the good days. Before I broke. Before everything in my life went to hell in a hand basket.

“I was supposed to be staying with my boyfriend for the holidays at his c-c-cabin,” she begins. “And my GPS went to shit. He said a black gate, and I thought this was it, and I got stuck. He said he’ll pick me up if I tell him where I am.”

Alarms sound in my head. “He’s on his wayhere?”

She gets this confused look on her face. “I don’t know.”

I think back to the truck. It can’t be seen from the road where it sits. “Does he have this location?”

“I don’t know.” She lets out a defeated sigh, and in the moment, a tear slips down her cheek. I’m not sure there’s anything particularly special about her. I don’t really care abouther as anything other than a warm body. But Idocare if I’m going to have more visitors.

So, I repeat myself. “Does he know where you are?”

She meets my gaze again, and immediately, I sense she’s considering the idea of lying. And in her defense, the smart thing to do in this situation would be to lie. If someone knows where she is, that typicallywouldincrease her chance of surviving this situation.

But I’m physically capable of digging two graves—if I even bother with it.

“He doesn’t know,” I answer for her.

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