Page 4 of My Secret Santa Mason

The crosshairs hovered over the hare’s eye, and I squeezed the trigger. The rifle barked, and the hare dropped, dead before it even knew what was happening.

Perfect shot.

Right through the eye, just like I wanted. It saved the most meat and kept the pelt clean so I could tan it and use it for whatever, no wasted effort. I moved over and picked it up, feeling the weight of it in my hands, still warm. This was the part I hated. Knowing that there had been life. Knowing I was thereason it had bled away. This little creature had been innocent and didn’t deserve the bullet in its head.

But I wasn’t hunting for fun or sport. This was about survival, about knowing I could still do what I needed to do when it mattered. Out here, there were no second chances.

I shook off the moment of weakness, not allowing myself to worry about the hare’s life. Out here, it was eat or be eaten. It was kill or be killed—I’d learned that a long time ago when I’d realized that even the men who should have had my back could drive a knife into it.

I strapped the hare to my pack and looked around, scanning the woods another time. If there was another one, I would have taken it out, but one hare was enough for now. I didn’t need that much food. I still had some dried meat to get me by.

Everything was still, quiet, but I never let my guard down. Old habits die hard, and in my line of work, they’d kept me alive. Even out here, far away from the places and people who’d tried to kill me, I still checked my six, still made sure I wasn’t being followed.

It was just safer that way. Rather be paranoid and alive than reckless and dead.

The walk back to the cabin was a slow, deliberate thing. I took different paths every time, doubled back once or twice, making sure I wasn’t leaving a trail. It was a lonely way to live, but I was used to it. Preferred it, even.

People were unpredictable.

Only a few could be trusted.

Being alone was safe, and out here, everything made sense.

I knew something was off the moment I rounded the last bend and saw my cabin. It was just a feeling—something in the way the snow was disturbed near the door, the faint impression of tracks leading off the path.

My mind snapped into old routines.

I shifted the rifle to my other hand, my fingers twitching as I checked my sidearm—a Glock 19, always kept loaded, safety off. Quietly, I moved toward the cabin, sticking close to the trees, keeping my profile low.

My heart was steady, my breathing rhythmic. Adrenaline pulsed through my body, but I knew how to keep a lid on it, how to control myself even though my body was ready for fight or flight.

When push came to shove, it would always be fight. Every. Fucking. Time.

I crept closer to the cabin, staying low to the house so that no one could see me through the small windows if they were looking out.

Carefully, I pushed the door open with the barrel of my rifle, stepping inside with a practiced motion, ready for anything.

Instead of trouble, I found Tanner sitting at my kitchen table, his boots kicked up, a steaming mug of coffee in his hand. He looked up at me, cool and unsurprised, despite the gun pointed at his face.

“Thought I’d stop by,” Tanner said, his voice gruff and casual, like he hadn’t just almost been shot. “Coffee’s shit, by the way.”

I lowered the rifle, feeling the tension bleed out of my shoulders, and snorted. “You know, you could call first. Or knock. Or just not show up unannounced.”

Tanner shrugged, setting the mug down. “Where’s the fun in that? Besides, you weren’t home. Knocking wouldn’t have done shit and since when do you carry your satellite phone with you?”

I shrugged and cocked a grin. “Fuck off.”

Tanner chuckled, knowing that I didn’t mean it literally. He put the cup down and pushed it away. “After all these years up here, I thought you might have gotten coffee down, at least.”

“Eh, you get used to it.” I put my pack down and pulled the hare from it, putting it down on the table.

Tanner glanced at the hare.

He was the one person I didn’t mind having around, even if he had a knack for showing up when I least expected it. Tanner was a lot like me—rough around the edges, a past that haunted him, and a preference for keeping to himself. He used to live up here, too. These days, he was playing happy families in town, but he had redeemable qualities.

I snorted inwardly at my stupid joke.

Tanner was always welcome, even if he’d decided to choose the domestic life. I was happy for him—he deserved to be happy and he’d talked about Rae since the day he’d arrived here. He’d had a past love, and that could eat at a guy.

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