Page 24 of The Butcher

Especially in the middle of a two-month long blizzard that only now has dropped to heavy snow.

Our town is a mountain town, set weirdly deep against the Appalachians, hidden by the forests and wildlife, and somewindy uphill roads that suck to navigate on a good day let alone in the elements unless you’re used to them.

I’d almost guarantee this truck is not.

Neither of us recognizes it, we know all the vehicles and who they belong to.

Obsidian is too small not to know everything about everyone, and getting a new vehicle, used or not, is a big deal. We would notice that.

I would notice that, and since I don’t know who the fuck this is, I’m gonna make sure they know me.

I’m not entirely sure why they’d even consider venturing that way.

The snow is gradually letting up but if I weren’t familiar with the terrain, I can’t say I’d be taking any risks right now. Plus, it’s two in the goddamn morning. Who the fuck goes sightseeing at this time of night?

“Butch,” Zeke warns as I pick up speed. “Don’t, man.”

Ignoring him, I get right on the dark colored Ford’s ass, mentally making note of the plate while trying to burn the details into my mind.

Black on black, matte, lifted. Chains on the tires. All the windows are tinted to an illegal shade. Trailer hitch, mud flaps. Looks like the bed is weighted.

Yeah, this fucker isn’t from around here and I need to know where the hell he thinks he’s going.

I speed up a little more, my own Ford getting so close my grill is about to kiss this guy’s bumper. Something he notices judging by the way he picks up the pace, his tires spinning in the snow and kicking up a mess.

“Dude, knock it off. No one is gonna come all the way out here to pull us out of a ditch because you decided to play town sheriff in the middle of the fucking night.”

Scowling, I slow down a little as the truck goes past our turn, but I don’t stop following.

It’s too easy to find a back road around to double back here.

“Jesus,” Zeke huffs. “You are a special kind of dickhead tonight.”

Shooting my brother a quick look, I go back to the truck ahead of us. “You don’t think it’s fucking weird that there’s some asshole lurking around this close to town right now?”

“Considering this is as close to a main road as you can get out here? No.”

“And you’re not at all worried about someone randomly showing up?”

“Not really. Unless it’s a bunch of dudes in white coats finally coming to pick your ass up.” Zeke laughs to himself as he lights a cigarette. “You’re almost as bad as me.”

Well, that’s unsettling.

My brother has had a wicked case of paranoia with a hearty dose of conspiracy theorist for well over a decade now, and he’s usually the one who’s wigging out about this kind of thing. Hearing him say I’m getting close to his level isn’t exactly a compliment, and it definitely reinforces everything Nash and Clay have been saying for months.

I blow out a breath as I slow down, reaching up to pull my mask back up over my nose. “Sorry,” I grunt. “Not sure what my fucking problem is.”

“You’re an asshole, Butch, and the closer you get to forty, the worse it gets. That’s your fucking problem.”

“Fuck off.”

Zeke cackles next to me then clamps a hand down on my shoulder. “That’s how I like you. Big, broody, and unhinged as fuck. I’m just not real keen on having to call for help when the back of this truck is carrying two dead bodies.”

I let off the gas and let the truck put miles between us, the taillights disappearing into the night like it was never there to begin with.

He’s got a point.

Everyone in town knows what we do, but it doesn’t go beyond that.

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