Page 194 of Burn the Wild

Boots settling on the front porch, I pick through the ring of keys and give a brief rap on the wooden door. “Hello?” After a beat of silence, I say, “I’m coming in.”

I unlock the door. It heaves open with a creak.

“Fuck,” Wyatt swears as we enter the cabin.

And I know why. The unmistakable scent of dust, sour alcohol, rotting food, and sex hits us. My eyes water at the harsh odor.

In the dark, I feel around for a light switch. Chuckle. “Kid, I think you’re too young to see this.”

I flip the light on.

I blink, uncomprehending.

It’s not what I expected. A trashed chalet. Bottles of alcohol, drugs.

It’s worse.

Horrifying.

“Holy shit,” Wyatt breathes.

Everything in me tenses. My ears ring as I step deeper into the chalet. What I see makes me retch.

It’s Reese. She’s everywhere.

Old and new photographs of her pinned to the wall. Sexy photos from her tour. Photos of her on the ranch. Newspaper articles. Clothing. Lipstick. A pair of her high heels sit in the sink. Condoms full of dried cum lay on the countertop. Maggots swarm over a bowl of cereal. On the floor, an axe and a hammer. Scrawled on the fridge in pink lipstick is the wordGOODBYE.

It’s a shrine. An actual fucking shrine.

Obsessed. It’s the only way to describe it.

“What the fuck, Ford?” Wyatt whispers in his deep drawl. He moves beside me, his expression full of concern. “What the fuck is this?”

His voice has me jerking out of my daze, and then I’m moving around the chalet. I search the bathroom, the back porch, the upstairs loft. Empty. It’s all fucking empty.

My gaze catches on the ranch’s guest registration paperwork on the table. I grab it up, my eyes scouring it frantically.

Ingalls, Charles.

Fuck.

That name. Picture-perfect TV families. One of the aliases Gavin used for him and Reese. She mentioned it during her talks about her non-existent birthdays.

I clench my fist, bowing my head. “I’m going to fucking kill him.”

That’s when my gaze locks on the check-in date. Dread blooms in my stomach like a thundercloud.

Wyatt takes hold of my arm. “What is it?”

“He’s here.”

“Who’s here?”

“Reese’s manager. Gavin. He’s been here since June.” I rip a hand through my hair. “Fuck.Fuck.”

This was planned. Gavin biding his time, waiting to see what hand Reese would play. If she would come back willingly…

And if she wasn’t going to…

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