Page 125 of Dozer

I couldn’t swallow past the lump in my throat. “Where is she?”

“Nah, not until I get your word that you’ll wait for us before storming in. Listen, if you charge in there on your bike, you’ll get her killed. Are you fucking hearing me?”

“Are we sure she’s there?” I couldn’t suck a breath into my lungs. He’d had her fourteen hours. Fourteen fucking hours of terror. “I won’t risk her life.”

I still wore my gloves as I launched off the chair and headed out the door. I slammed it closed behind me.

“Dozer—”

“I know, Vance,” I said. “I just want her back, and I want him dead. We can figure out the rest later.”

My phone pinged with the address.

“It’s isolated. It’s not going to pull up on Google.” Vance gave me basic directions gleaned from an aerial map.

After disconnecting, I rumbled down the drive, and as soon as I cleared the block, I twisted the throttle and blasted down the street. I leaned into the tight corners, riding fast, tearing out of town. Wind whipped around me, the ground a blur beneath my boots. As I leaned forward, the butt of my gun pressed against my gut.

Thirty miles and twenty minutes later, I slowed and turned onto a dirt road. I hit the button on my blackout kit. The road was shit. Without my headlight or corner lights, I couldn’t see shit either. Light flickered about a half mile in the distance.

Fuck, he could have already heard my approach. I killed the engine, slipped off my helmet and goggles and put my beanie back on. I held my gun in my hand.

She was in there. I had one bar on my phone. I hoped the text I sent Vance went through. If it didn’t, I didn’t fucking care. I needed to get to Pippa.

Dozer:I’m here. Sorry. Not waiting.

My phone pinged.

Vance:Fuck! We’re five minutes out.

I checked the message and shut off the ringer. Five minutes too late.

I hunched over and jogged along the trees to the flickering light in the shadows. Branches crunched beneath my boots. My grip tightened on my gun. The darkness and the uneven ground kept me from running. As I stalked closer, the shape of a small cabin silhouetted against the forest.

My chest quivered with shallow breaths. I stepped onto the first worn, wooden step. The plank groaned under my weight. I carefully placed my next step. I held the gun at my side, exhaled a slow breath, trying to tamp down my adrenaline.

The screen door squeaked on rusty hinges as I pulled it open. With my ear close to the door, I listened. Hearing nothing, I place my hand on the knob and twisted. The loose handle clanked…and turned. The door popped open inward.

A rage unlike anything I’d ever felt before burned in my guts. Fuck. No.Fuck.

He was on the floor, sleeping with his arm over Pippa’s bare, beaten body. Her wide, eyes stared unblinking at the ceiling. She wasn’t moving. Black, purple, and red welts and bruises covered her face. A lifeless woman, ravaged and broken. A filthy cloth gagged her mouth, stretching her bruised and swollen lips. The belt wrapping her wrists cut into her flesh.

A whir of deafening noise inside my head blocked out all sound. I stuffed my gun in the back of my jeans. I roared and launched across the room.

“Get the fuck away from her.”

His eyes snapped open, and his arms flailed. He might as well have been swinging for a fly. There was no escape for him. With a single thrust, I had him slammed against the wall, pinning him, with my hand gripping tight around his throat. I squeezed, and his eyes widened. Redness rushed up his neck. He tried to inhale, but I crushed his windpipe.

“Fuck you,” I snarled. “You took something that belongs to me.”

The stench of piss and rot burned my nose. Scratches gouged his face and neck. Blood coated the man’s mouth. He tried to speak, but something was wrong with his tongue. And there was a huge chunk of flesh missing from his face.

“You’re fucking dead.” I became an animal, a raw predator reduced to a single purpose. Killing. With the first punch, blood exploded from his nose.

Anatomy screamed. Before he could cover his face, I curled my fingers into a fist and cracked my knuckles against his jaw. His head snapped back.

Tears streamed from his eyes and bloody drool dripped from his mouth. The line of his dislocated jaw protruded in an unnatural angle. He reached out with his left hand in defense.

“Don’t pussy out now,” I seethed. “We’re just getting started.” I grabbed his palm. With a slow sadistic pressure, I twisted until the bones, ligaments and tendons snapped, cracked, and popped like cereal.

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