Page 105 of Turn That River Red

I hang up before he can say anything. Then I send the coordinates over, as promised. It’s an area I know well, an area I’ve hunted in before: about forty minutes off-road from the Concho River. Middle of nowhere, hard to access. I’ve got a blind set up out there that can be our base of operations.

Time to free Mercy once and for all.

Sixteen hours later,I go hunting with my girl.

I didn’t let her see me loading up the car with weapons, but rest assured I packed the goddamn works: my favorite long-range rifle plus a bandolier of ammo, my whole set of hunting knives, my switchblade—which I keep in the holster at my ankle for sentimental reasons more than anything else—and an axe just in case I want a bigger blade. Plus ropes, some meat hooks, and a five-gallon bucket. Best to be prepared.

And Max and Roxi, of course. They sit in the backseat, tails thwapping the seats, as I drive us into the open desert. They know what we’re doing. Their sense of smell is almost as good as mine, and they can smell the bloodlust on me.

Good thing Mercy can’t. She’s nervous. I can sense that, too, radiating off her from the front seat.

“Hey.” I rub her bare knee—she’s in a pair of jean shorts that show off her long, muscular legs, with a loose, oversized white blouse that’ll keep the sun off her shoulders while shewaits for Gunner to show up. “Don’t be nervous, all right? I’ll have sights on you the whole time.”

“I know.” She smiles weakly at me. “It’s not that. It’s just—” She sighs and looks out the windshield at the highway. The sun’s just starting to come up behind us, a thin pink line in the rearview mirror. We’re driving west, into the darkness. “What if it doesn’t work?” Her voice is quiet. “What if he doesn’t come, or he sends someone else?” She works the hem of her shirt, her anxiety spiking. “What if he sends the cops and I have to go back?—”

“I’ll shoot them.” I glance sideways at her. “You’re mine, remember? And I don’t let people take what’s mine.”

Mercy’s eyes glimmer. God, I want to kiss her. Tell her it’s going to be all right.

But I’ve got to focus on the upcoming hunt.

“Thank you,” she whispers. “For doing this for me.”

I fix my eyes on the road and squeeze the steering wheel. “I’d do anything for you, Mercy.”

I realize what I just said, then add, “Well. Most anything.” I can’tnotkill; that would lead to a darkness not even I want to think about. I don’t want to frighten her, though, so I just say, “But you can bet your pretty ass I’ll kill for you.”

Mercy laughs, kind of disbelieving. “You really are the boogeyman.”

“Yourboogeyman, baby. Now, take some deep breaths for me. We’re gonna be there before you know it.”

It’s not long before we reach the turn-off—a narrow, dusty road barely visible from the highway. My Oldsmobile groans as we crunch over the gravel, kicking up a plume of dirt that, thankfully, isn’t visible in the dim light of early dawn. Once we’re out of view of the highway, I pull off the road, parking the car between some scrub brush. The sky is streaked with pink and red, a bloody sunrise that bodes well for the hunt today.

“You should eat something before we hike out there,” I tellher, shutting off the engine. I made breakfast tacos this morning and wrapped them up in foil—egg and potato and cheese for her, egg and meat for me. “Get your energy up.”

“I’m too nervous to eat,” she says, still worrying her shirt hem.

“You don’t need to be nervous.” This car’s old enough that there’s no console between us, and I scoot closer and wrap my arm around her shoulders. “I told you I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

“I know.” Mercy smiles at me, but she’s terrified. I’ve been smelling it the whole way here, a scent that’s got my blood up for the hunt. “I still don’t think I can eat.”

“Have some water, then. It’s gonna get hot once the sun comes up.”

That, at least, she agrees to, nodding a little. We get out of the car, and while I pull out the tacos and a bottle of water, she sits on the hood, facing the sunrise.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” she says when I hand her the bottle. “I always liked watching the sun rise over the Concho.”

“It is pretty.” I want to tell her about all the sunrises I’ve seen in this desert, waiting for my prey to come across my path. Hundreds. Thousands, probably. But she’s already scared enough of me as it is, trembling with anxiety, and I don’t want to add to it.

She makes me soft, my little human. But maybe that’s not as bad as I thought it could be.

I eat my tacos quickly, wash them down with the last of the coffee I brought out in a Thermos. Mercy sips at her water, stewing in her thoughts, and I put my hand on her thigh and lean over to her, mostly so I can breathe in more of her scent. “You really need to drink that whole thing, darling. I don’t want you getting dehydrated.”

Mercy looks at me sideways, a smile dancing on her lips. “I like the way you worry over me.”

I grin. “And why’s that?”

She shrugs and takes a big long swig of her water before answering. “Because no one ever has before.”

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