Page 110 of Turn That River Red

She nods against me and then steps back, wiping her tears with her hands.

“You don’t have to watch if you don’t want to,” I tell her. “If you keep going that way—“ I tilt my head to the left. “You’ll see the blind I’ve got set up. Looks like an old shed. The dogs are there. You can wait with them.” I don’t mention my full arsenal of weapons will be in there with her. Don’t want her thinking about what I planned to do with them all.

But she shakes her head. “I don’t want to be alone. Even with the dogs.”

“Well, then.” I smile at her, trying to be reassuring, but the wind shifts and I get a hot whiff of blood, and it makes my eyeswater and my cock ache. “Then you’re gonna need to be brave for me.”

Mercy stares at me with a hot fire in her eyes. And that makes my cock ache, too. “I know how to be brave.”

“Good girl.” I grab her hand and braid our fingers together. “Then you can watch me work.”

She shudders at that, but when I pull her forward, she comes with me. I’m vaguely aware of her storming emotions, but I set them aside for the time being to focus on my two kills.

We hit a blood trail first, bright red splatters against the dirt. “Looks like Sterling thinks he can escape.” I drop Mercy’s hand to bring the gunsight up to my eye, and I take a look at the kill site. Sure enough, there’s Gunner, stumbling toward the car, my knife sticking out of his back. Sullivan’s slumped on the ground, passed out from shock or blood loss or both. Not dead, though.

I whistle for the dogs, the sound tearing across the desert.

“Is he getting away?” Mercy asks quietly.

“No.” I drop the gun and stalk forward, the wind pushing my hair back from my face. Mercy follows behind me, and although I thought she might be distracting, I find that I like it, having an audience. I like the musk of her fear, the way it layers over the musk of Gunner’s and Sullivan’s blood.

I just hope she can handle seeing me at my best.

“Sterling!” My voice rings out into the wind. The shift in his body is palpable, and I grin and run my tongue over my teeth. “Don’t even fucking think about running.”

His head pops up, wild and frantic, and when his gaze lands on me, his fear becomes overwhelming, drowning out even Mercy’s sweet scent. Of course, he doesn’t listen and tries to take off running in a sloppy, stumbling lope. My knife is still sticking out of his shoulder blade, and the blood waterfalls down his back, splattering across the dirt. He doesn’t know he’s leaving a trail for Max and Roxi to track him down.

“I told you not to run!” I shout at him, which just spikes his terror. It also makes him look back at me again—which means he’s not looking where he’s going, and his foot catches on some loose rocks and he goes sprawling across the dirt.

“Told you!” I taunt him, laughing. Gunner desperately tries to get away, but he’s in too much of a panic. Probably in too much pain, as well.

Footsteps patter behind me, along with a pair of panting breaths. The dogs are here, hackles raised and ready to hunt. They fall into step beside me, and by the time the three of us reach the meeting point, Gunner’s still scrabbling around in the dirt, sobbing in terror.

“Why?” he gasps when I approach, his eyes glazed over. “Why are you doing this? I brought the money like you asked!”

I don’t answer him, just tower over him with one hand on my rifle butt. Max and Roxi step out from behind me, growling and baring their teeth. He yelps and tries to drag away.

“Why?” he asks again, gaze flicking from the dogs up to me—and then past me, at Mercy. My good mood is swallowed by a sudden flare of rage. I kick him square in the chest, hard enough that he slams down on his back, howling as the knife jams up to the hilt. Fortunately, it was on the right side, not the left. I’m not sure if it missed his lung, though.

Gunner keeps screaming, arching his back up, smearing blood everywhere. The dogs wait for my orders, both of them slavering for meat. “Hold,” I tell them.

Then I leap onto Gunner, pinning him down by the throat and pressing my knee into his belly. He goes rigid beneath me, blood-flecked spit bubbling up between his lips.

Yeah, I definitely nicked his lungs.

“Why?” he whispers.

I look away from him. To Mercy.

She stands a few feet away, her arms in fists by her side.

And she’s not afraid anymore.

“Her?” he sputters, and then he laughs a little. “She did what all women should do. Marry a good man. Keep a clean house. All she needed was the bab?—”

I squeeze his throat tight enough that the words strangle in his mouth, and he flops beneath me, trying to grab at my wrists. He’s got fight in him, I’ll give him that.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” I say, leaning close to him, my hair hanging in damp curls between us. “I need to field dress Sullivan over there?—”

---