Page 111 of Turn That River Red

Gunner panics, but I grind my whole weight into him.

“Listen,” I snarl, tightening my grip on his throat again. I can feel Mercy behind me, watching this, her emotions flat. She’s not scared. She’s not pleased. But she accepts it. “I’m going to field dress Sullivan. Won’t take me long. Once he’s draining out at my blind, I’ll come for you.”

I let go of his throat and grin down at him. Gunner trembles, his eyes wide, his breath shallow.

“Think you can escape, Reverend? I’ll even let you have a head start before I send my dogs after you.”

On cue, Roxi starts to growl.

“Demon!” he shouts, but I just grin wider.

“I suppose I am,” I say. “My question still stands.”

I jump off him, landing deftly on my feet, and Gunner immediately scrambles up, his limbs shaking and his torso covered in blood. He’s not going to bleed out anytime soon, but there’s also no way in hell he’s going to get to safety.

Gunner’s gaze flicks over to Mercy again.

“Don’t look at her!” I roar, and his flinch is immediate and satisfying. Tears shine in his eyes. Good.

“Run, Reverend.” I swing my gun around and point it at his chest. He looks at the barrel. A tear falls.

I notch a bullet into place. Gunner cries out and stumbles backward.

“Go!” I shout as he turns and starts his escape in earnest,loping awkwardly over the desert. Every system in his body is lit up in panic. Tracking him will hardly be a challenge—I doubt I’ll even need the dogs. But it’ll scratch the itch.

I whistle the stay command to Max and Roxi. They both sit back on their haunches, even though I can tell they want to start the chase.

There’s a sharp intake of breath behind me. A hot flash of anger.

“Why you’d let him go?”

I turn. Mercy stares at me, her expression imploring. Furious. I want to fuck the rage out of her, but we don’t have time.

“I didn’t.” I stroll up to her and cup her face, leaving smears of Gunner’s blood on her cheeks. “He thinks I did, but I didn’t.”

Mercy stares up at me. Her eyes are dry. “If he gets back to the church?—”

“He won’t.” I kiss her, sweetly, to scratchthatitch. “Trust me, darling. I’ve been doing this for two hundred years.”

Then I pull out my gutting knife and get to work on Sullivan.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

MERCY

Ican’t watch. I know Ambrose kills Pastor Sullivan quickly because I hear the metallicshinkof the blade and a wet gurgle and then a kind of puddling noise. When I glance over, my breath shaky, all I see is Ambrose, my savior and my demon, hunched over Sullivan’s supine body. I see Sullivan’s feet. I see a widening pool of blood.

My stomach turns, but there’s nothing to throw up, not really, and I swallow back the nausea. Then the wind blows the smell away, and I totter sideways, trying to clear my head.

Something wet nudges against my hand—it’s Max, looking up at me with big brown eyes, his tail wagging furiously. He looks like a completely different dog from just a few moments ago.

“Hey, boy.” I scratch between his ears and walk over to Reverend Gunner’s SUV, Max trailing behind me. Glass from the broken windshield glitters everywhere, looking like stars in the sunlight.

The briefcase that holds my hostage money is lying in the dirt. While Ambrose works a few yards away, filling the air with the most horrible noises, I pick it up.

It’s light. Too light to hold $250,000 worth of bills.

My stomach turns again, but this time it’s with rage. The same blinding, iridescent rage I felt earlier, when Ambrose was taunting Reverend Gunner, telling him to run and letting him escape. I squint out at the horizon, bright in the morning sun, and I can see Gunner moving in the distance, limping and slow.

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