Page 13 of Turn That River Red

AMBROSE

Ijump the fence surrounding Gunner’s well-manicured backyard and crouch down behind a trash can, breathing heavily and waiting—for screams, shouts, a slamming door. Anything. Some hint as to what’s going to happen next.

There’s only silence.

I sit back on my haunches and let my senses go wide. Those senses are what got me into this stupid fucking mess in the first place; I was headed to the administrative office with every intention of breaking in to see if I could find the church’s adoption records. But then the wind stirred up and I caught Mercy’s scent, as sweet as night-blooming jasmine. I should have ignored it, but the memory of her pretty, wide eyes gazing up at me while I pretended to pray over her was too much.

I wanted to see her again.

So I did what I’m designed to do, and stalked her from the shadows. I watched her go through the fence gate, then did the same thing I’m doing now, which is listening and smelling andsensingto get a feel for my surroundings. But what I mostly felt was Mercy: her trepidation, her disgust.

And that intrigued a monster like me.

Should I have hopped the fence into what I realized quickly enough was Gunner’s backyard? No.

Should I have crept up to the window when I realized what was happening in the little suite growing off the side of his oversized house like a barnacle? When I felt Mercy’s quickened heartbeat and smelled the faint pungent undertones of sex? Absolutely not.

But I did it anyway. I told myself I could use it, somehow—blackmail Gunner or something—and that might have been true until I let myself get caught like a goddamn fool. But I’ll admit I was intrigued by the thought of the lush, curvaceous body hiding beneath that baggy cotton dress.

Of course, what I wound up seeing?—

Mercy didn’t want to be there, poor thing. She clearly wasn’t enjoying herself at all. Any arousal I sensed was a bodily response, protecting her from Gunner’s fumbling incursions. I haven’t fucked a woman in a while, but I know what it looks like when you’re fucking them properly.

And Gunner certainly wasn’t.

That’s what got me caught, ultimately. My desire, however stupid, to kick the door down, slash Gunner’s throat, and show Mercy what a good fucking is supposed to look like. What’s it’s supposed tofeellike.

In fact, I was fantasizing about it in rather embarrassing detail when Mercy turned her head and spotted me, and for a few bizarre seconds, it was like I was a deer caught in headlights, blinded by the unknowable.

The way she looked at me—with confusion, desperation, sadness—I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long, long time, which is pity. Genuine pity. I couldn’t help but tell her I was sorry.

Now, crouched behind this filthy trash can, I try to find her again. She’s still inside, along with Gunner, and I don’t think she’s told him anything. Because I can sense both of theirheartbeats: hers is still quick and frantic, but his is calm. Steady. I keep waiting for the spike of his rage or fear or both, but it doesn’t come.

She’s kept her mouth shut.

That intrigues me even more, which I dislike. I’m at the Church of the Well for a reason, and it’s not to pursue this bizarre fascination for a human woman.

I slip out from behind the trash can, keeping my senses alert. It’s easy out here in the west Texas flatlands, which is why I’ve always hunted in the western half of the state. The emptiness. The enormity. It’s not just sound that carries for miles, but everything, all the traces humans make without realizing it.

And although the compound is full of people, most of them are asleep right now, their bodies a quiet susurration in the background, not quite as loud as the electricity humming through the wires stretching between buildings.

I move along the fence, away from Gunner’s house. The administration building is to my left, and I know that’s where I should go. I need to find a way in, then figure out where they’re keeping the adoption records. They have to be here somewhere.

But then a clickricochets through the night. I freeze, melting into the shadows. It’s the gate on Gunner’s fence latching shut, and in the middle of the night, it’s as loud as a gunshot.

So are the footsteps. Light. Quick. Feminine.

Mercy.

I turn around, away from the administrative building and toward her. My thoughts hum. Intellectually, I know I should just leave her alone. But I’m curious—curious as to why Gunner’s backup wife is walking through the compound at one in the morning instead of curling up beside him in that big bed where he fucked her so poorly.

Mercy helped me get into the compound, even if she didn’trealize it. Maybe she can help me get to the adoption records, too.

It’s a lie I tell myself. Really I want to follow her fear like rabbit tracks. I want to feel her terror spike when I let her hear my footsteps in the dark, a sweet memory I can take home with me when I’m done with this ridiculous place.

So I go back the way I came, following her scent until I can see her, walking at the brisk pace of someone desperate to be where they’re going. She has her arms wrapped around her chest, her head dropped low.

Pity flares through me again.

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