Page 27 of The Mountain Man's Retribution

I did it without a second thought, desperate for a chance to be a man, prove my self-worth, and distance myself from my posh, spoiled, affectionless upbringing. I may have grown up in a two-parent household with no material desire left unmet, but I never learned how to stand on my own two feet, put others before myself, sacrifice everything for the right cause. The 75th Battalion changed all that.

It’s been a while since I had a right cause. But I feel it this morning, knowing the axe I have to grind is deadly as hell, sharpened by every recollection from my little Fawn’s mouth … even the unspoken ones haunting her eyes.

I thirst for a showdown with Big Man, if he’s still alive, and most definitely his sons. I feel it coming. It was written all over Mrs. McCartney’s face and the mysterious closing of the door. I pressed her on the matter when I went back inside with her payment, forcing her to let me inspect her other bedrooms. She was pissed as hell and vindicated when I didn’t find a soul … only an open window that had me racing to the truck to make sure Fawn was safe.

I don’t fear this inevitable altercation. I crave it—fully prepared to destroy all three men. But none of them sound remotely honorable, which means it’ll be a cowardly fight. I need the element of surprise, and this morning’s as close as I’m going to get. It’s likely already too late.

The backwoods are deep, impenetrable. And they stretch all the way to the Canadian border, teeming with a thousand deaths that don’t even involve humans. I don’t care. I need those motherfuckers gone to bring a semblance of peace to my life with Fawn.

Over coffee, I review my notes, programming the coordinates of the wildfire into my phone’s GPS app. It’s a starting point, but the enormity of finding men who don’t want to be found … who’ve never been found, frustrates me. Maybe I should head to town, ask questions, and snoop around. I could take Fawn with me.

But fuck. If she doesn’t want to go, it’s another wasted day. Another day that could permit Fawn’s backwoods captors to plan their assault. I don’t feel safe leaving her even now. So, I text a fellow Army Ranger, Roscoe, who lives a couple of mountains over, to keep an eye out for my woman.

A cagey fellow locked in a world of hurt, I only recently started trusting the man. Despite being a Ranger, he carried a despair that shadowed his actions and obscured his motivations. But ever since he rescued a woman named Ginger from the deep woods, he’s become a new man. One who’ll understand the desperate pull to keep my woman safe.

I don’t expect a reply. It’s only three-thirty. I kick myself for not texting sooner, but yesterday, I had my hands and my heart full.

My stomach roils as I Google a new search term: girl five abducted from Alpha Ridge Creek early two thousands. Whereas previous searches with less detail proved misleading and confusing, I stare at an article about a cold case. The photo of the little girl, in black and white, makes my pulse pound in my temples. Eighteen years may have passed, but I stare at Fawn from another time and place.

Bethany Marie Dunning. Abducted from Sunday school.

My eyes scan the article, stomach twisting. One suspect is named: Deacon Jabez Heath. An upstanding member of the church, whose wife had recently passed, leaving him with two sons. According to interviews with his acquaintances, he’d grown more radicalized after her death, muttering strangethings about the end of the world. About hiding in the forest to escape the Mark of the Beast, the decay of the Tribulation civilization, and to repopulate the Earth. My stomach knots.

I stare at the black-and-white image of a clean-shaven man with a shifty gaze, searing the evil into my brain. He has an inordinately long face and the haunting quality of a desperate animal in his eyes. The article states that the case went cold after he disappeared into thin air, the last sight of him driving through town in his white, beat-up Ford pickup with his sons next to him on the bench seat and a tarp over the truck bed.

From deacon to disappeared overnight, along with his two sons, Malaketh and Kael. There are no photos of the sons, but if they look anything like Big Man, then I’ve got the advantage. Time to go hunting up on the fire-wasted mountain.

I dress quietly in my hunting gear, packing scopes, weapons, and everything that I’ll need for this predawn expedition. I second-guess myself about waking Fawn as I watch her cuddled in the big bed, happily dreaming. But she must be prepared for anything.

“Fawn,” I whisper a couple of times, noting the grumpy fix of her mouth.

“What is it?” she murmurs, yawning.

“I have to go hunting up on the mountains this morning. Leave you alone for a few hours.”

The words barely leave my tongue before she sits up straight as a corn stalk, eyeing me wildly. Panic twists her face and mouth. I croon comforting words, sitting on the edge of the bed and stroking her long mahogany locks.

“You need to stay here and keep calm, okay?”

“I’ll hunt with you,” she declares firmly, crossing her arms over her chest.

I shake my head. “You must stay here.”

She scrutinizes me, and I know I can’t lie to her. She sees right through my hunting alibi. But if law enforcement comes looking for me later, I don’t want her dragged into questioning.

“This Big Man?” I ask, showing her the photo from the article on my phone.

Her eyes narrow, finger tracing the man’s upper face and gaze until her body answers, a tumult of quivering and fast-paced breaths. I’m torn between bringing her with me and leaving her here. But natural instinct tells me to keep her as far away from danger as possible.

Tears slide past her bottom lashes as I lean in to kiss her. She grabs me desperately, clinging to my neck, her whimpers and cries begging me to stay.

I shake my head, forced to deny her, though I hate it.

“Friend coming to keep you safe. Roscoe. Tall, blond, bearded. No worries. He’ll stay in his Jeep, providing security, okay? You don’t have to open the door unless you need help.”

“B-b-but—” she dissolves into sobs.Thisis why I considered not telling her at all.

Pressing her hand against my chest over the place where my heart beats, I grunt, “Do you trust me, Fawn?”

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