Page 1 of Hell and Gone
Chapter 1
“So,what do you think this secret is worth now?”
Rope bit into his neck, cutting skin. Blood wept like slow honey, pooling in the hollow of his throat and sliding past his collarbones.
Carson stared into the dark bore of the rifle’s muzzle. His breath hitched.
The rope creaked, the noose tightening as his horse, Banshee, snorted. She stamped her feet, snorting hot air as she whickered. “Easy, girl,” he whispered. “Easy.”
If she darted, he’d hang.
“I asked you a question!”
“It’s worth your fuckin’ rotten soul, you son of a bitch!” Both of his hands clawed at the noose. His fingernails tore, rope splinters sliding into his skin. Blood ran hot down his fingers, seeping into his callouses, his work-worn hands.
Beyond the black hole of the rifle, Carson saw his captor’s lips quirk upwards.
Another man jerked the end of the rope in his hands, the same rope looped on the cottonwood branch over Carson’s head.
The noose circling his neck pulled tight.
Stars exploded in his vision, black holes dancing in the sunlight. Rainbows burst and bled down his eyeballs as he gasped for air that wasn’t there. He kicked, struggled, strained. Banshee started forward.
Carson clenched his knees on her sides, begging her to stay.
The rope slackened, fractionally.
He dragged in a wet, rasping breath, closing his eyes for a moment.
“I told you once before, Carson Riley. There would be a reckonin’ for what’s been done. There would be hell to pay one day. That day has come.”
No.Stilling, Carson swallowed, and the noose rose and fell as his throat moved. His lips thinned. His eyes narrowed.
He knew this man. He’d known him for years in that small-town way everything was known about everyone else. He knewthisman, though, better than he knew others.
Never, in all that time, had he thought this would be how they’d meet their end: one of them at the end of a rope, staring down a rifle the other man held. “I’ll help you,” he whispered. “You can use me. I swear, I’ll help you.”
The man’s jaw worked, and his eyes cut into Carson’s soul. “No,” he drawled. “You’re just desperate.”
“I’ll leave. I’ll run, as far as I can go. I’ll leave the country. You’ll never see me again.”
The man sighed. He shouldered his rifle, squinting at Carson for a long moment. Sunlight slanted through the trees, falling across his broad shoulders, his wide-brimmed hat. Shadows crisscrossed his face, hid his eyes from Carson.
If he could just see into his eyes…
“Carson,” the man said, his name like a fallen leaf in the autumn sky on his smooth voice. He always liked how his name sounded from this man, full of warmth and with enough space between the letters to fit a smile inside. That smile used to be like the sun for him, and he’d glow inside, go warm to his fingers and toes, whenever it was given to him. His captor wasn’t smiling now, though. “You can’t run from this kind of trouble.”
Ice slicked down his spine, spread through his arms and legs as his chest went tight. This wasn’t just for show. This wasn’t just to scare him. He was going to die today.
The man stepped forward, each boot carefully placed on the springy leaf-strewn forest floor. Banshee turned toward him, nosing his shoulder, snuffling in his gloved hand, searching for a treat. He chuckled, patting her neck and ruffling his fingers through her mane and behind her ears. She pushed into his touch, seeking something sane, something known, as she shifted in the dirt beneath the cottonwood.
He stroked one leather-gloved hand down her neck and over her shoulder, making soft noises in her ear, whispering sweet nothings.
“This isn’t the time for leaving, or for runnin’,” he said, quirking a slight smile up at Carson as he ambled past the saddle. Behind him now, he ran his hand again down Banshee’s flank all the way to her thigh. She snorted. Felt the familiar touch. She trusted him. “Least, it’s not foryou.”
Carson whimpered, his fingers grasping the rope at his throat again. He stared straight ahead through the forest, the tangled branches, to the range, the high pastures of the ranch nearest Crazy Peak. These mountains were pristine country, untouched from the moment of their creation. Land scraped the stars and canyons yawned into the bowels of the earth. Vast fields of golden grasses, grazing land that spread down from Crazy Peak like gold dust scattered from God. And emptiness. So few people, so much land.
It was a place to die for.
