Page 61 of Halfway to Hell

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More than once, she’d mumbled to herself not to entice the locals. The thought of being labeled impolite by one of those thirsty, jealous bitches—because she landed Texas—botheredher. Good lord, it was getting old. If he wanted one of them, he’d have made a move already.

All she wanted now was to go home and make Texas a good dinner. He’d gone out to deliver cider orders to the local stores and caught a flat on the way back in the truck.

The chilly wind bit into her like a hungry animal that refused to let go. She struggled to keep her jacket closed. The season was almost over for the apples. According to Texas, they had about a month left before the harvest wrapped and the leaves began to fall. They were already changing color; some branches were bare. The twisted limbs gave the orchard an eerie, haunted feel.

Running a hand over her stomach, Sunday smiled at her own silly thoughts. She chalked her mood up to being nine months pregnant. October couldn’t come soon enough.

Deciding to make a fresh-baked apple pie, she wandered through the rows of apple trees, picking fruit from the low branches. She probably should have just grabbed a pie from the restaurant instead. Looking down at the small basket filling slowly in her hands, she wondered why she was doing this after a long day’s work. The pies at the restaurant and the gift shop were some of the best she’d ever tasted.

She blew a stray lock of hair from her face as the cool evening breeze nipped at her skin. The orchard felt chillier now, and as she walked beneath the twisted branches, a fleeting question crossed her mind. Why had she chosen to come pick apples again?

Making a mental note never to make rash decisions after work again, Sunday was about to set the basket down when movement caught her eye through the trees. Clutching the basket tighter,she cut through the orchard, a growing unease settling over her. She hated being alone out here.

Glancing back, she caught only the lower half of the figure—thick jeans and worn hiking boots. That was enough. Whoever it was, it was a man. She knew it wasn’t one of Texas’s brothers; they were out with him making deliveries.

Stepping through another row of trees, Sunday heard the unmistakable snap of twigs breaking under something heavy. She picked up her pace, moving quickly across the open row before weaving through the next line of trees. Behind her, the sound of footsteps followed—steady, deliberate.

Instead of cutting through the next row, she veered down the open aisle toward the restaurant, knowing Kathryn, Pierre, and the employees would be there. But she hadn’t taken more than a few steps when the figure stalking her stepped into view from the shadows of the trees.

Roach stood just fifteen feet ahead, maybe twenty. Sunday’s eyes locked on the knife gleaming in his hand. In her mind, she quickly ran the numbers. Could she outrun him?

Sliding her foot back, she was about to turn and bolt when he called her name. She froze. When she looked up, he was already closing the distance.

“I told Dalton I saw you in this shitty little town months ago,” Roach said, tapping the knife casually against his leg. “He didn’t believe me. But when he told me to leave it alone, I knew you had something to do with him getting attacked.”

A twisted smile crossed his face as he thought back to the “fun” he’d had with Sunday before.

There was something about a woman out of her mind being fucked that Roach loved. And Sunday had definitely been out of her mind on X the last time he’d taken her.

Dalton decided she was used up and dumped her in that muddy ravine, leaving her exposed to the elements, thinking she’d die.

“I’ve thought about your ass a lot,” Roach sneered, rubbing his crotch with his free hand.

“I’ve never fucked a pregnant bitch before. This should be fun.” He gave Sunday a sinister smile. “For me. Not for you.”

Frozen, all Sunday could think was over her dead body would she let him touch her—or her unborn child. Shaking her head, she took a step back as Roach closed the distance.

Then she remembered the basket of apples in her hand. Without hesitation, she hurled it at him, the fruit crashing into his chest.

When Roach tried to dodge the basket, Sunday sprinted through the row of trees into the next aisle. She kept weaving between the trunks, doing her best to keep the trees between herself and him.

Finally, she burst out into the open, visible and exposed. Holding her stomach with one hand, she started to run.

Then—pain. A hand yanked her hair hard, jerking her backward.

In the distance, she spotted one of the property’s UTVs speeding toward her.

She struggled fiercely, desperate to break free and reach the vehicle, but then a sharp, stabbing pain exploded in her side.

She looked down and saw blood seeping through her pants leg. Panic surged, but her thoughts zeroed in on only one thing—herbaby. Shoving her jacket aside, she screamed when she saw the wound.

Suddenly, she was shoved hard to the side, stumbling and falling to the ground. Landing on her side, she curled into herself, cradling her stomach as tears streamed down her face. All she wanted was for Texas to be there—to help her.

Chapter 25

Texas and his brothers bumped along the rows of apple trees in one of the UTVs, headed toward the cider mill to check the vats before calling it a day. He was bone-tired, craving a hot shower and whatever dinner he could scrounge up for himself and Sunday.

As they neared the orchard’s edge, Texas caught a flicker of movement weaving between the trees ahead. His gut tightened. Tours ended hours ago—no one should still be out here.