Page 13 of Tabitha

Three small groups of guards are scattered throughout, everyone avoiding them like the plague.

The reports are correct—the place is overrun, the mercenaries infecting the whole town, no doubt reporting any rebellion to their leader.

As I take off my helmet, I get distracted when my eyes are drawn toward Pierce. He’s dressed in his leather jacket and form-fitting jeans that do nothing to disguise his tight ass and muscular thighs. I can’t help but admire how well he keeps himself in shape.

I don’t realize what I’m doing until I catch his smirk in the mirror. I turn away with a huff of annoyance, gritting my teeth that he can read me so well.

He seems to know my every thought, and I’m beginning to wonder who’s the hunter and who’s the prey.

Man is to blame.

My kills are done with meticulous planning, precision, and forethought. Each accident I devise is foolproof. While I’m proficient with knives and guns, I don’t have much experience with hand-to-hand combat.

In truth, I suspect Man ordered my training to get me out of my garage. I tend to tense or freeze up if anyone gets too close. It’s a training reflex—the only thing that stops me from automatically going all homicidal on them.

After months of training with Pierce, the guy can now anticipate my every move.

Worse, I’ve gotten used to his attention and the feel of his hands on my body.

I refuse to admit that I’ve come to crave the attention.

It makes more sense that my body has become accustomed to the intense workout and misses the daily exercise, not the man himself.

We barely manage to take a step onto the sidewalk outside of the diner, where we are set to meet our contact, when a cop wearing a standard powder blue shirt, black pants, and reflector glasses comes moseying over to us.

“Are you folks lost?” He stops in front of us, his hands resting on the gun in his holster. There’s nothing congenial in his manner, the man not even bothering to contain his threatening tone. The officer is older, his slight paunch only made larger by his tight shirt, blotchy skin, and greasy hair.

“No, Barney.” I flick a glance at his nametag, then purposely get it wrong. If there ever is a Barney Fife, it would be this putz. “We’re just stopping for lunch.”

A scowl darkens his face, the officer resembling a bulldog ready to snap its jaws, and he speaks through clenched teeth. “It’s Barry.”

I snort and cross my arms, not the least bit intimidated. “No, I believe my grandfather called you Barney.”

A muscle jumps in his jaw, and he takes off his glasses, his beady little eyes narrowing dangerously. “And who is your grandfather?”

I take a step closer to him, and though he is taller, I look down my nose at the idiot. “Sherman T. Buford. I came to close up the house. Is there a problem?”

The police officer straightens, his face paling like he’s seen a ghost, and he takes a hasty step back, tipping his hat politely. “No, of course not. You must be Tabitha, then. We tried to reach you for his funeral arrangements and reading of the will, but it’s like you had vanished.”

“I’m sure you did your best.” Which means not at all, if I had to guess. I pulled a copy of the estate documents before we left. If I didn’t show up within ninety days of his death, the property would be donated to the militia group. I ignore the hint of suspicion in his tone and scrunch up my nose. “Thankfully, my lawyer was able to locate me.”

“Indeed,” he mutters, his tone distracted.

Since my father fled this place in the middle of the night and vanished, I expected to be disinherited, along with him. Instead, the old man left me everything. I’m not even sure how he knew of my existence, since I never met him.

I didn’t ask why the old man never came looking for me, honestly not really caring. I don’t want anything from him. The property is just a nuisance, a way to tie me down. The sooner I get rid of it, the better.

After reviewing my father’s military records, I better understand how he became so unstable. From everything I’ve learned about my family, I come from a long line of crazy.

Which means I come by it naturally.

“I’ll let you go about your business, miss. Sorry for your loss.” Barney Fife nods his head, looking squirrelly as he backs away, and I have no doubt he’s going to report my arrival to his boss.

A deep dive revealed he switched alliances when the mercenaries came to town. The man has been bought and paid for by Legion.

I don’t say anything as he turns and swiftly marches down the sidewalk, everyone who gathered for the show quickly scrambling out of his way. By nightfall, everyone will know that I returned to claim my fortune.

People glance at me from the corner of their eyes, some fearful, some worried, some almost gleeful. While Sherman T. Buford might have been one of the founding fathers of the town, he was a strict son of a bitch.

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