Page 8 of His Claim

“But what if they’re murderers?”

I glanced over at Tatum. “I think we have better odds in there than heading back to Brandt’s.”

We were in the middle of fucking nowhere.

I figured Brandt had us somewhere between Rockton and Chicago when we first set out.

The sun had risen this morning. I woke Tatum to get going, and we finally came to a road after close to an hour of walking. Fifteen minutes down that road was a large cabin with two old trucks in the driveway and a beat-up car parked next to the garage.

“What if they know Brandt, and he told them to tell him if they saw us?”

“I don’t know if I followed that, baby girl.”

Tatum rolled her eyes. “I think we should keep walking until we get to a gas station or something.”

“Who’s to say Brandt won’t be at the gas station waiting for us?” I asked. “It’s more likely we would go to the gas station than to this cabin.”

The cabin wasn’t run down and falling apart.

It was well-kept, and the two trucks in the driveway were restored.

“I hope you’re right,” Tatum mumbled. “I should have held onto my nail board.” She pretended she was swinging a bat. “Would have taken out these murderers in one swipe.” She stumbled around, and I grabbed her arm before she tumbled to the ground.

“Easy there, slugger,” I chuckled. I pulled her close and brushed her hair out of her face. “Let's just knock on the door and see what happens, okay?”

She rolled her eyes but agreed. “Fine, but just know I’m ready to go Babe Ruth on their butts as soon as I find something to swing on them with.”

“You certainly have changed, baby girl. I don’t remember you being this feisty.”

Tatum shrugged. “I was trying to impress you, and I never got kidnapped with you around. One never really knows how they would react in a situation until they are in that situation.”

“You’re a nut, Tatum.” I led her to the house and knocked on the front door.

Tatum moved behind me but peeked around my arm. “I’m ready,” she whispered. “Just give me the signal, and I’ll grab that little red wagon planter.”

I twisted and looked at her. “What the hell are you going to do with a planter?” I whispered loudly.

The front door opened, and Tatum shrunk behind me.

“You gotta be shitting me,” I called.

“What?” Tatum whispered.

“What the hell are you doing on my doorstep, kid?”

“Kid?” Tatum asked. “What is going on?”

“What the hell are you doing here?” I demanded.

“You know him?” Tatum asked.

I reached behind me and pulled Tatum to stand next to me.

“Tatum, meet Gravel. Gravel, meet Tatum.”

Yup, none other than Gravel from the Devil’s Knights.

“You know the murderer?” Tatum asked.

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