by Nicole Helm
Gage muttered disparagingly under his breath. He was staring straight ahead so he couldn’t see the way Ace’s eyes gleamed.
Crazy. Evil. Felicity didn’t know what it was, but that sheen made everything inside of her ice, made the hair on her arms and back of her neck stand up on end. All that reason she’d almost thought he’d been speaking evaporated when she looked at him.
She focused on breathing evenly in an effort to keep panic at bay. She had to find a way to survive this. A way for both of them to survive their fathers.
There wasn’t much that could be done with Ace holding a gun to Gage’s head and her father pointing a gun at her.
Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Think.
The Wyatt brothers had always said their father didn’t want them dead, or they’d be dead. There were multiple theories, though most centered on the idea Ace Wyatt wanted slow, painful revenge on his sons, not just a violent death.
The likelihood of Ace actually pulling the trigger was low. And since neither had shot her, maybe they didn’t want her dead, either.
Still, she could visualize Ace shooting Gage—see it happening before her, and that kept her from moving. From hoping.
Two against two might have been a fair fight if she had a weapon of her own, but all she had was a backpacking knife stuffed deep within the pack on her back. Was there any way to get it without drawing attention to herself? And even if there was, what was the point of bringing a knife to a gunfight?
“I don’t know what brand-new break you’ve had with reality,” Gage drawled, “but—”
Ace’s free hand jabbed out so fast Felicity barely saw it. She wasn’t even sure where the punch landed, only that it had Gage gasping for air and falling to his knees.
“You weren’t next on my list, Gage. But you mixed yourself up with this one and messed up my plan. You know how I feel when people mess up my plan.”
The only thing that came from Gage was horrible gasping noises as if he was struggling to breathe.
Without fully realizing she was doing it, she moved toward him. Until an excruciating pain in her hand stopped her. She looked at the source of the crushing, terrifying pain and found her father’s boot pressing harder and harder against her hand.
“You stay put,” he said.
She tried not to sob, not to react, but he ground the boot harder against her hand. He was going to break her fingers with much more pressure. The only thing currently saving her was the give of the soil after the rain.
“Got it?” he demanded, jabbing her side with his gun.
She nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks. But she didn’t make a noise.
The pressure eased off her hand, and she wanted to sob with as much relief as throbbing pain, but she breathed through it.
“Felicity, I need you to break your promise to me,” Gage said, his voice clear and calm, which earned him another punch from Ace, right against the throat.
Her promise? Her promise. To stay together no matter what. No. No, she couldn’t break it. She couldn’t leave him here.
But as he gasped for air against his father’s horrifying blows, she realized that in this case, splitting up was the only chance they had. Ace would have somewhere to take them, somewhere to torture them.
If she could get away, she could get all the Wyatts here. She could save Gage. She didn’t want to leave him with Ace, even for a second. But when they’d promised each other to stick together that had been when Ace was out there. When the threat was from the outside, not the inside.
She couldn’t save Gage with brute strength, but if she could get away she might be able to save him some other way.
She met his gaze. And nodded.
* * *
GAGE DIDN’T LET the nerves show, didn’t let on how afraid he was because God knew this was going to hurt.
But she’d be safe—or safer. It was the only chance he had to survive. Maybe he wouldn’t, but if she was safe that would be okay.
So, he had to make sure he did enough damage to Ace that Michael came over to save him. He had to give Felicity enough time to really run.
The two men holding guns on them would kill her, no doubt. They’d kill him, too, but Ace would want to make it hurt first. Maybe he’d want it to hurt for Felicity, too, since she’d gotten in Ace’s way with Nina and Cody, but that only made her being here, in their grasp, that much more dangerous.
“Have you had your dramatic mom—”
Gage interrupted his father’s comment by throwing his head backward, and straight into his father’s.
It rang his bell—stars dancing and pain radiating down to his toes, but the gun dropped from his temple. Gage took the opportunity to pitch his body forward hoping his legs would hold him.
He still had the damn pack on his back and wished he’d had the foresight to drop it, but when Michael came charging at him, Gage managed to get an arm out of the strap and use it as enough of a force to knock the gun pointed at him from Michael’s hands.
Gage didn’t stop to look and see if Felicity ran. There wasn’t time for him to look, so he just had to trust that she’d understood him and that she’d nodded because she knew she was going to run.
Michael swore at him and charged.
Felicity’s father did not appear to be the smartest man, but he had fists like mallets, and was all bulk and muscle. Though he’d lost his gun, he used his body as a weapon against Gage, landing two punches to the gut before Gage could block them.
Gage was not a small man, but he felt like one for a second. Michael making him feel small only reminded him that Felicity had been small. A tiny girl and this man had used his fists on her—enough that protective services had intervened—which was a bit of a feat in isolated rural areas with low government funds.
Gage used that rage, that utter disgust to propel him forward with a blow that knocked Michael back two steps.
A gunshot rang out too close, but no blast of pain followed the noise. Still, Gage knew well enough Ace wouldn’t miss twice. Even to forward his precious plans.
So Gage grappled with Michael, finally landing a knee to the most vulnerable part of his attacker. He managed to flip him off and then got to his feet, only to come face-to-face with Ace’s gun barrel.
“Well, shoot me then,” Gage snarled. His mouth was bleeding, and God knew what other parts of him were bleeding and broken. Every cell of his body hurt, and this was all so pointless.
Not pointless. Felicity is gone. He didn’t dare look around and verify. He just willed it.
Ace’s own face was bleeding, and Gage got morbid satisfaction from knowing his head had caused that gash on Ace’s brow.
Ace’s gaze whipped behind Michael, from the gun that had fallen to the ground, to the pack that had been ripped from Gage’s back.
“You let her go?” Ace growled.
Michael was struggling to get to his feet. “He practically knocked you out. I had to—”
“You worthless moron! Go after her! Go!”
Gage couldn’t help smiling even as blood dripped down his face. He wasn’t sure he’d ever heard Ace sound so furiously disgusted. Usually his anger was deadly, eerie calm, but Gage had clearly put quite the crimp in Ace’s plans.
Who wouldn’t grin at that? Especially as Michael scrambled to retrieve the gun and then ran off more in panic than with any thought as to which way Felicity had gone.
She’d be faster and far more knowledgeable of the terrain. She was gone and on her way to find help. Gage had to believe it.
“What are you smiling ab...” Ace trailed off, rage and disgust sinking into the lines on his face.
“Jail didn’t agree with you, Daddy,” Gage offered, hoping to throw Ace off.
“You care about her.” Ace sneered. “What is it about you boys? Where did I go so wrong? Weak. Stupid. Undone by any woman who opens her l
egs.”
Gage couldn’t keep the easy grin on his face, and it morphed into a sneer. But he bit his tongue to keep from saying anything that might give Ace more ammunition to rail against and agitate Gage into making a deadly misstep.
“What a mistake you’ve made,” Ace whispered, a vicious fury dancing in his eyes, that Gage only remembered seeing once before—when Ace had realized Cody had escaped.
Jamison had worked hard to get Cody, the youngest of the six boys, out from the Sons before he had to go through the ritual they’d all had to survive on their seventh birthdays. Jamison had managed, managed so well Ace had assumed Grandma Pauline had paid one of his men to betray him. He’d never suspected Jamison.
At first.
That moment Ace had learned Cody was safe and out of his grip, Gage had seen this exact look. And known he’d be lucky to survive it.
But he had then, why couldn’t he now?
Which was the last thought he had before pain exploded at the side of his head, and the world went dark.
Chapter Twelve
Felicity tried to keep her mind off the lack of water. Once she found cell service, she’d have help and water.
Her head pounded along with her thundering heart. She knew she could outrun her father, but he had a gun, which meant she had to do a lot more than just outrun him. She had to get away completely.
Now, Ace, he could probably catch her if he was the one chasing her. Her father was a big man, and though she remembered a certain agile precision in landing a blow, she doubted it extended to endurance running.
But Ace was tall and lean and crazy. That was the worst part, really. He seemed almost normal sometimes. She’d found herself listening too intently to what he had to say.
Charismatic wasn’t the right word because that had too positive of a connotation. Compelling maybe. Even knowing everything she did about Ace—which was probably only the half of what Ace was and had done—she’d been compelled to listen to what he had to say.
It made her feel sick. Or maybe that was the dehydration.
She allowed her pace to slow, then stop, turning in a careful circle to study her surroundings.
She’d gone straight for the canyon land, which may not have been her smartest choice what with the lack of water, but it was better than the wide-open grassy plains. There were a million places to find cover in the rocks, crevices and caves.
And that was only if her father found her.
She was currently in a long, deep crevice. Some of the wet from yesterday’s storm had dried, but there were still damp places where the sun hadn’t touched. Not safe drinking water, but she considered it for a minute.
Maybe she should go back. Knife in hand. They weren’t supposed to split up. This was all wrong.
She climbed up a portion of the rock wall that would allow her to see out over the horizon while still keeping her mostly out of sight. She scanned the area, the tall spires and rocky hills. The sky was a brilliant blue, as if a tornado hadn’t blown through less than twenty-four hours ago.
The air was hot, but it was Badlands air. Home. Heart. She’d be okay.
The land provides.
The thought comforted her for a second or two before she realized it was Ace’s voice. Ace’s words.
She pushed out a breath, nausea stealing over her. How could a madman’s words be comforting? Had she gone crazy? Was she that weak?
She shook her head. Maybe she was, but she could choose not to be. She could fight it. It was like being shy, and her stutter. Those things still existed within her, but she fought them away.
So she would fight the terrifying idea she had something in common with Ace Wyatt. Just as for years she’d fought the terrifying idea a man who’d beat his young daughter was her own flesh and blood.
And that flesh and blood had come after her, no doubt. She looked around again, a double check to make sure her eyes weren’t deceiving her.
She caught the hint of movement to the east and squinted at it. Then, since she had time, she dug through her pack and pulled out her binoculars. She focused on the area where she’d sensed movement.
In between two spindly spires of red rock, a figure was moving. He was still far enough away the binoculars didn’t magnify features enough for identification, but based on the size and location, she had to believe it was her father.
He didn’t look like an adept hiker. He stumbled and picked his way over rock. She could continue to outrun or out-hike him if she chose.
But she would no doubt become too dehydrated to function after a while.
What were her options? He had a gun and he was clearly stronger than her. She couldn’t fight him. She had no gun to ward him off. Just that knife in her pack.
She considered waiting till he got close enough and then throwing it, but she’d never thrown a knife in her life and it seemed too big a risk to just start throwing her one and only weapon.
Rocks might work. She was strong and had good aim, but he’d have to be really close for them to do any damage.
She kept watching him through the binoculars. Maybe she wouldn’t have to do anything at all. One good fall and he’d be out of luck.
One good fall. What if she created the fall? She could take him out. Even with him having a gun, all she’d need to do was give him a little push. Well, more than a little, but a push. Or trip him somehow. She could incapacitate him or trap him in a deep crevice.
It would be tricky and dangerous, but it would be a better option than trying to find cell service without any water to drink. If she took out her father here, she could get back to the cabin. Close enough to it and she could access her Wi-Fi and send a text.
If she was careful and quiet, she could do it without Ace even knowing she was back. Surely he wouldn’t take Gage anywhere until her father returned with her in tow.
She’d hope, anyway.
In the meantime, she’d take her father out.
* * *
THE PAIN EBBED and flowed, excruciating waves of it, dulling into something almost bearable. Almost reasonable enough he could fight through, open his eyes and figure everything out.
Then another wave would take him under. Black, black, vicious black.
But then something happened, a familiar sound, a familiar panic. He found consciousness gasping for air and eyes flying open. His vision swam for a good few seconds before it cleared.
And there was Ace.
With the whip.
Gage tried to remember he wasn’t seven years old any longer. He was an adult. Whatever his father could dish out, he could take.
But that whip was the nightmare he thought he’d escaped. He wouldn’t let those old memories rush into his brain. There was enough pain there. He had to focus on the present. Where he was and if Michael was here—because if he wasn’t, he was still somewhere after Felicity.
Felicity. He’d focus on her and not the echoing crack of that whip.
“Good morning, son. Or should I say, good afternoon?”
Gage didn’t say anything, though he wanted to demand to know how long he’d been out. He wanted to demand a whole myriad of things, but he didn’t trust his voice with that whip in his father’s hands.
Ace shifted it from one hand to another. “Did you think I’d forgotten? You never forget your son’s weaknesses.” Ace smiled, a grin that was all sharp edges and sure as hell crazy.
Except Ace always knew what he was doing. So maybe he was just evil. Maybe all his talk about being anointed and chosen and born from the dust were the things he used to justify all that potential for horror he had inside him.
Gage had never really cared to find out. Especially when that whip was involved.
He wasn’t a child anymore. He was not a child anymore. The whip would hurt, but it couldn’t break him. He couldn’t let it. That was what his father w
anted, so he wouldn’t give it to him.
But his body wasn’t getting the message. There was the nausea, which he could blame on the concussion he had to have been given. The heart-pounding, sweaty-palmed terror making his limbs weak—that was all whip.
It’s just a weapon like any other.
But it wasn’t. Not for him.
“Why do you get the whip, Gage?”
Gage wouldn’t respond. He wouldn’t. He didn’t have to give in. Not anymore. This wasn’t the same game it had been when he’d been a defenseless boy.
Maybe he was tied up in what appeared to be some kind of cave...always a cave. But he was thirty-one years old. A grown man who’d fought drug addicts and arrested child molesters and done what he could, everything he could, to right the wrongs he came across.
He had to survive this wrong. He’d done it once, much younger but with his brothers’ help.
Now he was an adult, and if Felicity had gotten away, it could be with his brothers’ help again.
If Felicity and his brothers could find him.
Big, big if.
Ace stepped forward, still moving the whip handle from hand to hand.
“The rules are the same, boy.”
Gage shuddered as if he was still that little boy. As if the years meant nothing. His size meant nothing. There was Ace and that whip, and Gage was nothing in its wake.
No.
“I ask a question, you answer it. Why do you get the whip?”
“Because my father’s a psychopath?”
The crack slammed through the air the same time the stinging, breath-stealing pain lashed over his leg. He couldn’t hold back the hiss of pain, despite knowing it was exactly what his father wanted.
It would be worse—get worse. His father’s whip was weighted and could break bones with the right slap.
Gage could survive it. Better to survive it than give in like he’d had to as a kid.
“Why do you get the whip, Gage? You and no one else?” Ace cracked the whip between them, and though Gage cringed at the sound, no blast of pain followed it.