No White Knight

by Nicole Snow

  Maybe he’s piss scared.

  Afraid he’ll have to put his money where his mouth is and actually murder someone when he’s so weak he’d be terrified of the consequences.

  Or else have the men who are already mad at him realize he’s just a big trash-talking bully and turn on him with those guns when he doesn’t deliver.

  I catch Holt’s eye.

  The look he gives me is long, steady, reassuring, and fierce as hell.

  Like he’s holding me across the distance, whispering it’ll be okay, honey. I swear.

  Protecting me when he can’t even touch me, keeping me safe and warm.

  I just need him to understand what I’m getting at without Declan realizing.

  So I move my lips carefully, mouthing out soundless words.

  Keep.

  Him.

  Talking.

  Buy me time.

  Because the second Declan tries to bluff about shooting me and then doesn’t follow through, I’ll gnaw through his arm if I have to. Seize any chance to get loose.

  Once he can’t use me as collateral anymore, we’ll get out of here just fine.

  Holt looks at me oddly for a second, then nods.

  A small thing, but it’s there.

  Slowly, he lowers his arms, and Alaska follows suit.

  Every last one of Declan’s men bristle, shoulders going up hard as they take aim.

  “Calm down,” Holt says, casually laying his hands on the saddle horn. I can’t see a gun on him anywhere, but if he’s smart, he’s packing. “My arms are just getting tired.”

  Declan makes an irritated noise. “Do you not realize how serious the situation is?”

  “Sure do,” Holt says. “No reason we can’t be comfortable, though. We came to talk. Don’t need guns to do that. We can all get what we want and walk away from here nice and peaceful.”

  “And if I tell you I don’t need you anymore?” Declan says. “Your girlfriend’s been pretty chatty.”

  “Has she?” Holt asks mildly. “I’m sure anyone would talk if they’d been tossed around as much as Libby. I just might have to change my mind about getting violent.”

  I feel a vicious grin splitting my lips.

  Even with the gun pressed against my temple, I dig my fingers into Declan’s arm. “You don’t get to kill him. I’m gonna do it first. One bullet for every time he smacked me.”

  “Fuck, you really don’t shut up,” Declan mutters, jamming the pistol harder against my skin, grinding the metal into me. “The two of you don’t understand when you’re at a disadvantage, do you?”

  “We’re not,” Holt answers, shrugging. “It’s simple, Eckhard. You hurt Libby, I don’t tell you shit. You can’t force me to say a thing. I don’t respond well to torture and shit-talkin’ threats. Just makes me more ornery. And if you put a bullet in my brain, well, won’t be talking then, will I?”

  Declan looks like he might explode.

  Holt tilts his head, his gaze flicking past us toward the graveyard. “Looks like you think you can make dead folks talk. How’s that been working for you?”

  “Don’t you people ever get sick of the sound of your own voices?” Declan snarls.

  “No.” Holt grins. “Want to hear a few more ways you’re fucked if you don’t stop screwing around and do things my way?”

  Declan’s chest rises and falls heavily against my back in a deep, long-suffering sigh.

  “Do enlighten me,” he mutters.

  I almost grin.

  I kinda know how he feels.

  Except this is part of what I love about Holt.

  And he’s in full snake charmer mode, smooth and casual, his velvety-rich voice hypnotic and rolling.

  “The thing is,” he continues, “you haven’t figured out you’re interfering with an active crime scene. Sheriff Langley’s been all over this place. Once he realizes you’ve fucked up his investigation, you’re in jail for obstruction and probably a lot more.”

  He lies so smoothly he almost makes me believe it, if I didn’t know it was pure bull.

  But the next part isn’t as he glances at one of the men holding a gun on him.

  A man with a sleeveless shirt on.

  He’s sporting a bared bicep, grimy with dirt and sweat from digging...all wrapped up in a bloodied bandage.

  “Hey, friend,” Holt says. “Sorry you took a bullet.”

  The man flinches, eyes widening, giving himself away.

  Oh, hell. It’s one of the assholes who attacked me. The man I shot.

  “I hate to tell you this, but you left a little DNA evidence back at Libby’s place. The cops have it. They’ll trace it back to you, and then nail you right to Declan. Is this scumbag worth jail time? Does he owe you that much money?”

  “Shut up!” Declan snarls, though whether at Holt or the white-faced, stricken-looking man, I don’t know. Not until he adds, “Don’t fucking answer him.”

  “Why not?” Holt asks blandly. “You’ve put these guys in a bad position, Declan. After swindling them out of their money, too. All this work for nothing. Treating them like your flunkies. Making them dig all over hell when what you’re looking for isn’t even buried in the ground.”

  “The fuck are you talking about?” Declan’s arm tightens on my neck, and I let out a little wheeze. “I know about the old silver mines around here. I’ve seen their equipment. I know they’d hide it in secret caches until they were ready to sell so no one would pocket it. It’s in all those old books lying around. You told me you fucking know where the silver is.”

  He lets out an angry, guttural grunt, grinding that pistol against my temple again.

  “I lied,” Holt says bluntly.

  I swear to God, my life flashes before my eyes when I feel Declan’s hand shifting and can tell his finger’s tightening on the trigger.

  Before he can yell, though, Holt holds a hand up. “Don’t get stupid. We can still talk. Just let me get something out of my saddlebag. I ain’t going for a weapon, so don’t shoot.”

  “Stop fucking around, Silverton!”

  “I’m not,” Holt says, twisting to flip the saddlebag open and slip a hand inside.

  It’s a miracle they don’t shoot him.

  But he comes back with something.

  A leather-bound book.

  Dad’s old journal?

  Sure enough. He flips the book open to the back and I see the inside cover with my dad’s handwriting scrawled all over it.

  “Take a look at this,” he says.

  “I’m not coming a step closer,” Declan spits, then says, “Will, grab it.”

  “I’m not your slave,” Will—the guy with the bandage—bites off, but edges closer to Holt, eyeing him warily before snatching the book out of his hand.

  Holt grins.

  Moving backward, keeping his gun on Holt, Will moves to Declan and shoves the book at him with a resentful glance. He holds it open so Declan doesn’t have to let me go.

  The scumbag’s head brushes mine as he bows to look, muttering to himself, reading numbers over and over again. “Looks like chicken scratch. What the hell does this mean?”

  “It means,” Holt says, “there was something far more valuable than anyone knew buried in these hills. Something worth a hell of a lot more than silver. It’s what the man in the saloon died over. I’ve got it, but you’ll never know what it is or what it’s worth if you don’t play nice.”

  “I’m getting damn sick of your mouth,” Declan snarls, swinging the gun away from my temple—finally.

  Except he points it right at Holt.

  Oh, I’m not liking that at all.

  “You start talking sense, Silverton,” Declan says. “You talk sense right fucking now, or I will blow your head off in front of your girl, then blow hers off so you can die together.”

  “How sweet,” I mutter, tensing up, getting ready to kick free.

  Only for Alaska—who’d been so silent it’s like everyone forgot he was there—to suddenly sling
a sawed-off shotgun from his back, hidden by his broad shoulders.

  In half a second, it’s pointed at Declan.

  Everyone takes aim at him.

  Guns swivel around everywhere, a proper Mexican standoff, and the only ones not pointing a weapon at someone are me and Holt.

  “Let’s be very clear, boys,” Alaska says, slowly and calmly. “You might shoot Holt, but not before I get a good shot off and turn a few faces into minced meat. So. Maybe point your shit somewhere else.” He glances over the scattered thugs. “Y’all really willing to go to jail for this asshole?”

  He nods at Declan, a spark of mischief in his eyes.

  Uneasy mumbles and two second glances fly around.

  “If your choice is jail or death, remember I’ll shoot the whole lot of you, too,” Declan snarls, frustration boiling over in every word.

  Holt actually chuckles.

  “Hardly a standoff if you’ll kill your own men, is it?” He shakes his head. “You’re a terrible damn negotiator, Eckhard. Just plain shit at it. Lucky for you, I’m gonna lay out some fair terms, and you’re gonna accept them, and then we’re going home.”

  I guess Declan realizes he’s backed into a corner and facing a mutiny.

  He lowers the gun with a deep sigh so it’s pointing off to the side, instead of point-blank at Holt’s face.

  “Talk” he says grudgingly.

  “You’ll let Libby go. As insurance, though, she’ll wait in another building.” Holt’s voice rings with a wild confidence that makes it seem impossible that this could happen any other way. “I just don’t want her in the line of fire if this goes south. We’ll negotiate, I’ll hand over the real treasure, and then Libby and Alaska and I get moving while you hash things out with your men. We never have to see each other again. You’re free to fight over money among yourselves.”

  “Not possible,” Declan grunts. “You can’t possibly have enough valuables on you here.”

  “Wrong,” Holt says, dipping his hand into the saddlebag again.

  He pulls out the little black box from Dad’s stuff and flips it open, revealing that dull, rusty blood-colored rock.

  “This is what you’re looking for, gentlemen,” he announces. “All your riches are right here.”

  There’s a moment of silence.

  Then men start chuckling in mad derision, while Declan outright scoffs.

  “Unless that’s one hell of a dirty ruby, you are full of so much shit, Silverton. Did you really come here to gamble with a goddamn desert rock?”

  “Yes,” Holt says. “Because the desert this rock came from isn’t on this planet. You’re an idiot, Declan. I’m holding an artifact worth seven figures.”

  “Bullshit!” Declan’s shoulders jerk. “I don’t get it.”

  I sigh, rolling my ears.

  “It’s from Mars, you jackass,” I growl. “It’s been buried here. It made the crater where this town is. Private collectors and government agencies would chew their arms off for it. You take it, you sell it, you get big money. My dad knew that. So did the dead guy in the saloon.”

  “No fucking way. That’s the most outlandish load of horse shit I’ve ever heard,” Declan says, his eyes flashing venom.

  Suddenly that gun’s at my temple again.

  I freeze.

  “Look.” Declan raps me with the pistol barrel, enough to make my teeth rattle. “I’m not here for you to tell me some kind of tall tale and pull one over on me. But if that rock’s worth what you say it is...nothing’s stopping me from taking it by force. Either way, I’m sick of this shit, and we’re done.”

  “For once, you’re right,” Holt says coolly. “We’re very fucking done.”

  A noise in the distance makes me perk my head up.

  An engine blaring.

  Lights flash bright over the entire town, bathing Ursa in shadows and white glow.

  Then there’s a scream...a freaking siren?

  Something huge comes barreling out the other side of the mountain pass, and it’s pure chaos.

  Everyone’s screaming, running like maniacs, and that big roaring beast of a machine plows on right at Declan.

  Right at me.

  Now!

  I kick back hard, and as much as I’d like to sock Declan another good one in the nuts, I end up nailing him in the knee instead.

  Just for good measure, I bite down hard on his arm, sinking my teeth in deep.

  He makes a strangled sound, flailing around.

  But he drops me.

  I go rolling out of the way, just as what I swear to God looks like a fire truck comes whipping through and smashes into the church.

  Holy hell.

  Didn’t I see something like this at the last Winter Carnival when everything went nuts?

  There’s no time to decide.

  Declan’s thrown himself to the side.

  Dammit! I was hoping they’d gotten him, but he’s not getting far.

  Not when three big men leap off the back of the truck and bring an instant smile to my face.

  Warren, Doc, and Leo, the Heroes of Heart’s Edge. They’re huge, swift shadows in the night, chasing down the idiots trying to make a break from bedlam.

  The fourth musketeer, Blake, climbs out of the driver’s seat with a big grin, while Holt thunders in on horseback, into the panicked goons in full retreat.

  It’s a total flipping riot.

  Dust billows up everywhere and the church starts collapsing in on itself, the siren piercing the night with another ear-splitting shriek.

  Maybe that’s why I’m the only one who sees it.

  Declan rises, his face twisted into the nastiest fit of rage I’ve ever seen. He staggers to his feet and whips around to take aim at Holt.

  Like hell!

  Before I can even think, I throw myself at him.

  I’m small, but I hit like a cannonball, diving at his legs and taking him out at the knees.

  We go down hard together.

  A loud gunshot cracks off and zings past me. So close I feel the heat kiss my shoulder before it slams into the church and hits something, but I’m focused on Declan.

  He’s not getting up again if I have anything to say about it.

  I lift up.

  Raise my elbow.

  And then pile-drive it down into his nuts so fast they crunch.

  Never let it be said I didn’t learn anything from Sierra. She was on a real self-defense kick for a while—I just wish she’d used her skills more on the trash men she keeps dating.

  Tonight, I do it for her.

  Declan flops forward with a howl, but I guess all that pain gets him blazing mad, because this time he comes up swinging, charging me like a drunken bull.

  But I’m already rolling away, just as the thunder of hooves rolls in.

  The timing is sweet perfection.

  Declan freezes as Holt pulls up behind me, tall and proud on Plath’s back.

  He shoves that Colt of his right between Declan’s eyes.

  “You dropped your gun,” Holt says—his voice light, but his eyes are pure steel. “And your men are scattering. Choose wisely.”

  Not that they’re gonna get far.

  I can hear the boys whooping, taunting Declan’s goons as they round them up like cattle, practically having fun with it.

  “You okay, Libby?” Holt asks, never taking his eyes or his gun off Declan’s frozen, furious face.

  “Nothing I can’t fix by socking this swamp rat in the face a few more times,” I snarl, dusting myself off.

  Holt thumbs the hammer on his Colt. “What do you say, Declan? Want to let the lady use you for a punching bag, or should I drop you dead right here?”

  Declan curls his upper lip. “You don’t have the balls.”

  “Shit. You’re spoiling to be wrong twice tonight?”

  I tense. That’s just the thing. I could totally see Holt ending him.

  Right here, right now.

  He’s got that strength and killer instinct
in him.

  The willpower to knowingly take a man’s life to save someone else’s, even though he’ll have to carry that weight for the rest of his days.

  If the reasons were right, if there were no other options...he’d kill for me.

  Something Declan never could.

  But Holt leans down over Plath’s neck, bringing himself close to the thug, meeting his eyes with a dark, heavy promise.

  “Lucky for you,” Holt growls, “I have a fucking conscience.”

  Right before he draws back, quickly reversing the Colt with a practiced ease.

  He swings it across Declan’s face, pistol-whipping him so hard I hear the resounding crack of bones as his head tears to the side.

  Then, with a moan, he falls down in a heap that’s almost pathetic for a man who tries to have so much bluster.

  Suddenly it’s just me and Holt while the ghost town erupts into stray shots and wild hollering around us.

  We stare at each other like there’s nothing else in the world.

  I’ve never been so happy to see someone in my life.

  I knew he’d come for me.

  I knew he’d save me.

  I knew there was no way in hell I was letting someone like Declan take me out without seeing my man, my knight, my hero again.

  But now that he’s here, looking at me with those intense bourbon-gold eyes, practically devouring me in this endless breath between us, I feel it.

  That hot emotion inside me I’ve been trying to deny. It comes up like magma ready to burst through to the surface.

  I know it. I dread it. I need it.

  Love.

  It can’t be anything but love for this brave, crazy, infuriating beast of a man.

  It’s on my lips, my mouth opening at the same time as his.

  “Holt—”

  “Libby—”

  We both break off in a laugh, but before we can say anything else, Plath shakes her head with an impatient snort and shoves her nose against my chest, nearly knocking me back.

  “Calm down, girl!” I tell her. “I’m okay. I’m getting to it.”

  The hollering has died down around us. I’m guessing Declan’s men have all surrendered. No match at all for the men of Heart’s Edge.

  I let out a soft oof, then chuckle and stroke her mane, her face, her velvety nose.

  “She missed you,” Holt says, voice thick and alluring as a bonfire. “She’s not the only one.”