Two hours earlier
The key rattled in the lock. Dinner time was coming late tonight. I sat up straight, leaning against the wrought-iron headboard, and schooled my expression into a stoic mask. I didn’t want my posture or face to give away how tired and discouraged I was feeling. Hiding your misery from the enemy wasn’t much of an accomplishment, but I’d take any crumb of victory I could get. I wouldn’t give anything to the people who killed my family and took our ranch, not even the satisfaction of seeing my pain.
The door swung open and the pregnant woman walked in carrying a tray.
Months ago, when she first started bringing me my supper, she’d smiled and said hello. My mother raised me to be polite to women—especially women who were carrying a child—but the thought of responding in kind, smiling and saying hello back to her, got my goat. Not even my mama could expect me to be polite to a murdering Nazi.
The short man wearing a biker vest who always accompanied her—a squirrelly fellow who liked to wave around a gun—had shared my reluctance to make nice. His voice gruff, he’d ordered her to knock it off, said there was no point in pretending we were friends. Shit. What was the world coming to when I’d agree with a Nazi-loving son of a bitch on anything? The woman had pressed her lips together and held her tongue after that, scurrying in and out of the room without making eye contact.
Tonight, three people walked into the bedroom, the pregnant woman, the biker, and another young woman. Maybe she was the biker’s new girlfriend. She looked the type, with her skintight jeans and a skimpy top that did more to highlight her assets than conceal them. Her boobs were popping out of her red lace bra in a way that would make my mama tsk-tsk. She had to be a good twenty years younger than the man and way too pretty for the likes of him, but maybe it was slim pickings for young women in the new world. Or maybe she liked him. Maybe she was a true believer in the cause they were always yammering on about.
The pregnant woman set the tray on the nightstand. Looking at the plate of food, I sighed. Cold spaghetti. From the looks of it—some long pieces and some short ones—she’d cobbled together my dinner by scraping the leftovers off everybody’s plates. Wasn’t the first time, wouldn’t be the last. I hoped they brought supper to that poor soul Dwight and Darryl had hauled in the other night. I’d been sleeping like the dead when shouts in the hallway woke me up, followed by a thump when somebody struck my door and more shouts.
The unfamiliar young woman placed two water bottles next to the plate of spaghetti.
She looked over her shoulder at the biker. “Tuck, do you usually uncuff his hands so he can eat?” She spoke in a little girl, singsong voice that raised my hackles.
“Nah.” He scratched his belly. “He can manage just fine with the cuffs on.”
“I’m Mackenzie,” she said, turning back toward me. Startled, I raised my eyes to her face. “Mackenzie Kyla Dunwitty.” She emphasized her middle name. Her back to Libby and the biker, she widened her eyes.
I frowned, in no mood to play games with the biker’s girlfriend. Was she flirting with me, trying to get a rise out of her boyfriend? No thank you. The man was quick with his fists at the best of times. Trying to rile up that man? That was a dangerous game to play. She’d better figure that one out fast.
I ignored her and reached for my plate, balancing it with one hand on my bent knees so I could shovel food into my mouth with the other hand. I’d mastered the operation. It was undignified, but efficient, and that’s what counted. Eat. Keep my strength up. When the right opportunity presented itself, I’d be ready to make my move.
The right opportunity. I glanced back at the young woman. Maybe I’d been a mite hasty in rejecting her overtures. My lips curved in a slow smile, the same smile that used to melt the buckle bunnies who followed me around after a competition.
“Thank you, ma’am.” I tipped my head toward the water bottles she’d brought.
“No need to talk to him,” Tuck called. “Just give him the water and keep your mouth shut.”
“Sure thing,” she said agreeably, then rolled her eyes, telegraphing her irritation.
Interesting. The woman might have hooked up with the biker, but she clearly wasn’t besotted with the man. If I played this right, she might be my way out. Bet Mackenzie Kyla Dunwitty could get her hands on the keys to the cuffs and the leg irons. Once free—once I got my hands on a weapon—I’d make these people sorry that they ever messed with the Rasmussens.
I was raised right. In the old days, I’d never play a woman dirty, never pretend to like her to get what I want. But the old days and the old ways were dead, weren’t they? Just like my mother and father, my little brother, and all the good people who worked the ranch with us.
My heart hardened and my jaw clenched, still I managed to lift my brows in sympathy with her annoyance. I flashed another smile before she turned away. I’d use the pretty young woman to escape my shackles. After all, she wasn’t a prisoner. She’d crawled willingly into a pit of vipers and had no one but herself to blame if she got bit.
My conscience twinged and Reverend Elliot’s voice sounded in my mind, a ghost from my happy childhood speaking to me. “The Lord’s been good to you and yours, Bear. You owe it to Him to treat people right.”
No. A woman who threw in with Nazis deserved none of my sympathy.
I heard Reverend Elliot’s voice again, calling out a warning. “Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.”
“Move your ass,” Tuck ordered, frowning.
The young woman giggled and plastered a smile on her face before turning toward the man. “No need to be such a grump. I never seen a real cowboy before. I was just checking him out.”
The trio retreated from the room. The key clanked in the lock again. I stared at my barely edible supper and fought the urge to throw it across the room.
“Sorry, reverend,” I whispered. “I’m not going to leave revenge up to the Almighty. Whatever it takes, I’m going to get free. Then vengeance will be mine.”
THIRTY-FIVE
Ripper
Sunlight streaming through the open window woke me early the next morning. I got up, closed the window, and pulled down the blind before the light could wake Mac. I threw on my jeans and T-shirt, then paused at the foot of the bed, studying my sleeping woman.
When I was finished last night, Mac’s teeth had chattered and tremors had racked her body. She’d stared up at me with glazed, expressionless eyes.
Shit. Had the knife play been a mistake? She’d asked me to do it, but maybe in the heat of the moment, she’d overestimated her capacity to handle something that intense. A knot formed in my stomach. I prided myself on my ability to read people, to judge their physical breaking point. Had I fucked up? Had I been so excited and turned on that I pushed the woman I loved too far?
“Mac?” I had touched a cheek damp with tears.
Her gaze had focused on me, and a slow smile had crept across her face. “Wow,” she whispered.
“You all right?”
“I’m beyond all right. I’m floating.”
“Yeah?” That sounded good. The knot in my stomach eased. I stretched out next to Mac and pulled her into my arms. She lay trembling and exhausted, one hand splayed against my chest. “Go to sleep, darlin’,” I said.
“Mm-hmm,” she murmured, her voice dreamy.
Over time, her tremors subsided, her eyelids drifted shut, and her breathing grew deep and regular. I lifted her hand from my chest and gently untangled our bodies. The night was warm, and sweat would sting her welts. I climbed out of bed and slid the window open, careful not to wake her. Returning to bed, I turned onto my side and watched Mac until my eyes grew heavy, and I joined her in sleep.
She lay on her side now, her back turned to the morning light. I resisted the urge to drop a kiss on her cheek—didn’t want to wake her—and slipped from the room, shutting the door quietly behind me.
I found Libby in the kitchen, already hard at work fixing breakfast.
�
��Morning, Ripper.” She offered me a cup of coffee. “Jerrilyn and Boyd are up. Tuck and the boys are still asleep.”
“Morning.” I took the cup of coffee and nodded my thanks. “Mac’s still sleeping, too. I’d like her to get some extra rest today, so I’d appreciate it if you leave her be.”
“Whatever you say.” Libby grinned. “Sounds like you two had quite a night. Getting started on that baby?”
Jesus. I liked the notion of having a baby with Mac someday, when the world was more settled. Spending time with Gus back in Grants Pass showed me how much I wanted a kid, but I sure didn’t want a bunch of white supremacists nagging me to start a family. I swallowed back my irritation and shrugged, then ambled toward the front porch.
“We’d like a word with you,” Jerrilyn said before the screen door slammed shut. She sat on the porch swing, feet braced flat on the floorboards while she pushed the swing back and forth. Boyd occupied a chair facing her.
“Sure.” I leaned against the railing and sipped coffee, studying them over the rim of the cup.
“We gave you the night,” Jerrilyn said. “Should be enough time for you to decide if you’re ready to join the brigade.”
“Been giving it a lot of thought,” I lied. My answer was a given, requiring absolutely no thought. I’d do whatever was necessary to stay on the ranch, including swearing allegiance to the fucking Wilcox Brigade.
“And?” Boyd asked.
“I’m in.” Maybe I should have said that my sympathies aligned with theirs, or that I saw them as a force for good in the world, but when the moment came, I couldn’t make myself say the words.
“Good. Good.” Jerrilyn slapped her knees. “We’ll give you a few more days to settle in, then we’ll send you on your first mission.”
Send me on a mission? Hell no. No way I’d leave Mac at their mercy while I went off on some damned assignment.
“What do you have in mind?” I asked mildly.
“There’s a National Guard armory not a hundred miles from here,” Boyd said. “I scoped it out and saw a handful of survivors—soldiers—outside the building.”
Military survivors still in control of a National Guard facility? That was news to me and not unwelcome news.
“We want the weapons, the ammo, and the protective equipment in the armory: helmets, tactical vests, eye protection, ear protection,” Boyd continued. “We need it all.”
“Uh-huh.” I nodded, encouraging him to continue.
“I need a steady man—an experienced soldier—to help me take the place,” Boyd said. “Dwight and Darryl, well, their hearts are with the cause, but they lack your real-world experience. We’ll leave Tuck and my cousins to guard Valhalla and the women. With the element of surprise on our side, you and I can seize control of the armory.”
I swallowed coffee, buying myself the time to formulate a response and sort through the thoughts swirling through my mind. This fucker wanted me to kill American soldiers in order to steal weapons and PPE for his Nazi brigade. He expected me to leave Mac behind under the protection of a pair of horny dimwits and a violent abuser. Hell no to it all.
I smiled and met his eyes. “We can’t build an army without weapons and equipment. It’s a good plan.”
My real mission—taking Valhalla back from the brigade—took on a new urgency. I’d planned to analyze the situation and strike at the most advantageous moment. Now, with a ticking clock hanging over my head, I’d have to hasten the operation.
Time to bring Bear into the loop.
Dwight and Darryl staggered onto the porch clutching cups of coffee. “Libby said breakfast will be ready in five minutes,” Darryl said, yawning.
“We’ll talk tonight after dinner,” Boyd told me.
“Looking forward to it.”
Tuck joined us at the table in time to help himself to scrambled eggs and toast. After breakfast, Tuck released Bear from confinement, and Dwight and Darryl escorted him outside. Under the pretext of learning how the ranch operated, I tagged along.
Bear’s eyes narrowed when he spied me. I could almost see the cogs turning in his head. Another enemy to deal with when he made his move, and if he was half the man Kyle said he was, he was definitely planning to make a move. The odds, already against him, just took a turn for the worse.
He shuffled across the yard toward the largest barn, hands still cuffed and a chain dragging between his feet. Dwight and Darryl trailed behind, shotguns at the ready. If I was to get the chance to speak privately with Bear, even for a few seconds, I was going to have to act like a real asshole.
“Hey, cowboy,” I called. Bear paused, then turned to face me. I grinned at Darryl—like we were buddies sharing a joke—and stepped close to Bear, getting right in his face.
“In my experience, only little girls love horsies. Real men want something more powerful between their legs. You ever ride a Harley, or for that matter, a woman? One you didn’t have to pay for, I mean?”
Without warning, without a blink or twitch to signal his intent, Bear headbutted me. With his wrists and ankles shackled, the man was at a definite disadvantage, but he didn’t hesitate. I twisted my head just in time to avoid a broken nose, but the force of the blow split the skin over my cheekbone.
Fuuuck. That hurt. Smiling, I wiped the blood away with the back of my hand. I liked the cowboy. If we both survived the battle with the brigade, Bear and I might just end up friends.
I tackled him to the ground. All things equal, we would’ve grappled for dominance, and the powerfully built cowboy might’ve given me a run for my money. Hampered by the chains, he didn’t stand a chance. I grabbed him from behind and clamped my arm around his neck, overpowering him with a headlock.
“Give it up,” I shouted. I lowered my mouth to his ear. “Kyle sent me,” I hissed. “Kyle, the hitchhiker.”
Bear’s struggling ceased. I released his neck, and he slumped forward, gasping for breath.
I shoved him onto his side. “Try anything like that again, and I will finish you,” I snarled.
“You might want to think twice about killing the cowboy,” Dwight said. “Unless you want to shovel shit and do all the other crap jobs he does.”
I snorted, then rose to my feet. “If I have to kill him, it ain’t gonna be me shoveling shit.” I swung my eyes toward the brothers. “You feel me, Darryl?”
Darryl frowned. “You’re new. You aren’t blood. You aren’t a Wilcox. The low man on the totem pole doesn’t get to call the shots.”
I frowned, not because Darryl scored any points in his rebuttal, but because the dickhead’s language was all kinds of wrong, and he probably didn’t realize it. Not that he’d care. Shit. He’d be proud to give offense. I said “low man on the totem pole” once in front of my buddy Henry, and he sat me down and talked about so-called innocent phrases that disrespect indigenous culture. I swore to do better, yet here I was, a card-carrying member of a white supremacist brigade. Mac said we were on the side of the angels. Maybe, but this charade was going to leave a bad taste in my mouth for a long time.
“Ripper! Ripper!” Libby’s voice rang out. “Come quick. Mac needs you.”
Something was wrong with Mac?
I sprinted toward the house.
THIRTY-SIX
Kenzie
A gentle rapping on the door woke me from my slumber. Eyes closed, smiling to myself, I stretched and rolled onto my stomach, burrowing into the sheets. Big mistake. My eyes flew open as I turned onto my back and gently touched my stomach. A fine tracery of lines—pink, puffy welts—crisscrossed my belly and breasts.
“Holy shit,” I mouthed, remembering the night before.
Had I ever been more turned on than when Ripper knelt over me, his eyes glittering, his knife clenched in his hand? I absolutely trusted the man, had one hundred percent confidence in his promise never to do me harm. Still, primitive terror had sparked in my hindbrain at the sight of the blade, at the knowledge that he would ply his skills on my not-unwilling flesh. Terr
or had fused with curiosity and an arousal so all consuming that I shivered and nearly came the moment the knife touched my skin.
Damn. It had been intense. With my fingertip I traced a stripe that started at my collarbone, curved over my left breast, traversed my belly before ending at my hip.
It hadn’t hurt when he cut me, not really, but when he had finished, tears seeped out of the corners of my eyes and pooled on my pillow. Erotic pleasure dulls pain. I felt little more than a tantalizing sting when the blade swept over my body. I hadn’t cried because it hurt. No. My tears sprang from a tumultuous maelstrom of emotion and sensation. Fear, lust, and trust inundated my senses, creating a connection as intimate as sex.
Someone knocked on the door again, the sound louder and more insistent. I sat up, clutching the sheet over my chest. I cleared my throat. “Come in.”
Libby stuck her head in the door. “Ripper said to let you sleep in. He said you guys had quite a night, but it’s getting late. I could use your help cleaning up after breakfast, then I want to show you the chicken coop and garden.”
“I’ll be right there.” I swung my legs out of bed, and my gaze fell on the still-angry-looking burn on my left calf. Staring at the red blotch, I had an idea.
Sahdev. I had to find a way to see Sahdev again.
Last night, Tuck had escorted Libby and me while we fed their prisoners. He’d pulled a key out of the front left pocket of his jeans to unlock their doors. I followed Libby into a back room and found Sahdev sitting on a bed. He looked tired, but otherwise in good shape—thank God—sporting no bruises or other signs of abuse. Leg irons shackled his ankles together with just enough slack between the cuffs to allow him to walk. Well, more likely to shuffle, but definitely not enough to let him run. His wrists were cuffed together, too. A ten-foot chain linked a leg cuff to a heavy eyebolt screwed into a wall stud, allowing him just enough mobility to use the bucket in the corner of the room.
He had raised his brows when he saw me, and I frowned, warning him to give no sign that he recognized me. Libby offered him a paper plate full of spaghetti that she’d scraped off the dinner plates. No cutlery, apparently he was expected to eat with his hands. I handed him a bottle of water. We left the room without speaking to him.
Maelstrom Page 30