by Cara Carnes
Then her gaze continued its sweep. Thick thighs. Lean hips.
“Situation secured; notify local fire department.” The man eased his stance slightly. He glanced over his shoulder as another figure headed their direction.
Tension coiled in her muscles.
Pick your battles, girl. Sometimes you have to lose a battle to win the war.
Anger kept her silent. Head down, she focused on the threads of sound breaking through the ringing in her ears. It was like she was sitting at the end of a tunnel.
“What the hell was this?” The second voice rose in frustration. “We’ve got head shots over there, clean kills.”
“It looks like our girl here’s good with a rifle,” the first shadow commented. He shoved his weapon into a holster. “Quillery, raise the light a few feet so we can see better. You’re blinding us.”
Kamren peered upward as the light rose. A drone? Her stomach did an awkward somersault as she studied the figures a bit closer in the new light. Relief swarmed her insides like bees high on honey.
Masons.
She recognized the distinctive dark hair and gorgeous bodies. Was one of them Dallas? She couldn’t tell with the low light and blurry vision. Her head hurt. Bad. Though they all looked alike in the darkness, she knew there’d be differences in the light of day. For now, it didn’t matter.
Don’t be stupid. Dallas made it clear your troubles weren’t theirs. Keep quiet and get gone. You never should’ve come out here.
He’d offered help, too. She forced a deep breath and focused on the present.
“Sheriff’s on his way,” a third man said. He halted, looking down at her. “I’m Marshall Mason. This is my ranch you’re trying to burn up. What happened here?”
She kept mute. He’d called the sheriff? Sheriff Haskell was the last asshole she needed out here. She shifted on the backpack. They had no way of knowing the bastard was dirty, though, and she didn’t have much evidence substantiating her belief.
Dread replaced the relief as she breathed into the silence. The first shadow crouched. A firm grip forced her gaze up. She tumbled into dark blue depths.
Dallas.
He was more gorgeous than she remembered, not that she’d obsessed about their first meeting a couple weeks ago. Okay, she’d totally obsessed.
“Guess the conversation we had didn’t stick,” Dallas commented. “Hell of a mess you’re in, Kamren. Read us in, and we’ll do what we can to get you cleaned up and safe.”
Right. Drugs. She’d almost forgotten that part of the ugly discussion they’d had weeks ago. She blinked and shook some of the confusion loose. Pain spread through her limbs. An ache throbbed along her side.
“Kamren, I need you to focus,” Dallas ordered. He gripped her face tighter. “Sheriff Patterson is on his way. Can you tell us what happened?”
Patterson? Not Haskell? Oh, wait. Resino wasn’t in Haskell’s jurisdiction. Relief returned. The backpack was still secure. Okay, good. She swallowed, forcing words. “Is Rachelle okay?”
Full lips upturned into a grin. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure she’s still sleeping despite the hell you unleashed on our doorstep.”
Fat lot of good it did her. She was trussed up like a turkey with zero likelihood of walking away from this.
“Sorry about that,” she replied with a bit more attitude than a trussed-up turkey should have. No, not turkey.
Murderer.
She kept quiet. Murder wasn’t something she could explain away, even if it’d been self-defense. She couldn’t involve the Masons in this mess. They were keeping Rachelle safe, which was even more important now that she’d freaking murdered someone.
But who?
Marville Dogs?
Probably. They’d been at the Sip and Spin.
Ugh. They weren’t even the ones she was after. Hopefully it wasn’t them. Dani’s cousin was a Grade A dick, but the other guys weren’t so terrible. Pain shot along her thighs, but she remained locked in place on her backpack.
If they weren’t Marville Dogs, then she’d gotten closer than she’d realized, not that it mattered now. She’d be hauled off to jail and thrown into a cold, dark cell for life.
I’m sorry, Dad. I tried.
There was still hope, a long shot. If she could get hauled away and the backpack remained, Rachelle could get it later.
But her little sister wasn’t down with what Kamren had been doing. She hadn’t cared that Dad was dead. No. Rachelle had cared. She’d celebrated his death.
Emotion clogged Kamren’s throat. Too many battles to wage, not enough soldiers. She couldn’t wage war alone, not with so many sides to cover. She’d hoped to argue her case with the Masons, see if they’d help. Surely they would if she could convince them it was in Rachelle’s best interest. They cared about her because their little sister cared.
Dallas hovered. His scrutiny bored into her, creating a nervous, frenetic awareness in her she found unsettling.
“Didn’t expect her to be so quiet,” one of the shadows commented.
“She’s not her sister, Marshall,” Dallas replied.
Marshall. The eldest Mason, if her memory served her, which was doubtful given the painful throbbing in her head. Her stomach pitched angrily.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
The ringing continued. She blinked rapidly, willing her senses to fully return. She’d been closer to the blast radius than she realized. Her temples throbbed.
No, her head freaking hurt. Bad.
She stifled the whiny response. Keep quiet, stay focused. Nothing mattered except getting away without the backpack being noticed. Regret filled her when Marshall reached down and grabbed her father’s rifle. She bit her lip to stave off the enraged response.
No one but her touched it. Ever.
“Roger, Quillery, appreciate the assist,” Dallas commented. “Okay, Kamren, let’s cut the silent act. Who were those men, and why were you reenacting the O.K. Corral shootout on our doorstep?”
“Cut her loose, Nolan,” Marshall ordered.
The second shadow she’d damn near forgotten existed shifted from his crouch. Relief was instantaneous as he released her restraints. She recoiled when he grabbed her hair and swept it back and away from her neck and shoulder.
“Easy, I’m not gonna hurt you,” he commented. “Fuck, she’s clipped.”
Clipped. Shot?
No wonder her head hurt. She blinked. Nolan’s hand drew away from the side of her head, bloody. Her stomach heaved.
If she yacked on them, she’d shoot herself. She’d skinned deer and every other animal around since she could walk. Why would she puke now?
Because it’s your blood, idiot.
“Let’s get you some medical attention.” Dallas put a hand under each armpit and pulled, much like one would a young, errant child. She punched and kicked until he released her.
She grabbed the backpack and hugged it to her. Dizziness assailed her as she battled to stand. Dallas and Nolan both reached for her, but she growled and announced, “I’ll walk.”
Eyebrows lifted. A couple men in the distance chuckled, but Kamren didn’t find the situation amusing. She wasn’t some helpless female. She’d been walking for thirty-one years, thank you very much.
She teetered forward.
“Jesus,” Dallas muttered. A strong arm coiled around her waist. “Let me get you to the truck, and you can bust my nuts later.”
“Careful, I’m thinking my girl would take you up on that.” The female voice startled her a moment. She shifted focus to the tall, lithe redhead standing within a vehicle’s lights.
“Your girl?” Dallas asked.
“Anyone who could take the shot she did is worth my attention.” She uncrossed her arms and took a step forward. “I’m Addy. You are?”
“Kamren Garrett,” Nolan responded. “She’s not talking, probably because of the gash in her head.”
Red and blue lights swirled in the darkness. Her heart thudded in her chest. She tugged and pulled a
way from Dallas’s grasp about her waist.
Hide the backpack.
“Talk to me, Kamren, tell me what’s wrong,” Dallas whispered. “We want to help, sweetheart.”
“You can’t help, no one can. Besides, you warned me off, said to keep my shit far away. I shouldn’t have come here.” She peered up into his deep blue gaze. “But you were wrong about me, Dallas Mason. So, so wrong. If you hadn’t declared war with me, they would’ve left me be.”
“I didn’t declare war, sweetheart.”
“You walking into the bar, saying what you said.” She glared up at him. “It was war.”
The harsh lights overhead spotlighted the paleness sweeping across his face, the shock registering in his eyes. His thick lips thinned as he looked at his brothers. “Fuck, she’s right. They would’ve seen it as a declaration.”
“What you said needed to be done. If it hadn’t been you, it would’ve been Jud and gotten messier. Or one of us,” Marshall said.
“You were wrong. All of you were wrong,” she said.
Her head throbbed, and nausea pitched her empty stomach. She never should’ve thought she was good enough or smart enough to convince someone like him to help her. If her own sister didn’t care who’d killed Dad, why would the Masons?
“Then tell me why I was wrong, Kamren. Talk to me so we can help with whatever this is.” He held her firmly against him as if she were lighter than a feather. Strength and confidence exuded from him. For a moment she closed her eyes and pretended they were hers to lean into and accept.
“I was so close, too close. I was too stupid to be smart about it. They won.”
“Who won?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she whispered. Anger drowned her thoughts. Exhaustion weighted her limbs.
And it didn’t. She’d be silenced soon enough. One way or another, she’d made too many mistakes along the way. She wouldn’t find her dad’s killer anytime soon. Maybe she’d continue her investigation after she paid the price for her poor judgment tonight, which meant she needed what little she’d gathered to be safe until she got out of jail.
Like it or not, the Masons were her only hope. A Mason’s word was an unbreakable bond. Everyone in the tri-county accepted it as an established certainty. “Swear you’ll keep this backpack safe. Promise me. Promise me, and I’ll know.”
“Know what?” he asked.
“There’s still hope. A Mason’s vow is unbreakable.”
Dallas’s jaw twitched. He stared down at the backpack as though it was a nest of angry rattlers. “Kamren, I can’t make that promise. I don’t do promises, not anymore.”
“Then keep it safe, no vow,” she responded. “It’s the only hope.”
She closed her eyes and allowed the blackness to engulf her.
4
Promise me.
The order from another time, another woman chased Dallas. The haunted memory rattled his grip on the past, one he didn’t talk about. Or remember.
Ever.
If you hadn’t declared war with me, they would’ve left me be.
He’d likely inherited another voice to haunt him, another bad decision to regret. He rubbed his chest and willed the words away. Was she right? Had they come after her because of what he’d said.
Fuck.
“You good?” Gage asked as he came to a halt in the narrow corridor outside the examination bay.
Kamren’s muddy, shit-covered backpack dangled from Dallas’s left hand. He entered the small room and cursed. Blood seeped from Kamren’s head, a fact he should have noted earlier, but hadn’t. He hadn’t noticed a lot when it came to her the past few days.
He’d been so lost in his own troubles he’d approached the Marville situation with preconceived notions about what mess she was wrapped up in. He’d blasted her with both barrels: assumptions and biases.
Truth was, he didn’t know a damn thing about the woman. At all. Though Rachelle had been a permanent presence in their lives for years now, Dallas had never interacted with Kamren. He hadn’t even realized she existed. How screwed up was that?
She’d come damn close to a kill shot on him. Pride warred with anger. She’d brought trouble to their back door, and that was the last thing they needed, but he admired her fierce determination.
Unfortunately, they didn’t have their doctor available. Logan had taken personal time to visit family while he recuperated from being shot in the chest not too long ago.
The former CIA doctor had helped outfit The Arsenal with state-of-the-art medical equipment so the operatives and soldiers they treated would have the best medical care possible. The massive treatment station swallowed Kamren’s small form.
While Dallas supposed any one of the men gathered around Kamren could field dress a wound faster than most doctors, he couldn’t get himself started on the task. She’d taken a hit to the head.
Because of him.
“Brant’s on his way,” Jesse offered as he got to work handling the wound.
Brant Burton was a small-town doctor and all-around great guy who’d been helping out at The Arsenal ever since Mary’s dust up with her previous employer. The man was former military but made no qualms about wanting nothing more in his life than doctoring the tri-county residents. He’d agreed to help out as needed until Logan returned.
“There a reason you don’t want to take her to Nomad Memorial? Hospitals do stitch people up,” Nolan replied.
“She’s got enough problems without dragging Nomad police into it,” Dallas said.
“I called Riley,” Jesse commented as he tossed another blood-soaked ball of gauze in the garbage. “She doesn’t want Rachelle woken up, not until we get a better idea about what’s going on.”
He never should’ve driven to Marville and hunted Kamren down that night. He’d been in a bad place, an ugly one, and had taken it out on her. He deserved to get more than his nuts busted.
But it didn’t change what’d gone down in front of their facility. “Likely Kamren’s into something deep.”
“She blew up a car and killed three armed combatants outside our compound. I’d say she’s definitely into something deep,” Nolan commented. “The entire Pentagon is going to descend on her when she wakes. Quillery and Edge are both enthralled by that shot where she exploded the car. They’re looping it in the operational theater.”
“It was a hell of a shot. I doubt I could’ve done it,” Dallas commented. Kamren hadn’t aimed for the gas tank. She’d nailed a clean shot and ignited the gasoline itself, which led to the explosion.
“Edge thinks it was sheer luck,” Jesse said.
“Probably a combination of luck and skill,” Nolan offered. “Either way, it was a sweet beauty.”
Dallas had been heading toward the entrance when the explosion happened. Quillery’d had drones on site right before it happened, in plenty of time to record the Mission Impossible style roll out of the vehicle, the one second pause, and the damn near precision-perfect shot that had eventually ignited the vehicle.
He thought back to his high school years, but couldn’t recall Kamren, which was strange. Since Marville didn’t have an education system past the sixth grade, kids there were transported to either Nomad or Resino. She must’ve gone to Nomad, which was odd since Rachelle had clearly gone to Resino—otherwise she and Riley wouldn’t have become inseparable friends.
A groan escaped Kamren as she shifted on the exam table. Jesse and Nolan both took a step back. A gasp escaped her as she recoiled. Eyes wide, she maneuvered toward the other side of the narrow bed and moved to sit up.
“Easy. I’m Jesse, you’re at The Arsenal. You’re safe.” Jesse took a cautious step back, but settled a firm hand on Kamren’s shoulder when she pushed upward. “Don’t move too much or you’ll likely get sick. You have a head injury.”
“More like a bullet wound, not that it stopped her from nailing Dallas,” Nolan muttered. Amusement flickered across his face. “Need an ice pack, little brother?”
&nbs
p; Dallas forced a chuckle despite the tension coiling through him. “Is there any word on the victims?”
“Marville Dogs.” Nolan glanced at his phone. “Middle forehead shots, one slightly left of center. I remember Dad taking us over to Marville to hunt with Kamren’s dad and grandpa when we were kids. You weren’t born yet. Neither was Rachelle or Kamren here. Cliff was a baby. She’s got that same natural precision.”
Kamren’s gaze flitted back and forth between them, but she remained still and silent as Jesse continued sopping up blood from her wound.
“Fuck, this is deeper than I thought. Kamren here was likely trained early on,” Jesse surmised. “Cliff wasn’t into hunting. I’m thinking she was his replacement.”
Dallas grunted, noting her camo-colored cargo pants and combat boots. Mud coated the once-white sleeveless top, but his gaze settled on the thick swell of her breasts against the thin material. A woman lurked beneath a warrior facade, and he couldn’t help but wonder which was real. He’d fallen for her kind before, the tough-as-nails ballbusters. They were disasters lurking beneath a beautiful, artificial frame.
He glanced down at the backpack.
Promise me.
Son of a bitch.
He owed Kamren. He’d made an assumption that’d likely triggered tonight’s events. Whatever she was wrapped up in, he was partially to blame for the escalation. If he hadn’t lost control and exploded in a crowded bar, the Marville Dogs wouldn’t have had the nerve to make a move against her, not with Rachelle under Arsenal protection. No one in Marville understood what they did, but the Mason name carried weight.
Marshall wandered into the room with Brant in tow.
Thank fuck.
Normally they’d step out and give the doc a bit of privacy with his patient, but the woman had just unleashed hell with four bullets. Dallas wasn’t going anywhere until they got some answers.
“Thanks for coming so quick,” Marshall said.
Dallas offered a chin lift to Brant as he shuffled past them and over to where Jesse stood on the opposite side of the room.
“Kamren.” Brant clipped the greeting as if censuring any further comment.