The Bequest

by Hope Anika

  “This ain’t none of your fucking business!” the man yelled, but he was backing up as he said it, Will advancing on him like a hungry wolf. “She’s mine. Go find your own cunt to—”

  Will hit him. Lightning fast—Rafe didn’t even see it coming—a vicious connection so straight and perfect, the man’s nose burst like a balloon. Blood sprayed into the air, across the sloped back window of the Camaro, onto the pavement, on Will.

  “Damn,” Rafe whispered.

  “You son of a bitch!” the man snarled. He swung, but Will ducked, and when he came up, it was with another brutal punch Rafe was sure broke the guy’s jaw. More blood fountained into the air. The man fell back onto the trunk of the Camaro and then slid down the quarter-panel like a limp noodle, landing in a heap next to the back tire.

  Once he was down, Will was on him, shoving him face-first to the pavement, one knee digging into the guy’s spine. When he tried to rear up, Will clocked him in the side of the head, another pitiless blow that knocked him cold.

  “Hell, yeah,” Cheyenne said.

  And that quickly, it was over.

  “Put Lucky in the car, and get that rope I bought,” Cheyenne told him and began to walk toward the Camaro, her phone still at her ear.

  Rafe stuck Lucky in the backseat and hurried to the back of the Jeep, his heart beating like a jackhammer. The rope was there, tucked next to the sleeping bags, and he gathered it with shaking hands. He closed the back of the Jeep and ran toward Will.

  Cheyenne was crouched before the girl, who sat on the curb of the sidewalk halfway between the Jeep and the Camaro. She was talking to her, one hand on the girl’s shoulder.

  “Good man,” Will said when he got close and held out the rope. Will took it and pulled his Leatherman from his belt. He flipped the knife out and sliced a two-foot length of rope from the rest and handed it back to Rafe.

  Beneath him, the man was still as death.

  “Did you kill him?” Rafe wondered.

  “He’s too mean to die that easily.” Will wrapped the man’s hands in the rope and efficiently tied them together. He looked up at Rafe. “Don’t ever do this.”

  “That’s what Cheyenne said,” Rafe told him. “But she’s done it. You’re doing it. Don’t seem fair to tell me not to do it.”

  “She’s done it?”

  “Sure. She didn’t tell you?”

  Will glanced over at Cheyenne, who sat next to the girl. She gave them a thumbs up, and a smile touched his mouth. “She did not.”

  “Yeah. She popped some guy in the mouth at a gas station because he was smacking his girlfriend around.”

  “That’s our girl.” Will glanced up at him, his smile widening into a grin. “How did you find that out?”

  “She told me.”

  The man beneath Will began to stir.

  “Stay,” Will told him.

  Far off, sirens suddenly sounded.

  “Cops,” Rafe said.

  “Troopers, probably.” Will leaned harder on the man when he began to stir. Blood leaked from the guy’s nose and mouth and streamed down the concrete in miniature red rivers.

  “Motherfucker,” the man muttered. “You’re gonna regret this—”

  Will hit him again. The sight of the hit—and the sound—at such close range, made Rafe flinch again, violently.

  “Sorry,” Will said.

  The sirens grew closer. Cheyenne left the girl talking on her phone and approached them. She slid an arm around Rafe’s shoulders and pulled him close.

  “Her name’s Amanda,” Cheyenne said. “She’s fifteen. Met him online. An Amber Alert went out this morning.”

  Will looked down at the man. “Wish I’d known that.”

  Rafe shivered at his tone.

  Cheyenne reached out and touched Will’s arm. “You did enough.” She looked at Rafe. “Can you go sit with her for a minute?”

  Rafe looked over at the girl. She was still on the phone.

  “Please,” Cheyenne added.

  “Sure.”

  He stuck the rope under his arm and went over to where Amanda sat on the curb. He sat down beside her.

  “I’m still here,” she said into the phone, her voice thick with tears. Rafe looked at the bruises on her face, on her arms, on her legs, and part of him wished Will had killed the asshat.

  He deserved it.

  Amanda noticed him then, and looked away, down at the ground, and Rafe could see her shame. It made him angry. She had nothing to be ashamed of—she was just a kid. Like him. It wasn’t fair, that the world was nothing like they said it was. All those stupid movies, painting it golden and filling it with love and kindness, when nothing could be further from the truth. Some people were good. But a lot of them were ugly and mean and not at all good. And it was damn hard, most of the time, to tell the difference.

  Amanda looked over at Cheyenne, who stood beside Will, their heads bent close together. “The operator wants to talk to your mom again,” she told Rafe.

  Mom. The word jolted through him. He blinked at her stupidly.

  “Can you get her?”

  He looked over at Cheyenne and thought about using that word. Mom. Wondered how she would react. He couldn’t imagine it—not today. But maybe…someday.

  He lifted an arm and waved her over.

  “What’s up?” she asked when she got close.

  Amanda held out the phone. “She wants to talk to you.”

  Cheyenne took the phone and stepped away from them. The wind picked up, and a wave of sand and dirt blew over them. Amanda shivered.

  Rafe looked over at Will, where he stood guard over the man and thought about what he would do. Then he took off the fleece coat Cheyenne had bought him and laid it over the girl’s lap. “Here.”

  She tucked it beneath her legs. “Thanks.”

  Silence fell. In the distance, the sirens grew closer.

  “You okay?” Rafe asked.

  “Yeah,” she said, but tears leaked from the corners of her eyes in a steady stream, and her nose was running. She looked over at Will. “Is that your dad?”

  “Nah,” Rafe said. “That’s Will. He’s my friend.”

  “He saved me,” Amanda whispered.

  “Yeah, he’s good at that.”

  She hiccupped. “I was so s-scared. I thought I was going to die.”

  “You’re safe now,” Rafe told her. He watched her for a long moment and then, hesitantly, slid his arm around her. “No one’s gonna hurt you again.”

  He thought she would shrug him off or pull away. Instead, she bent her head to his shoulder and cried.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Rafe’s soft snores filtered through the thin wall of the tent, seconded by Lucky’s sighs and snorts, and between the two of them, they sounded like a couple of content piglets. Cheyenne stood staring into the dying campfire, smiling as she listened to them.

  The worry that she might not be capable of being what Rafe needed—that she might not feel what she should—had died an abrupt death somewhere along the line, although she couldn’t have pinpointed when or where. Maybe it happened when he’d lost it in Georgia’s condo and trashed the place; perhaps it was simply the moment she realized what a great little person he was.

  She didn’t know, and she didn’t care. He was hers.

  Today, when he’d sat next to that young, brutalized girl and comforted her, Cheyenne had almost starting bawling.

  He’d talked to Amanda, given her his coat, and held her while she cried. Cheyenne had watched, knowing he was better than she would ever be, knowing she didn’t deserve him—not really—and so freaking proud of him, tears had filled her throat until she could hardly respond to the 911 operator’s endless stream of questions. When she’d glanced over at Will to find him watching Rafe with that same pride stamped across his features, her chest had gone tight and she’d realized—finally—that she was totally, hopelessly screwed.

  Because every time she looked at the man, she had to tell herself
no. Bad idea. Hormones do not happiness make. But what he’d done today…well.

  The war was over. And it was not reason or logic that prevailed. Lust.

  Something which astounded her…but Will was right. It wasn’t just sex. When he’d gone after that hairy SOB, her entire world had tilted. Shifted. Opened. And as she’d watched him unleash the darkness he held in such tight check, every one of her nerve endings stood to attention, an electric, almost painful sense of such heightened awareness, it made her skin prickle. If it hadn’t been for the kids and the cops and the curious onlookers, she feared she would have pushed him to the pavement, right then and there, and had her way with him.

  Even now, just looking at him where he stood at the mouth of their campsite, staring out at the risen moon, his body taut with tension, made the darkness in her rise, stretch, and reach for him. It wanted to take.

  And to hell with the consequences.

  The depth and power of that desire scared her. Intimidated her—when nothing intimidated her. That what she felt only continued to grow was both daunting and inexplicable. Her need had spilled far beyond the physical to permeate every barrier she’d ever constructed, until she wanted everything he was, all of the pieces, broken or not.

  Which was, in all honestly, mildly terrifying.

  Because this was a choice she was making. Something she would own—win or lose. But the thought of standing idly by out of fear was wholly unacceptable. She’d never allowed it before; why would she start now, with him?

  Because it would hurt when he left?

  Yes.

  “Big hairy deal,” she told herself.

  Life hurt.

  And to not take what she could—this gift that had brought her an awareness of herself she’d never expected—seemed wrong, somehow. A betrayal of something rare and precious.

  Something that may never come again.

  So while now was not the time and this was not the place, and in spite of the trepidation she felt, she’d decided she was going to grab this bull by the horns.

  And ride him.

  Yee haw!

  “Nice,” she muttered. “Classy.”

  But she was who she was…and Will seemed okay with that.

  He’d been quiet after the rest stop. Wound tight and pensive—part of it was adrenaline residue, which she’d experienced herself, but there was something more going on, and she wondered if it had to do with finding his Senior Chief’s name in Georgia’s ledger. Or maybe the call he’d received from his fox. Both.

  They’d forgone Wall Drug in favor of fast food, and the sun had been sinking in the western sky by the time they’d gotten to Badlands and picked out their campsite. The park had only a handful of people in it—the time of year was definitely on their side—and the only other folks in the campground were on the other side, a young couple in an old VW van who’d waved at them when they’d driven through.

  They were quiet neighbors, and the only sounds were the rustle of the wind and the crackle of the dying fire. The air was cool and dry and reminded her so much of home, part of her ached. Cheyenne hadn’t realized how much she loved the place she’d settled until she left it.

  This trip had taught her far more than she’d expected. More than she’d ever realized she had left to learn.

  An ignorant presumption—that she knew anything at all.

  She strode over to Will and halted next to him. He was looking up at the Milky Way, his mouth a hard line as he took in the glittering twist of galaxy that pulsed and grew more vibrant as the sun faded beyond the horizon.

  She leaned close and gave him a nudge. “You okay?”

  He shook his head, silent.

  “What?” she asked.

  For a long moment, Cheyenne thought he wouldn’t tell her. Then, “I wanted to kill him.”

  It took a second to understand. “And that’s bad?”

  “The beating used to be enough.” He turned to look at her. “It isn’t anymore.”

  “Well. It was never enough for me. But…I get it.”

  He watched her, his pale eyes glinting luminescent in the moonlight. “Do you?”

  “Sure.” She shrugged. “Your patience is gone.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning you have no more tolerance for the predatory assholes who inhabit this world. No more belief in the possibility of redemption, and no desire to turn the other cheek. You’re done thinking they’ll magically get better. They’re like rabid dogs—so you just want to put them down.”

  “Christ,” he said, staring at her.

  “Judge, jury and executioner.”

  He lifted a hand and touched her scar gently, and she let him. “And that’s okay? To be the one who decides?”

  “Sometimes.”

  He shook his head again. “That goes against everything I’ve ever fought for.”

  “You fought because someone else decided. At least now you’ll be doing the deciding.”

  Silence fell, and far off, a pack of coyotes yipped and snarled at the moon.

  “It scares me,” he said softly. “How clearly you see.”

  “Only what doesn’t touch me.”

  His hand slid around her nape, warm, heavy, possessive. “Thank you.”

  She should have been accustomed to the flare of white heat that arrowed through her veins, the hollow ache that bloomed between her thighs, but she wasn’t. It continued to steal her breath. To lash at her nerve endings and jump start her heart. “For what?”

  When he slid the hand at her nape around her shoulders and pulled her into the hard plane of his body, she followed. “For being you.”

  Heat washed into her cheeks. He felt good, solid and warm against her. “Bloodthirsty and angry?”

  He smiled down at her. He was a different man with that slashing curve; the darkness withdrew, leaving only grace in its wake. She wondered—not for the first time—which would win him.

  “Human,” he murmured. “When sometimes I feel more animal than man.”

  “Same coin,” she said and shrugged. “No choice in that.”

  Will’s hand curled tight around her shoulders, and he tugged her closer, until she pressed against him from breast to thigh, her cheek nestled against the muscle that padded his chest. His scent flooded her, and for a moment, she felt almost drunk on him, intoxicated by his heat and strength and the visceral response he drew with nothing more than his presence. His lips whispered over her hair, and his fingers stroked her arm, and she moved closer and wrapped her arms around his waist. For a long moment they stood like that, silent, staring out at the glittering sky as shadows pooled around them, and the creatures for whom dusk was dawn stirred in the undergrowth. It was nice, standing there in his arms, allowing herself to be sheltered. Giving what comfort she could. Dangerous, too. Far more so than the lust she’d been fighting.

  This was…intimacy. A shared moment that had the power to create far stronger ties than sex. This, she suddenly understood, was the true danger inherent in following her libido. This…place where they collided and came to understand one another. Where they…bonded.

  Which made her step back and tug from his hold, her heart suddenly pounding with sickening force. Will watched her with an intent gaze, his mouth hardening, as if he saw her struggle, but when she pulled away, he let her go.

  “I need Rafe’s laptop,” he said as his warmth faded from her.

  “Why?”

  “Red sent me something I can’t open on my phone.”

  Cheyenne nodded, grateful for the distraction. She went to the Jeep and retrieved Rafe’s computer, carrying it over to the picnic table. When she opened it and turned it on, the light was jarring and alien in the darkness, its whirl and click as it loaded abnormally loud. Will sat down in front of it and reached up to tug Cheyenne down next to him. She went without argument, watching as he pulled up an email account and hit the link Red had sent.

  Without warning, the screen filled with naked, writhing bodies. Moans and crie
s and Oh Gods filled the air, and as Will hurriedly hit the mute button, Cheyenne giggled, in spite of the woman who dominated the screen.

  Georgia Humboldt.

  Engaged in an orgy of epic proportions. She rode one man—Malik—while another bent her over and prepared to mount her from behind—someone Cheyenne didn’t recognize, but who Will clearly did. A bevy of men surrounded them, watching avidly, some touching themselves, some touching each other. Behind them, more bodies indulged in various sexual acts; whips and bondage and ball gags galore.

  “Goodness,” Cheyenne said into the silence. She might not have been experienced, but she was no prude—still, she was glad it was dark.

  Because her cheeks were on freaking fire.

  “Fuck,” Will said softly, viciously.

  “Clearly,” she said. “I take it you recognize contestant number two?”

  “Fuck,” he said again.

  “I’m sorry.”

  They watched in silence. Every so often, Georgia would look at the camera and smile, a wide, Cheshire grin that had nothing to do with sexual pleasure, while the men grunted and moaned and got off on each other as much as they were getting off on her. When Cheyenne snuck a look at Will, she found him staring at the screen with a look of utter disgust.

  When he shut the video down and closed the laptop, she put a hand on his forearm before he could stand.

  “Talk to me,” she demanded.

  He was tense, the muscle that roped him like steel beneath her touch. “Contestant number two is my fucking senior chief.”

  “And the reason he’s in the book.”

  “Fuck.”

  “I should have guessed,” Cheyenne said. “Sex was her weapon of choice. Where did this come from?”

  “Malik’s server.”

  “Your fox is good. Why would Malik keep this?”

  Will turned to look at her. “I don’t know. I assumed she was blackmailing him because of Rafe, but maybe they were partners. Malik’s brother-in-law is El Hashen—the Pakistani Jihadists Georgia contacted to broker the cache.”