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When the door shuts behind him, a collective exhale floods through the room.
Leo slumps over the snow machine and groans. “Fuck.”
The pain from my injuries rushes in, throbbing with the hammer of my heart. I pull off my shirt and use it to dab at the blood and sweat soaking my face. My knuckles ache. My shoulders feel like lead. I ripped the stitches in my hand, and Leo doesn’t look much better.
“I wasn’t taking advantage of her.” He grabs a rag and rubs it over his nape.
“You let her come between us.”
“I know.” He straightens, staring at me. “You and Wolf come first. Always. But…”
“But what?”
“She’s lost too much weight. Her eyes are hollow. Her skin has no color. I know she’s strong. So fucking strong. But she was crying, Kody.”
“She’s a fighter. It’s one of the reasons he chose her.”
“She’s dimming. Day after day, she’s losing that fight.”
“What do you expect? They all lose it eventually.”
“She’s different, dammit.” He throws his hands up and paces. “If there’s another way, a different outcome, she’s the one. She’ll fight this. She’ll change it. We just have to bring her back to life.”
“You’re putting a lot of faith—and entirely too much risk—into one tiny woman. What if you’re wrong?”
“What if I’m right? I can’t do this again. I can’t. Not with her.”
The fucked-up part? After beating his face in, I agree with everything he’s saying. Frankie is different. At every turn, she does the opposite of what we expect. She hasn’t cowered. She hasn’t betrayed. She hasn’t given in.
She hasn’t died.
Maybe she is the one who will break the pattern. But who will get hurt in the process? How badly will we get hurt? Who will be left standing in the end?
“I need you to trust me.” Leo stops before me, his gaze burning.
“Okay.” That’s easy. As easy as wrapping my arms around his tense frame. I embrace him for a long moment before asking, “Do you have a plan?”
“I’m working on it.” He hugs me back, strong and solid and familiar. Then he releases me and smacks my throbbing face. “You look terrible.”
“You should see the other guy.”
We share a grin.
I press my ruined shirt to the trickle of blood at his temple. “I told Denver we were taking her with us tomorrow, but he shot it down. He’s not going to allow it.”
“Fuck that.” Anger returns to his eyes. “We can’t leave her unprotected for two weeks. You heard what he said. He’s done waiting.”
“Wolf will be here.”
“Wolf will give in.” He spins, pacing like a caged lion, and kicks a can of bolts across the floor. “You know I’m right.”
Would Wolf bargain with the devil to protect her? I can’t answer that. I can’t even think about it because it makes me see red. Putting Wolf in that position is the last thing I want.
“We’ll leave with her before dawn.” I stand taller, confident with that decision. “Denver won’t be awake to stop us.”
“There will be consequences when we return.”
“I’ll take the punishment.”
“No. This is on me. I started it, and I’ll see it through.”
“Leo—”
“I can handle it.” He flashes me a blood-soaked smile. “What choice do we have?”
37
Wolfson
—
As the clock strikes midnight, the shadows whisper and the shivers invade.
Disoriented, I spring from the armchair in the library and rub the sleep from my eyes. It’s too quiet. Too dark. Something isn’t right.
Sprinting into the hall, I frantically search the cabin.
Call it a sixth sense, but I feel it.
The moment we’ve been dreading has arrived.
Tendrils of paranoia slither through my veins, awakening a dormant terror I can no longer ignore.
Maybe that’s all this is. Paranoia.
Relax.
Only a few hours earlier, we were eating dinner together, and everything seemed normal.
Normal for Hoss, anyway.
The five of us sat before a feast of cured caribou and roasted vegetables from the garden. Denver watched from the head of the table, engaging us in idle conversation. He was his usual self, a malevolent force waiting patiently for the perfect moment to strike.
Kody and Leo put all their focus into tearing into strips of meat like savages. And Frankie, not eating, with her clothes hanging from jutting bones, only opened her mouth to demand a glass of bourbon. Just one drink, she argued.
Everyone ignored her. For good reason.
We’re worried about her.
So why is there an empty tumbler on the coffee table that smells suspiciously like bourbon and cherries?
Where is everyone?
After dinner, Frankie went outside to run. She’s been doing that a lot, and I know my brothers follow her.
Bored, I chose to curl up in the library and watch reruns of Friends until I fell asleep.
That was five hours ago.
Denver should be in bed, but his room is empty.
My brothers should be somewhere—conspiring in the basement, rummaging in the kitchen, beating their meat in their bedrooms—but the cabin is empty.
