“You know they’ll find us,” Dave said it flat, watching the man he’d thought was Titus.
The man shoved him for the effort. Pain lanced along Dave’s jaw from the hit earlier.
He should’ve seen it coming. He hadn’t. Tatum had sucker punched him in his face next to the horse corral and wrenched the weapon from his grip. Dave had gotten in a few good licks, but it hadn’t made a difference to the outcome.
He was still here, walking through the desert with Tatum pointing his own gun at his back.
Tatum had made the switch in Vegas.
“Shut the fuck up and keep moving,” Tatum snarled.
“What did you do to your brother?” Dave asked, voice tight.
Usually, that question earned a shove and a snarl. This time, Tatum answered.
“He’s fucking dead, okay? I shot him. Happy now that you know, because I sure the fuck am.” Tatum shoved him so hard, Dave dropped to his knees.
He tried to catch himself, but the rope bit his wrists—Tatum had found a coil hanging on the side of the building—and his arms gave out. Rock and grit scraped his cheek when his face hit the dirt.
“Why shoot Titus? He’s not the one who killed Tanis.” Dave hauled himself up onto his knees, jaw burning.
“Because he tried to kill him,” Tatum spat, leaning in so close that Dave could smell the sour on his breath. “Just because he failed and someone else did it doesn’t make him innocent.”
“So, what now?” Dave asked.
“I’m going to find out who inside Genesis killed Tanis.”
“They’ll never give that up.”
“I don’t know who the hell you are, but shut the fuck up.” Tatum jerked him to his feet.
Dave kept his head down and walked, stunned, mind racing. Tatum had no idea who he’d just strapped a rope around.
Tatum didn’t know Dave led a group of killers that could rise out of the dust and tear a man apart in broad daylight.
Let him stay blind.
“So, what are you going to do with me?” Dave asked.
“Trade you for Viper—the leader of that rabble you call Genesis.”
“You think you’re marching into that ranch and coming out with him?” Dave scoffed. “First, you have to get out of this desert.”
Tatum’s grin was half pride, half madness. “I’ve got a locator embedded. My men are camped about another mile out.” He wiped dirt from his lip and waited.
Normally, they scanned for those before they brought them to the ranch, but because they’d thought they had Titus…they didn’t.
When Dave didn’t answer, Tatum jerked his chin to keep walking.
He dragged his feet, favoring his knee even though it wasn’t hurt. Tatum wouldn’t know the difference.
He slowed his steps just enough to make it look real.
If he could catch the bastard off guard, he might be able to double back the way they’d come. Tatum was underestimatinghim—probably because of his age. But Dave sure as hell wasn’t a damsel in distress.
He didn’t need to strike yet. The low thrum in the distance told him what he needed to know.
A Blackhawk. His Blackhawk.
