Page 9 of Twisted Road

He smiled at the slight indignation in her voice. She should have been angry with him, but she didn’t have any sense when it came to him.

“What else is there to do? We have to get warm, which means we need to stay here for a little while longer. Since I don’t want you to get bored, I’m entertaining you. You could show me a little gratitude.”

“I want to be annoyed with you. You’re kind of a jerk.” Her head didn’t move. She lay over his chest, her ear over his heart as if she were listening to every beat. He hoped the steady sound comforted her.

“Kind of a jerk? Woman, why would you insult me like that? I work on being a first-class bastard. Jerks are tame. There isn’t anything tame about me.”

“That much is true. Thank you for getting me warm. I thought my bones were going to break, I was shaking so hard. I’m still cold inside, but at least I’m not shaking apart.”

That was so unexpected and so like Lyric. Thanking him. She tore him apart and didn’t even see she was doing it. Which was a good thing. He didn’t need her knowing she turned him inside out. She already ran wild, just smiling at him and then doing whatever the fuck she wanted.

Not his kind of woman. If he ever took a woman as his own, he would expect her to follow his lead. To trust him enough to do what he told her to do. What was the point if she ran off doing her own thing and getting into trouble? His entire life had been one of conflict. He wasn’t having that in his home. His woman didn’t do as she was told, he would see to it that she learned that particular lesson fast.

“We’re drying out shoes and jeans before we leave here. I don’t have another tee, but I can dry out mine and you can wear that. It isn’t as warm as the flannel, but if you have an aversion to that one…” He’d expected her to have a hysterical meltdown now that she perceived they were safe, but as always Lyric didn’t react the way he expected her to.

“We really can’t stay here in the truck and wait to be rescued?”

“Someone is waiting for a report. They expect a rape-and-murder video. When their buddies don’t deliver and don’t return, they’ll be sending a hunting party.”

She winced when he mentioned the video. “That disgusting toad Hank had the camera on me when Chester was ripping off my clothes and slapping me. At least he was dumb enough to take the cuffs off. I started rubbing my arms and hands in the dirt to try to bring sensation back.”

His woman. “Maybe we’re more like Batman and Robin than Bonnie and Clyde.”

“I suppose you think you get to be Batman and I have to be Robin.”

“Way of the world, baby, at least my world.”

She sighed but didn’t protest. That bothered him. She was recovering, but she was still in bad shape.

Three

Keys led the way through the maze of animal paths to get them off the faint track their would-be murderers had used. It was miserable going. The rain continued to come down in a steady pour. Not only was it wet, but it was cold. The only shelter was to stay as close to the trees as possible, although he’d managed to fashion a makeshift umbrella out of the lid of the toolbox. It wasn’t the best, but it did provide a little respite for Lyric.

She limped along stoically, without complaint. She’d tried to hold the lid over her head, but after half an hour, he could see it was too heavy for her. She kept her head down and put one foot in front of the other. She didn’t look at him or give him shit, she just followed him. He knew she wasn’t going to be able to get very far. He mostly wanted them away from the dead bodies and the truck.

Keys took the lid from her and held it over her head as best he could as they progressed along the narrow game trail. He had collected as much as he could to help them. Weapons, the meager contents of the first aid kit. Lyric’s scissors. The cell phones just in case he could send out a call to his brothers. He had them turned off because he didn’t want to chance that the Headed for Hell club might be tracking them.

Lyric’s head wound had stopped bleeding, the congealed blood matting her hair. He didn’t try to mess with it. He would clean it when he had access to hot water, and he could take his time and do it right. At the moment, the most important thing was to put as much distance as possible between them and the bodies. He had no idea how soon someone would come looking, especially since all five phones were turned off.

Lyric was the one with the survival skills in a dense forest, but it was impossible for her to even look around. She concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, her left leg dragging on the ground part of the time. He detested that he couldn’t just pick her up and carry her, but he had all the survival gear, and they would need it.

He would have to find a place for them to hunker down, ride out the storm and stay warm until they could make their way down the mountain. Once he found the main road, they could follow it down to civilization, even if it took several days. If they were lucky, he would find a place where one of the cell phones worked and he could send an SOS to his club.

They’d been walking for nearly two hours. He kept them heading downhill, and that added to the slick, treacherous footing. He kept expecting Lyric to ask for a rest, but she didn’t. She kept going, head down, one foot in front of the other. She hadn’t seemed to notice when he took the lid of the toolbox from her. She just kept moving.

“I was raised with a group of other orphans,” he said aloud, needing to connect with her. Needing to ensure she was with him all the way.

That revelation didn’t even get him a glance. She kept walking doggedly forward. Now her limp was very pronounced.

“We lived in a hellhole. Here you might call it a group home, although it was a school run by some very brutal instructors.”

That did get him a slight turn of her head toward him, and then she once more looked at the ground. She hadn’t so much as paused.

“Two females survived. I consider them sisters. Thought they were the strongest women I knew, but I think you outshine them, Wildfire.” It was the highest compliment he could pay her.

Lana Popov and Alena Koval had been toddlers when he first met them. They were the only girls left alive, and his brethren in Torpedo Ink, all graduates of that fucked-up school, had guarded them with their lives. They couldn’t prevent the ugliness that had occurred, the attacks on the girls, but they’d managed to keep them alive. Both women appeared to be as tough as nails. Both women were respected members of Torpedo Ink and had full voting rights. And yes, they were every bit as lethal as the men.

“Thank you, Keys, that’s a kind thing to say.”