Page 58 of Us Defiant Few

She wasn’t going to compromise her character.

Not even for someone she loved.

She lifted her chin and marched forward. Brock’s lips pulled down in disapproval, but he let her walk past him.

Gentry’s eyes swept up and down her frame, his smile resurfacing. She swallowed, not liking the way his gaze lingered over certain areas of her body.

But he’d probably been out in the desert for so long—who knew how long he’d been alone?

“Thank you,” the man breathed. “What’s your name?”

She crouched, keeping herself an arm’s length away. Her first instinct was to give him a fake name, but it was an innocent question.

“Kanes,” she answered in a low voice, grabbing the bandages.

But when he reached out for them, she noticed black ink on the underside of his arm.

A tattoo.

She pulled back the bandages, and the man frowned, irritation slipping through.

“Where did you get that tattoo?” she asked.

He hitched a breath. “I got it five years ago when I used to live in Desert Spring.”

“I’ve seen one just like it in Desert Spring.”

“That so?”

“Yes.” She stiffened. “But it wasn’t from anyone who lived there. Someone who attacked the town had it. The Sinners.”

The man locked eyes with her, neither of them flinching or smiling. They were in a silent standoff, waiting for the other to move first.

Quick as a flash, Gentry lunged for her.

Khalani reached for her gun, but her fingers closed around a knife handle instead. Without thinking, she pulled the blade from her pocket and slashed at him. The man screamed when she severed one of his fingers.

Bright-red blood dripped to the floor like an offering. He snarled, reaching for her with his other palm.

“You move another inch”—a gun cocked—“and I’ll blow your fucking brains out,” Brock growled.

Khalani held still as if the command held power over her too. Movement rustled behind her, but she didn’t dare remove her gaze from Gentry.

He wasn’t the helpless man from before. He no longer begged or smiled. Only a deep-seated fury flickered in his eyes.

“Who are you?” Brock asked.

The man didn’t answer.

“Are you part of the Sinners?” Brock pressed.

Gentry stayed stubbornly silent, staring at the gun as if it was merely a pen pointed in his direction.

“You must be,” she said. “You were one of the men who tried to kill the people in Desert Spring for no reason.”

At that, his deadly gaze snapped to her. Gentry began to laugh, nearly choking as he cackled. “No reason?” he wheezed. “You really have no idea, do you?”

“No idea about what?”