Page 144 of Wild Sanctuary

The hay barn doors are already open, so I slow at the threshold, going in quiet, with the phone between my shoulder and my ear and my rifle up.

It’s deceptively calm inside, with the sun cutting through the cracks in the west wall in long, hard slats. Dust hangs in the dim space, though my eyes adjust fast.

Stan’s voice carries through the air above me, a strange blend of gentle and taunting.

“I’m not lookin’ to hurt you, darlin’. Just come on down.”

I spot him, thirty feet ahead, and halfway up the loft ladder. His back is to me, and his gun is low and loose in his right hand, because he’s not expecting a problem behind him.

“Just gotta get this done. Then it’ll all be over. For both of us.”

My whole body wants to run at him but I clamp down on the urge.

Easing the phone out from under my jaw and sliding it into my shirt pocket, I keep the line open. Then I reach the base of the ladder and start up behind him.

I’ve been up and down this ladder my whole life. I know which rung complains and which one takes weight quiet, so my ascent is silent.

Stan’s boots clear the top and he swings up into the loft when I’m five rungs below him.

“Come now, Daisy.”

His voice comes down through the hay dust, close and encouraging.

“I know you’re up here, darlin’. It’s just us now.”

My fist closes hard on the rung, and I come up the last five rungs fast.

It’s the top rung that gives me away, a barely there creak in the wood, but Stan hears it and turns, the gun moving with him.

I drop my rifle in the hay and get my left hand on the barrel of his gun before he completes the pivot. Then I drive my right fist into his jaw.

His head snaps, but his knees don’t go. He stays up and brings his free hand across to grab the front of my shirt.

The gun is between us now. I twist it away from the bales where Daisy has to be hiding, get hold of his wrist, and wrench it back against the joint until I hear it go.

The bone goes with a crack that travels up my arms, and Stan roars in pain as the gun drops to the floor.

He swings at my face with his good hand, catching me across the cheekbone, and from somewhere behind the bales at the back wall, Daisy cries out.

Once I hear her, I lose the last piece keeping me in check and put him down.

The first punch takes his knees. The second shuts his swollen left eye. After that, I stop counting.

An animalistic sound fills my ears, and it might be him, or it might be me, but I don’t know, and I fucking don’t care.

My knuckles split on his teeth, but I keep going.

Vaguely, I register boots on the ladder.

I draw my arm back for another one when Rhett’s calm voice breaks through the haze. “He’s done, Wyatt.”

My fist stops half-cocked.

Stan is not moving, though he’s still breathing.

I push off him and stand. My hands and face are wet with sweat or blood—I don’t know which, because all I know is everything that matters is behind the stack of bales at the back wall.

“Daisy.”