Page 147 of Monstrous Serpent

Not ever.

Chapter 37

Hunter

Bark explodes off the oak two feet from my head. First shot was high, to the left. This one was closer. Shooter’s adjusting fast.

I cut right. The ground slopes into a shallow ravine. I drop into it, sliding on my heels, one hand in the dirt, the knife in the other. Ferns are knee-high, the roots knotted across the floor. Standing water soaks through my boots on impact.

I press flat against the base of a fallen pine and count to five.

No third shot.

Should be far enough away from Atlas now. Wade followed. The wannabe too. Shooter's tracking me, not Atlas. Which just leaves Garrett.

Atlas can handle my brother. And if he needs help, the team should’ve reached him by now.

“There's that speed. Your father always said you'd be the best one, and you're not disappointing.”

Can't deal with my uncle while the shooter is still out there. So, I push off the pine, cut left through the ferns, then up the opposite bank. The terrain flattens, but the brush gets denser. Blackberry thorns rip at my forearms.

“Your boy kept trying to convince us you weren’t coming. He believed it too. Wasn't acting. Even told my guys to ask for a refund.”

My throat tightens, fingers gripping the handle of the knife until my knuckles ache.

Fuck.

Atlas really thought I wouldn’t come for him?

Laughter cuts through the trees. It’s high. Bright. Wrong.

Shaw.

Another gunshot rings out but doesn’t hit anything close by. The laughter gets louder. The corner of my mouth ticks up. The two people my uncle brought along won’t be breathing much longer.

I slow my pace, letting my uncle catch up. Time to end this shit once and for all.

Ahead, there’s a gap between two wide oaks with open brush on three sides. I duck behind the right one and wait.

“Saw you tuck in there, boy.” My uncle’s voice comes from my left. “Smart. Your father would've been proud, eh. Everything we put into you is paying off.”

I shift, keeping the trunk between us.

“Come on now. I didn't come all this way for you to stand behind a tree.”

I peek around the trunk. “Didn’t think you needed a gun. Thought a blade was more your thing.”

“Gun's no fun. You know that. But can’t keep your brother and the others in line with a knife.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft.” He scoffs. “Your father did that once. For your mother. Had to correct the problem.”

My focus slips, and for one second, I lose the sound of his footsteps.

Gone.

That’s the word my father used. Not dead. Gone.

Fucking liar.