Chapter 5: Zayna

Chapter Five

Zayna

I don’t feel betrayed by Quin. I knew the second Ruger made eye contact with me that he wanted me. I know how wicked men think — and that’s what Ruger is. Cruel. I don’t care that he has a baby pressed to his chest, or that his arms are as thick as New England pine trees. He beheaded and mutilated three men with no remorse. I’ll never forget how fucking calm he looked when I first saw him. The carnage in the trailer was worse. I’m glad to get away from the smell. Bleach might get the floors clean, but it barely covers up the scent of death, which becomes disturbingly meaty as the day heats up.

The drive away from the Creek Nation reservation was a painful three hours. My back hurts and Ruger wouldn’t stop for gas, even when I told him I needed to use the bathroom. I’m damn near ready to piss myself when he stops the Ford dually and rushes out to get the baby, who has been crying for the past twenty minutes. He lets me use the bathroom and then sends me right back to the truck. Ugh. I don’t move when he stops, because I’m trying to get a sense of where the hell we are and why this man wants me…

Aside from the obvious.

I was so fucking stupid when I left Massachusetts. So bent out of shape and traumatized that I missed all the red flags my new online boyfriend was waving in my face. My first night in Vegas, I knew how badly I fucked up. Nothing was like he said it would be.

Then there was the hotel room.

And thank God, I can’t remember anything that happened there. I know what happened, but I’m glad I can’t remember.

The mind does funny things to protect us. It shuts down when it has to.

My heart does something funny when Ruger clutches the pink baby to his chest and calms down his swearing to say something actually decent for once.

“I know, I know,” he whispers. “I’ll get you what you need, honey bear.”

With his accent, it sounds cute. Just the thought that any part of Ruger might be “cute” sends a repulsed throbbing straight through me. It’s like my conscious mind is grabbing the back of my neck like a pit bull. Don’t you dare romanticize this man… Not even a little bit.

I need to figure out how to use him. That’s what I need to do.

Because I got myself into those problems in Vegas… But what happened before.

I want revenge for that. I won’t be able to sleep at night until I get it.

Ruger leaves me in the truck or maybe he expects me to follow him. He doesn’t seem concerned that I’ll run away. I mean… I saw enough to know that running away won’t work on this man. If there’s any chance of me getting to him, I’ll have to learn more about him. Get closer to him and then stick the knife in his neck.

I wait three minutes or so — as if I have a real sense of time — and then I get out of the truck and stare at the house in front of me. I didn’t realize it at first, but now that I’m right in front of it, I realize that this log cabin has to be handmade. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Large. Impressive. It looks like something this man would do after a meth binge.

Not to stereotype him as a racist ass country boy or anything but… I did meet him with blood on his hands and painted by the scent of death. I walk towards the front door, which he left wide open. The wide open door makes the surprise when I walk in ten times scarier.

I scream as a dog the size of a wolf lets out five loud BOOFS! and races towards me. It’s a gigantic brown, white and black dog that looks like it should be friendly. Instead, it puts its monstrous paws straight on my boobs and nearly knocks me over. I scream as I stumble out of the house, far more terrified by this beast than the man inside.

He whistles and the dog drops to all fours obediently, looking up at me with a wagging tail. I hear Ruger’s voice calling from within the dark cabin while my heart thrums with an unsteady rhythm that feels like it’s going to skip too many beats for my lungs to catch up.

“He won’t hurt you.”

He already jumped my ass!

“Come inside,” Ruger says. “I was wondering what your ass was doing out there.”

My eyes are still locked with the dog’s. He doesn’t look so scary now that he’s sitting there but… is he going to let me walk into this murder cabin without ripping my damn leg off? I can hear my own breathing and it nearly makes me laugh how scared this dog makes me considering his owner is a goddamn murderer.

Ruger whistles again after I’m in a thirty second staring contest with his dog. The dog runs back and I do what makes sense – I follow the dog. Once I step into the murder cabin, I realize that my name for the murder cabin is too damn accurate. But it’s too late. I either follow the dog farther into the house, or I’m stuck with the dead animals in the living room.

This place has enough creepy ass taxidermy that the FBI should check this place out. I can identify a moose head and a water buffalo before the dog leads me down a dark hallway, which only makes me even more scared, but I throw my hands up against the hallway walls so I don’t trip over anything. Farther down the hallway, the dog stops at a door to a dimly lit room.

At least there’s light. It’s just enough to illuminate Ruger’s body as he sets the baby in a crib.

“My aunt has been looking after Zeus, and I got her to set this room up while she was here. I need to put Eden down for a nap, so go make the bottles.”

“What do you mean?”

I’m not so much irritated as I need to pee, eat, and take a shower.

“Woman stuff. The bottles.”

“I don’t have a baby. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Ruger turns to me and I expect him to look like the crazy ass maniac from before, but he just looks genuinely confused.

“You don’t know how to do that?”

Ruger looks me up and down. I hate how his eyes feel on me, but if he’s looking for evidence that I’m lying, he won’t find it. What the hell is wrong with this man? Does he think every woman comes programmed with this knowledge? Judging by the look on his face… he does.

“No. I don’t have a baby.”

His confusion heightens.

“You’re too old to be a virgin.”

What the hell is wrong with this man? Who in their right mind would say that to a woman?

As soon as I have the thought, I know the answer is in the question. I hate that he says the word.

“Just tell me what to do.”

He chuckles. “You’re not gonna run for the hills.”

“We’re in the middle of Oklahoma. I don’t know where the hell I would go. But I’m guessing you won’t want me leeching off you forever.”

“Hm,” Ruger says. “Go take a piss and wash your hands. I’ll show you how to make the bottles tonight. I don’t want to get up and do them tomorrow.”

I go to the bathroom and when I return, Ruger just stands there, staring off like he’s thinking about murder again. I shiver and try to pull him back into the moment. I can think straight now that my bladder isn’t messing with my head.

“Does she have a name?”

Ruger looks at me and shakes his head. For a moment, I detect an emotion. Fear. I don’t know why seeing him scared both amuses me and scares me. But I think for a second that maybe this man has some humanity in him.

“It doesn’t feel right to name her, considering I killed her mother.”

My head swims. I feel the strong urge to keep his emotions right where they are right now. Level. This man gutted the mother of his child…

“But… she’s yours.”

He glares at me, like I grabbed and squeezed his balls or something.

“That baby isn’t mine. My wife fucked somebody else,” he says. His voice gets so damn quiet and then says. “I don’t ever want her to know.”

“She’ll need a name,” I tell him.

“What’s yours?” he asks. He never asked and I honestly assumed he didn’t give a shit. I saw no need to volunteer the information. We didn’t talk for the entire three hour car ride. He just stared at the road and I fell asleep.

“Zayna.”

“That’s an ethnic name,” he says without missing a beat. I try not to let the comment offend me. I bet that’s the least offensive thing that could come out of this man’s mouth.

“Yes.”

“My baby is white. I need to give her a white name.”

“Becky sounds cute,” I respond dryly. I don’t expect Ruger to pick up on the sarcasm. But he chuckles.

“White but pretty,” he says. “In my family, all the boys are named from the Bible.”

“You’re named after a gun.”

“I know. But Doc’s kids. They had Bible names.”

I don’t know what he’s talking about, but he’s a crazy man, so I’m going to agree with him so he doesn’t turn that crazy on me.

“Okay…”

“I like the name Eden,” he says. “That’s what I want her life to be like… a beautiful garden where there ain’t any pain…”