Chapter 64

Ash accompaniedhis would-be killers deep into the forest.

Every so often, he would spot a flickering light through the new spring leaves.

Sybil’s neighbors.

Which lot would these former commandos choose for his gravesite? How the hell would he get out of this, unarmed?

They’d packed his wound with hemostatic gauze to staunch the blood loss. Not out of compassion, but to prevent a blood trail that the authorities could follow. But the damage was done. He’d already lost a couple pints before they’d performed first aid.

Sweat pebbled his brow and ran down the center of his back. Every other step was a lesson in maintaining his balance and not heaving up his guts. Before long, his blood pressure would drop low enough to force him into blackout mode.

The scene at the guesthouse swept through his thoughts. Kayla had been engaged before. Did she still love him—Vin? Instead of jealousy, he felt sick for her. So many betrayals, so much pain.

He vowed, then and there, to spend the rest of his life making her feel safe, loved.

For a time, they traveled down the same trail he and Kayla had used earlier before veering off. He had trouble keeping his eyes open and worried he wouldn’t be able to find his way back to Sybil’s once he shucked himself free of these assholes.

If he shucked them. His confidence was withering with each labored breath. Grams’s words from years ago whispered in his ear.

Negative energy attracts negative outcomes.

He’d first heard her wise words his freshman year of high school, when she’d found him sitting atop a picnic bench in Barron’s Park, red-faced and alone.

“What’s wrong?” Grams had asked on that long-ago day.

“I’m too small for football.”

“Where is this written?”

“Nowhere. You just have to look at the other guys in my class.”

“Do those big boys have the legs of a mustang and the heart of a wolf?”

He shrugged.

“You do.”

Ash lifted his head and stared into her fierce brown eyes. Warmth filled his narrow chest, until an image of Freddy Molenski’s beefy arms slamming him to the ground and his three massive friends piling on top of him surfaced. “Doesn’t matter. They’ll turn me into a hamburger patty.”

Grams placed a finger beneath his chin and lifted. “Not if you fly, she’ashkii yázhi.”

He’d gone on to be the fastest, most capable cornerback on the team for four straight years.

Now, Ash’s drooping shoulders eased into the upright position. He had a promise to keep. Return, and get Kayla and Jillian to safety. Then he would make Elsie pay for putting terror in his lover’s eyes.

His thoughts shifted from cataloging his limitations to formulating an escape plan. He flipped through scenarios like an eager shopper scrolling through an online store for the right gym shorts.

He thought about what his brothers would do if they were trapped in this situation. Zeke and Cruz would rush in and flatten anyone in their path. Phin would charm his way out of it by connecting with them on a personal level. Rohan would use specially made glasses to guide an armed drone into their midst and blast them to smithereens.

Maybe Ash could?—

“Hold up,” one of his executioners ordered.

He complied, a heavy dread filling his chest. He glanced around for possible weapons, but they’d picked their kill spot well. Except for several inches of decaying leaves and mounded burrows, the forest floor was clear of potential weapons. No fallen branches, no random rocks. Not even a thorny raspberry bush.

Outside of a large tree that had uprooted decades ago, there was no available cover nearby. The trees were small and uniform in diameter, indicating the area had been logged, probably within the past twenty years.

Leaves crackled behind him a second before cold metal raked against his inner wrist. The zip tie fell away.

Surprised, he whirled around, then had to throw his arms out to counteract a wave of dizziness that nearly dropped him face-first. He blinked several times to bring the two black-clad figures into focus.

Something heavy thudded at his feet. He looked down.

A shovel.

“Get digging, dead man.”

Digging a hole would sap the last of his strength, the last of his hope for escape. He channeled Phin. “I’m an FBI agent, trying to protect American citizens. Same as you, when you were in the military.”

They lifted their rifles from the low ready position. Two red dots crawled up his body, then pulsed against his chest.

“Dig,” the guard on the left repeated.

So much for establishing a personal connection.

Ash’s hands curled into fists, as he stared down the two hired guns.

In unison, they moved into a shooting stance. One leg braced behind the other. Rifle buttstock to shoulder. Upper body slightly forward.

Drawing in a breath, he eased his right hand open, bent toward the shovel, and toppled to the ground.