1. Gage

Chapter One

GAGE

I’m not dead—yet. Not for lack of trying, though.If the punk who'd taken a tire iron to the back of my head had better follow-through, it would be a different story.I cracked one eye open. Pain lanced through my brain like a metal spike, and I groaned.Once the world stopped spinning and my watering eyes cleared, I was finally able to get my bearings.Cypress trees clawed toward a sky the color of a fresh bruise.The smell of wet dirt filled my nose, tangled with the green bite of vegetation and stagnant water.

I was back in the bayou.

Home.

And of course, the first person I thought of was Wyatt.Hell if I know why. I’d spent five years building a solid list of reasons to forget that man ever existed, repeating them to myself every night like a mantra until I almost believed them.Didn't matter. All it took was one breath of the bayou, and all that old anger and longing came rushing back.

I lay frozen and kept my breathing shallow, giving time a chance to jolt my muddled brain back into working order.Someone had beaten the brakes off me.The taste of copper coated my fuzzy tongue, and the deep, familiar pain of a broken rib was stabbing me in the lungs.Nothing I couldn’t handle. It wasn’t my first time taking a beating, and it wouldn’t be the last.

I’d been raised on it.

There was a strange weight pinning my legs, but when I managed to lift my cinder block head enough to glance down, I wished I hadn't.

A girl’s limp body was sprawled across my lap.

“Aw, hell,” I muttered, spitting grit from my mouth and dragging my aching body upright.The cold ground had turned my muscles to stone, but I managed to get vertical.I put my head on a swivel, squinting blearily through the mess of roots and underbrush, trying to get my bearings.We were off grid, deep in the bayou, at least a mile from anything resembling a road.

For years, I’d only seen this place in dreams.

Muddy water sloshed nearby. Just past the mound of fresh earth someone had dug, a horde of red alligator eyes glowed like demonic fireflies.Too many to count. Most people went their whole lives without ever knowing what color a gator’s eyes were in the darkness.Lucky me. We'd been dropped in the middle of a congregation during peak mating season.Whoever dumped us hadn't expected us to live long enough to crawl back out.

I glanced down at the girl again.Her head lolled across my thigh like a broken doll, but she was breathing, at least.That was good enough for now.Grime streaked her face, and dried blood matted a ponytail that was bleached so white it reminded me of cobwebs.She looked young. Late teens, maybe.Just a kid, with that sickly, waifish thinness I recognized from the streets.

Just like that, memory flooded back.I remembered dozing in the ancient Buick I'd won in a Vegas card game.I'd parked in a shadowy lot behind a dive bar at the edge of the parish, partly to catch some sleep after days on the road, but mostly to put off seeing my brothers.

The girl's scream woke me.

She was planting her feet and digging in her heels, skidding across the gravel while a group of lowlifes in leather vests dragged her toward an idling truck.I’d worked security in Vegas long enough to see my share of ugly things, but something about her smallness and her fear cut too close.Even from across the lot, I could feel the malice oozing off the men, and I knew it wasn't going to end well for her.

I hadn’t been to confession in years, but when Gideon finally managed to wrangle me back into that booth, there were some things even I didn't want to admit.There wasn’t a damn thing heroic about me, but some things a guy just can’t ignore.

So, I didn’t.

It was a piece of cake; I had the first guy in a sleeper hold before anyone even realized I was there.The second thug landed in the dumpster, and another went down with a shot to the nuts.The last man was scrawny and pointed, all elbows and chin, and he dropped the girl the second he saw me coming.He threw his hands in the air and backed off, but just before I reached him, a sound whispered behind me.I turned, but it was too late to block the tire iron swinging for my skull.Pain exploded through my head. Then darkness.

Typical Thursday night.

I flexed my jaw, testing the soreness, and gingerly pressed the lump at the base of my skull.My fingers came away damp. Blood or mud, it didn’t matter.What mattered was getting out of this pit before those scumbags came back to check their handiwork.My pockets were empty. Cell phone, wallet, keys—all missing.Not that they’d do much good here; cell towers barely reached this far into the bayou.

Groaning, I staggered to my feet and slung the girl’s weight over one shoulder.Pain detonated in my chest, but I gritted my teeth and breathed through the worst of it.

“Come on, darlin’,” I grunted breathlessly.“Somebody must be missing you.”

The pit wasn’t deep, but the incline was sharp and marshy.It felt like climbing up an escalator made of quicksand.By the time I crested the rise, I could barely breathe.The bayou spread out in front of me in all its messy, tangled glory.To my left, an orgy of gators lurked, glutted on sex and a rich food supply.At least the path to the right looked solid.The highway was a mile or so through the trees if I had my bearings straight.It was nearly impossible to be sure.The bayou had a way of swallowing everything whole: light, sound, and people.

It had almost swallowed me once, a long time ago.Sometimes it felt like I’d never fully escaped.Not in one piece, anyway. But I wasn’t dead yet, and neither was the girl.For now, that would have to be enough.

With her breath tickling the back of my neck, I gritted my teeth and headed out.Mud sucked at my boots, fighting me for every step.It was late spring, and the heat was already intense, building to the full-blown smackdown of a southern summer.The sticky breath of the swamp was rotten with the stench of waterlogged trees, a smell I knew from childhood, the kind that was impossible to completely wash away.

I never should have come back to this godforsaken place, but I didn't have much choice after my old man kicked the bucket.My brothers were already going to tear me a new one for missing the funeral.

Boone Beaufort wasn't our father by blood, but he was the closest any of us had.A wealthy, eccentric old bachelor, the last of a long line of southern aristocrats; he was our guiding light and our moral compass.He'd taken five broken boys and turned us into men.For him, we kept it together the day our brother Ben was sentenced to life in prison.We all wanted revenge, but none of us wanted to break Boone's heart by forcing him to lose another son.So, we made a pact: we'd wait, watch, and when the time was right—we'd get Ben out of there.

Boone knew I wouldn’t last. Back then, I was a guilt-ridden, impulsive mess, a hair trigger away from doing something I couldn't take back.So, he handed me a one-way bus ticket out of town.It was the last time I ever saw him face-to-face, but his words that day still echoed in my head: “No one escapes this place forever, Gage.It’ll call you back one day. But when it does, you’ll be the man I've always known you can be.Not an angry boy with a chip on his shoulder.Go now, before you throw away the future Ben gave up his freedom for.We'll be waiting for you."

But he wasn't. None of themwere.Ben was rotting in a prison cell, Mason was working himself to death, and our oldest brothers were barelyspeaking.If I didn’t make it out of here, they’d never even know I’d comehome.Just another name added to the long list of missing in Devil'sGarden.

The girl was different, though; she might have someone waiting for her.I could get her out, even if I’d never managed it myself.

My thoughts drifted back to Wyatt, to that day in the bayou, when I was just a scrawny kid who decided to take my chances in the swamp rather than die by my real father's hands.It was like being lost in hell.To this day, I’d never felt so alone.I remember curling up in the fog and mud, too numb and exhausted to cry, until the figure of a man emerged from the mist.I knew instantly that the shape didn't belong to my father; this man was taller and leaner with wide shoulders and a radio that squawked like an egret.He knelt before me, larger than life, but so calm and reassuring that I instantly latched onto him.I didn’t believe him when he said I was safe, but I wouldn’t let him go, either.My legs were too weak to stand, so he lifted me in his huge arms and carried me, unconcerned about the filth I smeared all over his uniform.

Wyatt was the first hero I'd ever met; Boone was the second.But Boone was gone, and for some insane reason, I wanted Wyatt to find me again.I longed for him to pull me out of the nightmare one more time.But grown men don’t get rescued.We claw our way out on our own, or we don’t get out at all.

An old cypress tree loomed in the distance, half-hidden by a curtain of Spanish moss.Its twisted roots stuck out of the muck like a tangle of bones.Everyone who grew up in Devil's Garden knew the landmark; we called it the Devil's Hand.Beyond the tree was the old stone bridge where I'd played as a boy, and just beyond it, the Thibodeaux homestead.

I’d rather jump back in the gator pit than ask Etienne Thibodeaux for help.The old man had lived too deep in the bayou for far too long.If he found someone on his property, it was anyone's guess whether he'd shoot them outright or make them squeal like a pig, Deliverance-style.Either way, I wasn't itching to find out.

I set my jaw, adjusted my grip on the girl, and headed across the bridge.The stones were moss-slick, and I nearly bit it a few times before the dilapidated shanty house came into view.A line of rusted cars encircled the property like the world's ugliest fence, and I let out a long, shaky breath.“Bingo.”

I kept to the shadows, crouch-walking toward the nearest truck and swallowing my muffled gasps and grunts.By the time I set the girl down, my ribs were screaming.She felt cold and limp, and an old familiar dread started to crawl up my throat.Even if I found a way to call for help, an ambulance would take forever to reach us out here.My only option was to get her to the hospital as fast as this rust bucket could go.

I grabbed the driver’s side door, and the hinge squealed so loud it drowned out every cicada and bullfrog for miles. My gaze snapped to the cabin, but it was all dark windows.No sign of life. I held my breath and ducked under the steering column, pulling off the plastic casing by feel.The truck reeked like mildew and motor oil.In minutes, I had the wires stripped and twisted, working fast and cursing under my breath the entire time.The wires sparked, and the engine roared to life.

Mason had taught me well.

Five years of trying to outrun this place, and less than a day had me falling back into the same bad habits.

I hoisted the girl into the back seat, arranging her skirt over her knees as best I could.Reluctantly, I pressed two fingers against the clammy skin of her wrist.Her pulse felt surprisingly strong, but I was no expert.

The shocks and struts in Etienne's busted Chevy were toast, and I fought hard with the steering while we rattled and jolted over uneven turf.By the time we hit the dirt road, I had her wide open, barreling toward the highway and praying we didn't run out of gas before we got there.

That was when I saw it—a sheriff's department cruiser hidden in the shadows behind a speed limit sign.Before I could check my speed, a flash of red and blue lights lit up my rearview mirror.The cop was closing in fast, headlights slicing through the darkness like a spotlight.My boot came down hard on the gas, and the transmission lurched, but the truck wasn't built for speed.It didn’t stand a chance against a V-8.Trying to make a break for it would only delay the inevitable.

“Shit!” I cursed under my breath and eased onto the shoulder, but I didn't shift into park, just in case.I'd known the cops in Devil's Garden all my life.Some were okay, but I didn't trust any of them not to screw with me just for fun, and this girl didn't have the time.They all had their own quirks: Sheriff Vanderhoff always paused to check his hairline before exiting his vehicle, Teddy fidgeted with his radio, and Wyatt...

My heart started jackhammering the moment I recognized the dark silhouette in my side mirror.I'd know that slow, confident stride anywhere.Like he had all the time in the world.As he approached, the headlights backlit him enough to pick out details.His hair was shorter than I remembered, but his jaw was just as sharp despite the midnight scruff.And that mouth. How many nights had I dreamed of the shape of it?I'd only kissed him once, but I remembered how those lips felt: firm, then soft—then gone.

I sat back hard in my seat. My pulse was pounding so hard I felt it in my throat.Goddamn. Wyatt hadn’t changed.If anything, he was an even more potent version of the man I’d tried so hard to forget.

Forbidden fruit.

I went to wipe my damp palms on my jeans, thought better of it, and clamped them back on the steering wheel.Wyatt’s flashlight made a sweep across the body of the rusted truck before beaming me straight in the eyes.I winced, turning my face to the side, but even without looking, I sensed the exact moment he recognized me.There was a sudden stillness in the air, and every hair on the back of my neck stood on end.

“Well, now…” His voice held the same low, magnetic rumble that always made me twitch.“Some things never change, do they?”

I swallowed the automatic urge to mouth off, glancing toward him just enough for my eyes to land somewhere around his throat.When I was a teenager, I would’ve taunted and toyed with him, saying whatever flew into my damn fool head.Anything to get his attention.I knew better now, so I kept my trap shut and focused on the rise of his Adam's apple.

He grunted impatiently. “Look at me.”

Yeah, that was the Wyatt I remembered, the man I used to think of as my Wyatt, the one who could make me feel like I'd just been peeled down to the bone.

I forced myself to breathe and jerked my gaze upward.The flashlight blinded me, scanning my pupils, and then finally dropped.

“Wyatt,” I managed to scrape out in a voice so rough it didn't sound like my own.

Wyatt tilted his head, almost like the sound of me saying his name threw him off-balance.Then he swept the flashlight over my bruised, bloodied knuckles, and his mouth tightened.“Turn off the truck.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” He leaned through the open window, invading my space with the spicy scent of his aftershave, and spotted the exposed wiring almost instantly.“Goddammit, Gage,” he whispered.

The twist of shame in my gut embarrassed me, like I’d disappointed him again.Wyatt always had a way of catching me at my absolute worst.My mouth went dry, but before I could think twice, I reached out and caught him by the wrist.“I don’t mind catching a charge but let me get her to the hospital first.”

His wrist felt like steel under my fingers.For a second, neither of us moved, then Wyatt pulled his arm away and shone his flashlight into the backseat.The beam landed on the girl, gleaming off the crusted blood at her temple, and his face turned to granite.

“Did you do that?”

I swallowed hard. “What do you think?”

Silence stretched between us, tight as a rubber band, ready to snap in my face any moment.Judging by the look on Wyatt’s face, I was seconds away from being dragged from the truck and cuffed face-down in the gravel.I took a deep breath, ignored the icepick jab in my lung, and said, “I’m trying to help.”

Wyatt closed his eyes, and a spasm of frustration crossed his expression.He yanked the door open and jammed the gear shift into park before hauling me out by the back of my shirt.“And you thought stealing this death trap was the best way to do it?You haven’t grown up at all, have you?”

That stung, but I kept my mouth shut while he checked the girl’s pulse.I felt strangely protective of her.I doubted anybody besides me cared if she made it through the night, and that made us a team in some messed-up way.

Wyatt’s expression was grim as he lifted her into his arms and carried her to his cruiser.“There’s no time to wait for an ambulance.Get in.”

I hesitated. “No, I?—”

He whirled on me so quickly that I stumbled back a step.His eyes were nearly black in the darkness, boring straight through my brain like a bullet.That gaze held more than frustration or disgust, but I couldn't put my finger on what I was seeing.All I knew was that it made my heart feel too big for my chest.

“You think I’m leaving you here?” Wyatt asked, sounding almost curious.

“Yeah.”

He shook his head, like I was somehow even stupider than he'd thought, but I didn't think that was possible.To him, I was probably still a dumb kid with a crush.“Get in the car, Gage.”

I shoved my hands in my pockets and tried for a careless shrug.“Nah.”

“Get in, or I’ll put you there in cuffs,” Wyatt snapped, losing patience.“Your choice.”

I took a step back. My gaze pinballed between him, the cruiser, and the dark tree line just over my shoulder.

“Don’t do it,” he warned.

Wyatt’s thighs were the size of treetrunks.He was big, strong, and ready to sprint, and while I might be younger and faster, the trek through the bayou had sapped the last of mystrength.It hurt tobreathe.

Besides, running from Wyatt wouldn’t change a damnthing.The Beaufort family was notorious in Devil’sGarden.We were easy tofind.

With a silent curse, I limped over to the cruiser.My damp jeans stuck to the vinyl seat while I squirmed to find a position that didn’t aggravate myribs.

Wyatt climbed in beside me, brushing my arm with the bulk of his Kevlarvest.The scent of his aftershave hit me again, flooding me with memories that sank their hooks deep before I could brace myself.

This was going to be a long ride.