Just before nightfall, they reached the base of the mountain. Cottonwoods framed the camp clearing, and the scent of wild sage filled the air. Cole selected a spot above the river’s floodplain, and they dismounted to unload. Jack’s hands moved with an almost mechanical precision, setting up the small cooking stove and pitching his tent, all while feeling Riley’s furtive glances—small, quick looks that made Jack wonder if Riley was imagining the same things he was.
They cooked jerky, beans, and rice, washed down with whiskey from a communal flask. Firelight flickered on their faces as stories and half-truths floated around the circle. Eventually, the conversation turned to the tense day ahead. Cole warned them that tomorrow would pose one of their biggest challenges yet—the thunder rapids crossing, a raging river they would have to navigate on horseback. It would be dangerous, challenging, and filled with tension, but nothing they couldn’t handle.
Jack kept his gaze fixed on the flames, though his thoughts strayed elsewhere: imagining Riley kneeling before him, unzipping his pants to reveal his thick, throbbing cock, which would make Riley gasp in delight before he began to worship every inch, begging for a big, tasty load. Just the thought made Jack hard.
When the others drifted off to their tents, Jack lingered by the fire, staring into the embers, weighing every possible yes and no. Silence enveloped the camp. He stood, checking on the horses, hoping Riley would follow for one more offer. No one stirred. Leaning against a tree, his body thrummed with need and fear, wondering if he could muster the strength to resist.
Inside his tent, he lay on his back, eyes fixed on the moonlit canvas, hand resting on his hard cock inside his jeans. He replayed Riley’s voice—soft, insistent—and felt the familiar hunger rise. A part of him trembled with guilt; another part craved the rush of power and pleasure.
Jack was already planning his reply—a gentle but firm no. Somehow, he managed to resist the urge and eventually fell asleep.
As dawn broke over the horizon, a pale light filtered through the towering pines, casting elongated shadows across the campsite. The air was thick with anticipation, a palpable tension that wrapped around the group like a heavy fog. Jack awoke to the sound of rustling fabric and muffled voices, the camp stirring to life as the reality of the day ahead settled in. The river crossing loomed ominously in their minds — a promise of challenge and danger.
He emerged from his tent, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and took in the scene. Cole stood at the edge of the clearing, his broad shoulders squared, surveying the rushing water below. The river roared with a wild intensity, its surface churning with frothy whitecaps that danced in the morning light. Jack’sstomach tightened at the sight; he could almost feel the cold bite of the current against his skin.
Around him, the others moved with a sense of urgency, their expressions a mix of determination and anxiety. Riley, ever the charmer, cracked jokes to lighten the mood, but even he couldn't mask the undercurrent of fear that rippled through the group.
They began gathering their gear—packs filled with essentials, ropes coiled neatly, and provisions for the journey ahead. Jack’s hands felt clumsy as he fumbled with his gear, each movement heavy with the weight of his thoughts. He couldn’t shake the memory of Riley’s offer from the night before, the tantalizing temptation still lingering in his mind like a forbidden fruit.
“Let’s make sure we’re all ready,” Cole’s voice cut through the morning haze, firm and steady. His gaze swept over the group, instilling a sense of purpose that Jack desperately clung to. They had trained for this, prepared for the challenges of the trail, but the river was different — untamed and unpredictable.
As they finished packing, Jack’s heart raced, not just from the looming crossing but also from the electric tension that hung between him and Riley. The way Riley had looked at him, the unspoken invitation still echoed in his mind, mingling with the fear of what lay ahead.
With one last check of their supplies, they formed a tight circle, each member exchanging glances that conveyed silent encouragement. Cole stepped forward, his presence commanding as he laid out the plan. “We’ll move in pairs, keeping a tight grip on the ropes. Trust your instincts and stay calm.”
Jack nodded, swallowing hard, the knot in his stomach tightening further. As they set off toward the river, the sound of rushing water grew louder, a constant reminder of the challenge awaiting them. Each step felt heavier than the last, anticipationcoursing through him like electricity, mingling with the fear of what might happen when they reached the water’s edge.
Chapter 9 - Ethan
The day started wired and raw, every one of them hunched around the cold fire ring, chewing breakfast in silence, waiting for the challenge ahead to start. Cole barely looked at anyone. His whole presence was sharpened to a point, even the coffee mug handled like a weapon. As soon as the sun kicked over the ridgeline, he snapped out orders: break camp, double-check the horses, no wasted motion. They moved like a team of survivors, not vacationers. Nobody talked about the river, but the dread was right there under every wordless glance.
Ethan forced his sleeping bag down to the size of a grapefruit, fingerbones aching from the pressure. Riley rolled tents tight, too tight. Harper checked their medical kit with a silent efficiency that made Ethan think of combat nurses in old war movies. Even Jack—so fucking loud every other morning—barely mustered a mutter about the freeze-dried oatmeal. When Cole finally said, "Let's move," it hit like a starter's pistol.
The sky was a slab of pale blue, sun still low enough to put ice crystals in the breath. The trail cut east along the contour of the slope, each hoofbeat louder than it had any right to be.They crested a blind bend and there it was — Thunder Rapids Crossing.
The sound hit first, a deep-bellied thunder that vibrated through horse and rider. Then the smell—cold, metallic, impossibly clean, like blood and ozone. Water frothed in a white pulse through a canyon slit barely twenty feet across. The rocks were half-submerged, slick as oil. Spray clouded the air, coating Ethan's beard in tiny drops.
Cole reined them to a halt, boots crunching on the frost-damp rock. He didn't have to say a word; the plan was clear. This was where they'd either rise or break.
He slid off his mount and led the way, picking the line across as the rest watched. The horse's nostrils flared, but it trusted Cole, hooves steady even when the river licked up to the fetlocks. At the halfway point, Cole turned and barked: "Single file, three lengths apart. Wait for the signal. If you lose footing, let go and get low. Don’t try to save the pack. Save yourself. Got it?"
They all nodded. Ethan wanted to believe he could hear the tremble in Harper's voice as she answered, but if it was there, it was gone by the time she dismounted. She gave her horse a low, soothing word and pointed its nose to the river. The animal hesitated, but she kept steady pressure, boots planted, spine a steel rod.
Harper's turn across went slow, but she never stopped moving. She picked every step like it was a bomb disposal. The spray hit her face, painting a line across her cheek and catching in her lashes.
Harper made the other side, a little shaky, and looked back with a grin that showed every white tooth. Jack watched her like he was memorizing the path for a test. When his turn came, he hesitated at the water’s edge, the horse dancing and sidestepping as if feeling Jack’s nerves.
Ethan’s heart pounded so hard it made his vision skip. He realized, in the space between Jack's go and his own, that what scared him wasn’t dying. It was failing—making a mistake that would get someone else hurt, that would make him the weak link. He set his jaw and willed his body to stop shaking.
Jack’s crossing started okay, but at the channel’s belly, the horse lost purchase on a slick underwater boulder. Jack tried to muscle it back, pulling too hard on the left rein, and the animal lurched, nearly toppling sideways. For one long, freeze-framed second, Jack’s eyes went wide as a punched-out cartoon, and his arms flailed in the exact wrong direction. The river caught them both, sending up a sheet of freezing spray.
“Fuck!” Jack bellowed.
Harper snapped into motion before anyone else did. She uncoiled the length of rope from her saddle and tied a blazing-fast loop to her horn, then hurled the other end at Jack. The throw was a goddamn miracle—it landed across his shoulder like a python. “Wrap it!” Harper shouted, her voice cutting through the roar. “NOW, Jack!”
Jack fumbled, but got the rope around his waist. The horse flailed, Jack flailed, but Harper’s anchor and the rope’s tension gave him something to fight against. Cole doubled back, wading into the river to grab the animal’s bridle. The water clawed at his boots, almost thigh deep. Ethan felt his own panic surge.
Instead, he slid off his own horse in the shallow and ran to flank the other side of the crisis. He caught the edge of Jack’s pack, fingers raw and frozen, and pushed as hard as he could toward the dry bank. He caught a mouthful of freezing water, eyes blurring with spray. But with three points of contact—the rope, Cole’s grip, Ethan’s shove—the horse managed to lurch up onto a flat spot of rock.
