Would Cut kill Daniel, too?
From three heirs to none.
Daniel trembled with lustful rage. “You fucking—”
“Go ahead and fuck me but you’ll be the third son your father shoots.”
He froze.
For the longest second, we glowered. The sound of wilderness and our shallow breathing was our serenade.
Finally, he threw me away and stormed toward the exit. “I’m not that crazy. And you’re not worth a bullet. I’ll wait.”
I couldn’t stop my muscles trembling.
Thank God.
I’d pushed too far. I’d been idiotic in taunting him. It would’ve been my fault if he’d raped me. But I’d gotten under his skin and unsettled his equilibrium. I’d shown him I wasn’t a wallflower he could pluck the petals off and stomp beneath his shoe. I had thorns...needles...pain to deliver.
His fist grabbed the tent flap, shaking with vehemence. Turning, he smiled coldly. “You’re being so patient, little Weaver. I know all those questions were to make me snap. I know how much you want my cock—you’re practically begging for it.” His eyes narrowed. “How do you think that would make Jet feel? Knowing his corpse is barely cold and you want to fuck his younger brother?”
Clucking his tongue, he blew me a kiss. “I’ll make sure to reward you for being so patient. Expect a lot ofpersuasionto scream later.”
Before I could hurl obscenities, he was gone.
I stood there forever, hugging myself. My knees shook, threatening to dump me to the floor.
What have I done?
I knew what I’d just done.
I’d made whatever my future held worse.
Why? Why did I antagonise him?
Because this was it. The end. There would be no going back from here. No second chances. They would take from me. Tear apart everything I had to give. And I hoped to God I would take from them before it was over.
With numb fingers, I stroked my knitting needle hidden in my hoodie pocket.
Stay strong. Don’t stop fighting.
Daniel’s silhouette graced the outside of the tent as he snapped his fingers at Marquise. His lumbering form marched closer, waiting for orders.
“Stand here. Arm your weapon. If she tries to run, shoot her.”
Tears tried to crest but I shoved them down. This wasn’t Hawksridge. Daniel wasn’t Jethro. And this was no longer a game. The stark truth couldn’t hide: I was in deep shit.
Marquise nodded. “Right-o.”
Sticking his head back into the tent, Daniel grinned. “Just so you’re aware, if you try to run, you’ll know what Jethro and Kes felt when they died by bullet. How’s that for a bedtime story?”
His boots crunched on the deck as he leapt to the dusty ground and left. Marquise popped his head inside, only to give me a cold smile before zipping up the mosquito screen across the door.
Cocking his gun, he turned his back on me.
Alone.
Finally.
