“Stop her!” He bellows.
I keep going. My toe catches on an upturned root, and I go down, my knee slamming against a jagged rock, but I get up andI keep going.
Survive, Elena. SURVIVE!
I have nothing but a gun in my hand and the clothes on my back. I dropped my cell back there, I don’t have my purse, that’s in the car.
Sweat rolls down my face, dampening my hair and my clothes stick. The blood continues to rundown my leg, warm and wet, and I know I’m leaving a trail. Fuck!
I glance behind me but there’s no one there, so for a minute I pause, resting against a tree. I am covered in dirt and blood, clumps of mud sticking to the blood on my skin, but if I stop too long, if I think about it too hard, the pain will only cripple me.
There’s no room for fear.
My labored breaths are the only noise I hear, so I quickly rip off the end of my dress and start winding it around the wound. It won’t stop the bleeding, but it’ll be enough to stop leaving a trail behind me. Pain throbs, a fiery burn that has my entire leg flaring, but I tie the knot and start again.
But the push has left me. I’ve nothing left.
Using the trees for balance, I move through the woods, thankful for the shade they provide. The pain beneath my bare feet is nothing compared to the rest of my body, my heart is pounding, my head throbbing and I’ve started to drag the injured leg, which only adds to the injuries on my feet.
But still, I walk until the sun begins to dip and then completely go down behind the mountains, plunging the landscape around me into darkness. Still, I walk.
My vision swims, the blood loss, dehydration and fatigue all working in tandem. They didn’tkill me, but this surely will.
And then what? I’ll be food for whatever wildlife stalks these parts. I’m sure any predators in the area have already picked up on the scent of my blood, I may as well have a flashing red light on my head, leading them right to me.
I need to find shelter.
Somewhere with water.
Branches snap under my weight as I navigate through the trees for what feels like hours and then see a small light, like the light on a porch. It’s dim but it’s there, shining through the trees.
I can’t go to someone’s house, I can’t trust anyone, but they may have a hose I can get water from, maybe some laundry left out to dry and forgotten hanging on a line. People still do that, right?
My thoughts are a whirling mess.
But I move toward that light, crossing fields until I can make out the shapes of several buildings. In the field to the side of me, cattle graze, and on the right, a few horses. A ranch with barns and outbuildings. The light is coming from the barn right ahead of me, not a house I realize, but I can’t see past all the farming structures.
I can work with this.
Weakly, I move to the nearest barn, keeping as quiet as I can, and find the hose. Is it drinkable? Who fucking knows?
The faucet squeaks as I turn it and then grab the end, bringing it to my mouth. Ice cold water hits my tongue, and I practically groan as I swallow it down. I drink until I physically can’t anymore and then move the water to my head, letting it cascade over me, drenching my hair, my skin until a bloody, dirty puddle forms under my feet.
It’s so quiet. Crickets chirp in the long grass and the cattle huff heavy breaths into the night. I can stay here for a few hours, until morning light at least, and then I can figure out what the fuck I do next.
Who can I trust anymore? Who has my uncle turned? I never suspected Rio.
Hooking my fingers into the lip of the barn door, I pull it open, the weight almost making it impossible, but I get it open just enough to slip inside. I can barely see, but when I reach out with my hand, it touches what feels like straw, so I keep going, feeling until I find a gap that’s big enough for me to fit through.
I find the spot and finally, I rest, lowering onto the straw with a groan and I pray I make it through the night.
CHAPTER 3
Judge jerks to his feet on the rug, nose pointing to the window as a low grumble rolls from his throat. The Irish Wolfhound isn’t a working dog, but he’s just as loyal, protective and vigilant as the Heelers I use to protect the herd.
“What is it, boy?” I run my fingers over the soft fur on his head, but he remains growling at the window. The motion sensor floodlight illuminates a second later as Koda and Lettie, my two female Heelers, begin to prowl toward the field some of the herd are grazing in.
“For fucks sake,” I growl, snatching up my shotgun before I shove my feet into the leather work boots that have seen better days. Fuck, I’ve seen better days, but that’s this damn life.
