I give her what she needs—pounding into her with enough force to rock our bodies across the bedroll. My hand finds her clit, circling it in time with my thrusts, and she starts to shake.
"I'm close, Travis, I'm so close—"
"Come on my cock. Let me feel that tight pussy squeeze me."
She comes with my name on her lips, her whole body clenching around me. The sensation of her pulsing around my cock sends me over the edge. I bury myself deep and come hard, filling her with everything I have.
We collapse together, breathing hard, sweat-slicked and trembling. I stay inside her for a long moment, neither of us wanting to move.
"That was—" She laughs breathlessly. "That was definitely motivation."
"Wait until tomorrow. I'll be even more motivated after we survive the ambush."
She smacks my shoulder. "Don't joke about dying right after sex. It's bad luck."
"Then I guess I better make sure we both survive." I kiss her softly. "Because I'm planning to do that many more times."
"That's the kind of motivation I can work with."
eight
Hazel
Theambushunfoldsexactlythe way Travis predicted.
I watch Eric and Patricia peel off with their ATVs, noise makers strapped to their cargo racks creating the illusion of a full convoy. The sound echoes through the trees—engine roar, metal clanging, enough racket to draw every raider in a two-mile radius.
"They're taking the bait," Travis says, his body tense beneath my arms as we veer onto the secondary route.
The logging road is barely visible. It's really more of a suggestion than actual path. Narrow trails wind through dense forest, low-hanging branches forcing us to duck repeatedly. Every bump sends fire through my healing shoulder, but I bite down on the pain and hold on tighter.
Travis navigates like he was born to this, reading the terrain ahead, adjusting for obstacles before I even see them coming. I trust him completely. That realization hits me somewherearound the third impossible turn, when he threads the ATV between two trees with inches to spare on either side.
I chose right. Joining this crew, choosing him, leaving the safety of Old Pines—all of it was right.
For ten glorious minutes, I think we're clear.
Then I hear the engines.
Different pitch than ATVs. Motorcycles. Two of them, emerging from the treeline like they've been waiting for exactly this moment.
"Fuck!" Travis swerves hard as the first shots crack through the air.
"Down!" he shouts, but I'm already flattening myself against his back.
Bullets whip past close enough that I feel the displacement of air. One catches the ATV's side panel with a metallic ping. Travis pushes the vehicle harder, the engine screaming in protest as we careen down a slope I would have sworn was too steep to navigate.
Behind us, Ken's ATV follows, Patricia driving with Jess clutching the back. I catch a glimpse of blood on Jess's arm before we round another curve.
"Jess!" I scream over the engine noise. "Jess, are you hit?"
"Just grazed!" Her voice carries back, tight with pain but steady. "Keep moving!"
The motorcycles are faster on open ground, but Travis takes us through terrain that should be impossible. Rock formations that force us into single file. Creek beds where the ATVs' wider wheelbase gives us traction the bikes can't match. Spaces between trees so narrow I hold my breath and pray.
I feel every decision Travis makes through his body—the way he tenses before a sharp turn, the shift of his weight to compensate for rough ground, the controlled aggression whenhe guns the engine to clear an obstacle. He's not just driving. He's fighting, using the terrain as a weapon.
One rider pulls alongside us, raising his weapon.
