Cute.
The thug licked his fleshy lips, sweat sheening his oily brow as he seemed to consider his few, and dwindling, options.
“Look, I don’t want any trouble from you, uh . . . sir. I just wanna be on my way back to Vegas and outta your hair.” He tried to smile, but his lips didn’t seem to be communicating with his brain. His mouth trembled and his big teeth started to chatter. “Please . . . you gotta let me go. I swear, you won’t ever see me again after tonight.”
Asher had no doubt about that. Briefly, he considered letting the coward continue to bargain and plead. Not for his own enjoyment, but so he could find out who these three fuck-knuckles worked for. But that was a slippery slope, one he didn’t want to slide down. Didn’t matter who these dead men worked for, or what the kid might have done to warrant such a cruel demise.
No, once he dealt with the last of this garbage, he’d find out where the kid belonged and ensure he got there safely. After that, it would be up to the kid to take care of his own neck. Asher would cocoon himself back at the ranch with his work and the animals and have a clear conscience. Clear being a relative term.
Regardless, there was no need to dig any deeper or insinuate himself any further into this situation than he already had.
But Cheap Cologne kept talking. “Okay, okay . . . I think I get it now. This is your turf and we’re trespassing out here. Right, big fella? So, how can I fix this? You want cash? I can get you cash.”
“I don’t want your money.”
The growled reply made the human’s face blanch. His hand crept up near his throat, where his Adam’s apple bobbed on his hard swallow.
“I don’t want your blood, either.”
Relief escaped the human on a gusting breath. He glanced over his shoulder, back toward the moonlit desert, then he said something really stupid. “You want the girl?”
Asher scowled, only now realizing the obvious. “The kid is a female?”
He nodded. “She’s yours, if you want her. I won’t tell a soul. Just let me go, and you can do whatever you want with the bitch.” A note of confidence stole over the human’s face. He even managed to smile. “Take her. Then you and I can just . . . forget this.”
Asher grunted, far from amused. “I never forget.”
With lightning speed, he thrust his hands out and twisted the man’s head until the spinal column snapped in two. With the corpse crumbled to the pavement, Asher walked around to the back of the sedan and took stock of his surroundings.
Three dead bodies and an unconscious young female in need of medical care.
Just fucking perfect.
To think a blown tire had been his biggest headache when he set out earlier tonight.
He’d been in the area for about fifteen years and managed to keep a low profile. Though if by chance law enforcement decided to roll through this section of desert before the coyotes and vultures got to the three dead men, he knew he’d be getting a visit. Just because no one bothered him didn’t mean folks were unaware of his presence. Ned’s ranch was one of only a handful of homesteads between Cima and Kelso, and while there were plenty of Breed living in Las Vegas proper, he would be first on the list of suspects due to proximity alone.
He feared no man, but the thought of being caged or collared, or having to kill those sworn to protect and serve didn’t sit well with him. Especially when he’d done them a favor by eliminating some of the riffraff.
With one last glance toward the small form still lying on the sand where she collapsed a short while ago, Asher popped the trunk with a mental command and cursed when his suspicions were confirmed. There beside the spare tire and jack sat two rusty shovels, a tarp, and some electrical tape.
Grimly, he grasped one of the shovels and stalked back into the sand and bramble, figuring he’d check on the kid one more time before getting busy digging a grave for her would-be murderers.
When he reached the spot where the girl had fallen, Asher stopped in his tracks and blew out a low curse.
“What the hell?”
She was gone.
CHAPTER 2
Naomi stumbled more than ran, her feet moving so sluggishly she wondered if someone had tied the laces of her Vans together when she wasn’t looking.
But it wasn’t her shoes slowing her down. It was her head.
Damn, it hurt.
She’d spent the better part of her night being manhandled by those Vegas gangsters. Her skull had already been ringing from what she was sure was a concussion following the initial blow she’d sustained when they’d stuffed her in the trunk back at Casino Moda.
