He could less afford to let Jenna suffer.
So, he drove as fast as he dared, and he struggled to remember that he was driving a standard civilian truck rather than a military-grade utility vehicle. The cab was too quiet without the rattle of weapons and body armor with every jostling bounce. His body was too light, too exposed, his head too vulnerable without his gear.
None of it compared to the vulnerability he felt inside. Every time he blinked, he saw that dribble of dried blood on Jenna’s lip and those still-forming bruises on her otherwise perfect skin.
He’d killed Colin Carr. No one was supposed to put their hands on her anymore. But Drew fucking Parker had crossed one line too many.
Foxe finally broke the tense silence. “I don’t have to remind you not to drive up on ‘em, do I?”
“You do not,” Jon replied, the answer automatic, almost robotic.
“Well, that’s good,” Billy said, “because your nice, new truck is definitely not bullet proof. You know, if this is a trap.”
“Definitivamente huele a trampa,” Herb muttered.
Foxe glanced over his shoulder. “That’s just Army stink. You get used to it.”
Billy chortled.
“Funny,” Alex said, “I thought the smell was you.”
Jon heard their banter. He tried to let it ease the tension building in his shoulders. Then he’d blink, and he’d see Jenna’s bruised and bleeding face, see her trapped in the back of that fucking car, and it would all come back.
When he was sure of their proximity, Jon eased off the gas and turned onto an unmarked dirt road. From there, he navigated off the given path until he’d found a nice, tucked-away spot in the forest, and finally killed the engine.
The resumed banter had silenced when he’d hit the dirt, so he had no one to talk over when he twisted around and locked eyes with Alex. “You brought the cover?”
Alex dipped his chin. “I did.”
They’d anticipated ditching the truck and traveling by foot, anyway. Just with a different goal. That worked in their favor.
Jon quickly peeled off the one key he needed, tossed the rest of the ring to Foxe to tuck away in the glove compartment, and said, “Gear check.”
They piled out, everyone grabbed their bags, and Jon and Alex worked to get the truck covered beneath a natural camouflage canopy that would help it to blend in as long as no one looked too closely. The others had most of their weapons strapped into place by the time they got started, but Jon was no stranger to moving with urgency.
It didn’t escape Jon’s notice that he had the fewest guns, and while that was objectively frustrating, in the long run it didn’t matter. His enemies were themselves his potential weapons. Plus, each of his old recon buddies had brought along nice, big water canteens. Between all of that and the natural stream they’d be following up to the mountain, he had more than he needed for a fight. Even if it was a trap.
“Everybody good to go?” Jon asked as he cut his gaze over the group. They looked more like mercenaries or hunters without their fatigues, but this wasn’t a situation to bust out the old uniforms for. At least no one was wearing department store camo.
Four tight, terse head nods responded to his question.
Herb held a rifle in his hands that Jon was not going to ask how he’d managed to bring with him from three states over. Foxe had a small cannon slung over his back and two more guns holstered and visible. Billy would have a gun at his back, but what Jon could see were the blades strapped to his legs andtorso. Alex had a knife on one thigh, a handgun secured on the other, and a rifle similar to Herb’s on his shoulder.
No one had bothered with full packs, because they weren’t expecting a draw-out hunt. Time and speed were the most critical, and they could move faster with less weight. Billy had only one, smaller, bag strapped to his shoulders—that would be the bag with medical supplies.
They had more than they could possibly need for Parker.
But Jon had gotten Lance’s warning text. They’d all heard it, because Foxe had read it to him. So, they were all aware there was a high chance Deputy Parker was not the only foe they were about to find.
Jon shouldered the rifle he’d taken from his grandfather’s storage unit. “Let’s go.”
It took about a minute to realize Drew wasn’t taking her to the sheriff’s office. He’d turned in exactly the wrong direction to head that way, and Jenna’s stomach plummeted.
For as long as she could remember, Drew Parker had not been kind to her. He mocked her appearance throughout their school years. Picked on her as a child—stupid, nonsensical things like pulling her hair and stealing her pencils—before devolving into degrading stunts, making whole scenes designed to tear her down.
Ugly. Fat. Plain. Boring. Forgettable. In the way. Stupid. Useless.
Taunts and jeers and the occasional destruction of her property. A backpack that ‘fell’ into the river on a field trip. Assignments ripped from her hands and torn to pieces. A slipof the scissors, a clumsy grab for paint—it had all been stupid, juvenile stuff. Stuff that had pulled her down too much at the time.
