Page 34 of The Shadow Sanctum

SAWYER

No more punches are thrown, but a tension pulses between Angel and me.

Every grind of boot to snow sounds louder than it should, and though we walk for too long without words passing, the grinding never settles in a rhythm. It’s a tap tap tap against the eardrum, without a single chirp of a bird or scattering of an animal to distract from the sound of two men with nothing to say.

I blow out a deep breath that doesn’t turn white. It’s getting warmer, subtle but certain. We’re walking too fast—heading God knows how far off course. Well, approximately three thousand nine hundred eighty-eight feet.

Still, I follow Angel as he traipses downhill. It’s not terrible thinking, given the obvious elevation difference from the Shadow Sanctum, but every step is more dangerous than the last. Angel knows this. I’d be shocked if he didn’t have his own count ticking in his head; he isn’t stupid, but he absolutely would die before being the first to speak.

“Not that I’m questioning your judgment,” I say, hands securely tucked in my pocket as I try to close the six or so feet between us. “But should we stop a minute? Figure out where the fuck we are before we let pride blow our heads off?”

“The drive was uphill.”

“Yes, but…” Hours and hours of hopelessly searching for my father’s truck on the infamous hunting trip play out in my mind, and I know Angel knows it. It’s an elephant he’d never bring up, but I’m sure at least part of him is enjoying this. “This is going to be harder than you think.”

“Well, I have a better sense of direction than a nine-year-old. But by all means, fall back. I’m sure you could find a nice tree to slither up, if the bears don’t get you first.”

I nearly trip over my own feet. “Oh, so we are going to poke that bruise.”

“I’m told they can smell the stench of fear from a mile away. Of course, even the armadillos in Texas can hear your chattering teeth.”

I clench my jaw and force my count to fade. Only to pick it up again a moment later when my heart slams against my ribs.

“So this is a punishment, then.” I give a curt nod, though the bastard isn’t looking at me. “How very like you to kill us both just to make yourself superior.”

“Worse things have happened than the death of two human traffickers.”

Two human traffickers.

“Look who’s developed a conscience. It must be difficult finding little old ladies with mom-and-pops to bankrupt, with your head so far up your ass.”

“I was never that cruel.”

An incredulous laugh skitters past my lips. “Susan Higgins and her handmade quilts. She called you arrogant once, and that was because you⁠—”

“I rectified that, and you know it. She retired in a Florida condo with enough money to die comfortably twice.”

“After a month of me prying at your sense of honor. Because God knows there’s no space in that giant head of yours for mercy.”

“Hell truly has frozen over if Sawyer Hempton is admitting to manipulating me.”

“Every day I wonder when the authorities will know that name.”

Angel stops long enough to turn his head with a glare. I march past him without a word—because apparently, I, too, am willing to die for my pride.

No. I’m not.

I stop.

But don’t face him.

“I would never stoop that low,” he says with contempt that loosens a knot in my gut. “Your crimes are my crimes, and I’m not so self-sacrificing as to turn myself in.”

“And of course, if they caught me, I would rat you out in a second.”

I expect Angel to laugh; wait for another tongue-lashing. But instead, for a count of three, I get silence.

“You wouldn’t.” Certainty. Angel is incapable of speaking without it, but for once, I like the way he never questions his judgement. It’s easy to take what he says as fact. “You’re a manipulative snake, but you’re not a coward… Don’t think I don’t know that you could’ve made me take the fall. My name is on that island just as much as yours, and I know you. You had contingencies. You chose not to use them.”