Page 50 of Pleasure & Prey: Vol. 2

“I guess that’s about all I can do,” I tell myself in a soft voice, clicking through the photos on my camera to see if there’s anything I’ve missed. I’ll be able to judge them better once I can actually see them on my laptop. And I’m excited to edit them enough to make them seem a little less flat than they do in the fog. From what I can see, actually, they have quite a bit of potential. But maybe that’s just my narcissism for my own work talking.

When I turn, ready to go back inside and blinking away the fuzziness from the fog that threatens to make me go cross-eyed, I pause. A figure stands further out in the mist, their features obscured by the white mist, though I can see that it’s a man with his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

For a moment, I’m sure it’s Jed. After all, who else could be all the way out here, except for him and his friends? But as the fog shifts just slightly, I can see from the way the man stands, and the way he’s hunched over, that something is wrong.

He’s too short to be Jed. And a little too stocky, if I’m seeing things right. But that means he can’t be Wren either, and I don’t know who else just shows up here. When had he gotten here? I certainly hadn’t heard anything, but the fog does more than make my vision iffy. Sound is also muffled in the clearing around the cabin, to the point where I can barely hear any of the sounds I expect coming from the woods.

“Hello?” I ask finally, squinting hard to no avail. “Are you, umm…lost?” That’s the only thing I can think of when I have no idea who’s standing there awkwardly in the fog.

“I’d hope you are.” The voice is familiar enough that I should be able to place it, but it’s not until the man steps forward, finally close enough so the fog doesn’t obscure his face, that my heart plummets and I swallow my gasp of surprise.

It’s Tyson Miller’s brother.

“I followed him last night,” the man tells me, one black eye not making him look any better. Neither does his split lip, or the nose that’s probably broken. “I thought maybe he’d kidnapped you. Who the fuck would just go with him? But you were at that restaurant too.” He shakes his head. “Do you have any idea who he is?”

“Uh, yeah,” I reply, clutching my camera in my fingers more tightly than I should. “He’s my boyfriend. Are you jealous? I’d get you his number, but I don’t think you’re his type.” I flash him a nervous smile, and wonder if I can make it back to the cabin if I take off now.

But as if he knows what I’m planning, the man takes a step in the direction I’d need to go, still glaring at me. “He killed my brother,” the man informs me quietly. “I know he did.”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never seen him kill anyone.” I laugh nervously. “But you can certainly ask him. Maybe not here or now. He’s not going to like it that you’re here⁠—”

“Why?” The man takes one step forward, then another. “Why’s that, huh? Because this is his property? His territory?” the man spits. “Or maybe because I’m really considering getting him back for last night by messing up your face the way he messed up mine.”

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper. My fingers are clammy as I kneel just enough to set my camera near the shed, and I take a few steps back until my back hits the door.

Which is, conveniently, when the smell surrounds me. I breathe through my mouth, trying not to let it kill me, and the man takes another inching step forward, as if he’s looking for the opportunity to pounce. The look on his face tells me he isn’t lying. And the hatred there proves he won’t feel a bit bad for hitting me.

But today isn’t a good day for a broken nose. In fact, it’s not in the stars for me. As he lunges forward, I lunge back, hitting the door of the shed open on purpose and stumbling back through it. I wheel around, hearing him curse as his steps come closer, and I send up an apology to Jed the moment I lunge toward one of the counters built into the shed wall.

My hands close over the handle of the chainsaw and I haul it up, nearly staggering at its weight. It occurs to me then that Jed was right. There’s no way in hell I can use this as a weapon.

But Tyson Miller’s brother doesn’t know that.

Before he can set foot in the shed, I lurch out of it, braced on the gravel with the chainsaw in both hands, blade facing him. “Try me,” I tell him, one hand going to the cord as the other strains to hold up the weight of the entire thing on its own.

Holy shit, why is this thing so heavy? More than that, how does Jed wave it around like it’s absolutely nothing?

“You want to die? You’ll end up in this shed, too. Take another step.” From somewhere in the distance I hear the bang of a door, and through the fog I hear a voice that might be Jed’s.

The man wavers, his eyes on the chainsaw, before darting to the cabin. “I’m not afraid of you,” he promises, taking one step back, then another. “And I’m not afraid of him, either. Tell your boyfriend I’ll be back, and I won’t waste time just breaking his fucking face.”

After another call from the cabin, the man takes off, plunging into the fog and disappearing moments before Jed shows up, his face contorting into incredulous surprise when he sees me.

“I can explain,” I tell him, setting down the chainsaw hard. “Seriously. Don’t freak out. And you know what? I’ll admit it. You were right. This thing is way too heavy for me to use.” I huff out a breath, my arms burning, and am only a little surprised at his resigned snort of amusement before Jed comes forward to pick up the chainsaw in one hand, pressing a kiss to my forehead before he takes it back into the slaughter shed.

“Explanation time,” he announces, coming back out with concern on his face. “What in the world were you doing with my chainsaw?”

“Umm…” I trail off for a moment as Jed twines our fingers together before leading me back to the cabin.

It’s official.

I’ve never had better French toast than the magical concoction I’d watched Jed make. He’d tried explaining his recipe to me, even while a muscle had ticked in his jaw after I filled him in on my early morning activities and the visit from Tyson Miller’s brother. His movements had been a bit jerky as well, but the quality of the food had never, not once, been compromised.

And the fact he’d made enough to feed an army meant I could load my plate with berry compote. I dripped it over my French toast, leaving more than enough for the others to have some when they got to the cabin.

“You don’t have to help me.” Jed’s voice is snapping with anger, and he drums his fingers on the table as Wren wolfs down food. Across from Jed, a dark-haired, dark-eyed man watches him with interest, and according to Jed, this is Virgil. The elusive other member of the murder club who I hadn’t met before now.

He’s intimidating. Not funny like Wren, or corny like Cass. And he’s definitely not sweet like Jed. According to what I’d heard before, he’s engaged to someone he met a year ago. But I don’t think I’d ever have the guts to marry a man with the look of a predator like him.