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“I’m leaving him food.”
“He’ll like that.”
“I don’t think he will.”
She tilts her head, beaded hair falling away from her face. “Should I tell him it came from someone else?”
“No.”
“Should I tell him it came from you?”
“No.” That’s the best I’ll give her as I climb the stairs and push into the cabin. It’s as shockingly bare inside, with a suitcase of luggage thrown open against the wall and a lonely bit of color in the fluffy pillow on the bed.
It’s disturbingly depressing, and I ignore it all as I load the containers into the small fridge. It’s only as the last one slides inside and I close the door, cutting off the light, that a sound hits my ears.
A car engine. Which cuts off close by.
And it’s definitely not Wilde’s truck.
I’m on high alert as I walk back outside. Queenie’s looking toward the road that runs right by here, which is where it sounded like the engine was.
“Think someone broke down?” she asks.
My teeth are clenching too tightly to answer. Broken down or not, they shouldn’t be here. They need to get their car and leave the End. Now. I’m at my limit for outsiders, and it’s not until I lean against the railing of Sasha’s deck that I realize I’m clenching my machete tightly.
There are footsteps—more than one pair—and a few minutes later, two men step through the tree coverage.
Both of them are absurdly tall, one of them as narrow as a beanpole and the other one built like an ox. It looks like they have matching tattoos on their arms and neck, and the big guy is clenching a teddy bear in his fist.
“Evening,” he grunts, gaze pinging from Queenie to me to my knife. “We’re looking for someone. Maybe you can help us.”
“Help isn’t given freely around these parts,” I warn them. Even though I’m hyperaware of the blind spots all around us, my eyes don’t leave his face. “You should go.”
“And we will.” He lifts the bright pink teddy bear. “However, this was found right by the bend, and we think it belonged to a missing person we’ve been looking for.”
I run lazy eyes over the bear. It looks exactly like something Sasha would own. “Never seen that before in my life.”
“Maybe you’ve seen his owner, then. Blondie-red curls, tiny thing with a smart mouth.”
“Doesn’t sound familiar,” Queenie lies.
“Bullshit.” The man shakes the bear. “He has to be here somewhere.”
“Take another step, outsider.” My hand clenches the knife tighter, raising it into view. Even if these two didn’t look like the threats they are, I’d be behaving the same way. No outsiders are welcome in the End because all they bring is trouble.
These guys are exhibit A for Sasha.
He eyes me like he’s going to argue back, and my heartbeat slows in my ears, the methodical thumping dulling to a purposeful beat, my body preparing for the hunt. Everything about these men has my hackles raised, and after a moment of assessing me, the big guy plasters a smile over his face.
“Well, if you do stumble across the guy, just be careful. He’s dangerous.”
Sasha? Dangerous?
“We wouldn’t want to see anyone get hurt.”
“Suppose you should leave now, then.” My voice doesn’t sound like my own.
His eyes narrow my way briefly, like he’s trying to work out whether I’m bluffing, and then he lifts his hand and laughs softly. “You won’t get any trouble from us.” He turns to his partner and nods him ahead, but before the man disappears into the trees, he tilts his head back my way.
