I grunted.
At least it was appropriate. I was an asshole, and I didn’t want guests, visitors, or drop-ins—period.
I slipped the key into the deadbolt and froze at the sound of a twig snapping in the distance.
My spine stiffened.
No way in hell was that a neighborhood squirrel.
I didn’t move.
My hand tightened around the key.
I hadn’t told anyone I was coming back because I didn’t want anyone to know.
And anyone who knew me also knew it was suicide to try to sneak up on me—even Jaeg wouldn’t risk it.
What I did have was a shitload of enemies who’d love to find me. The kind of enemies who took pleasure in ripping off fingernails one by one. The kind who spent years hunting their enemies just so they could enjoy hearing them scream before they gutted them.
And for that reason, I was careful to keep this place separate from my job with VUR—Vault’s Unyielding Riot—and my ex-military buddies. Our job entailed extracting hostages and taking down some of the worst motherfuckers in the world, so keeping that life separate was imperative.
No connection. Nothing that could link me here.
Even Deck, who owned VUR and who I’d trained with in Special Forces, didn’t know where I disappeared to when I went off the grid, and I trusted him as much as I could trust anyone. I’d never shared my past with him. I didn’t talk about it, period.
But there was always a chance someone I’d pissed off had found out about this place. And I’d pissed off a hell of lot of people in my life. People with infinite cash flow. People who would go to great lengths to find the man who tortured and killed some sick fuck who happened to be important to them.
And then there was the possibility the twig snapping was a starving coyote hunting rabbits. With only a couple hours of sleep in the past forty-eight hours, three hours of rain, and my head feeling as if it was being held together by a spiked vise, I was off my game.
There.
The low creak and rustling of leaves sounded as if a branch was being pushed aside.
No way that was a coyote. If it hunted like that, it would’ve starved to death a long time ago.
I turned my head in the direction of the sound, and I waited patiently, listening for any other footsteps that might indicate that my uninvited visitor wasn’t alone.
Patience was my specialty.
As a kid, I’d patiently waited in air ducts, sewers, pipes, and every other single sphincter-like place that bastard could fit me. Then as a teenager, I’d patiently waited for the right moment to knock out my opponent. In the military, I’d waited for hours in the scorching hot sun for intel to confirm our target was in some hidden bunker so we could take him out.
You learn to ignore the pain from the cramping, the thirst, and the hunger. To keep your breath controlled and remain motionless. If you were lying in the sand, you became the fuckin’ sand.
The sound of footsteps on the wooden bridge entwined with the squawk of a bird as it took flight from the top of a maple tree.
I was hoping I was wrong, because I didn’t need this shit. Not when I was holding on by a frayed thread threatening to snap at any moment. I needed sleep and silence.
My hand went to my waist, and I slowly slid my gun from the holster.
I moved silently along the porch to the far end and ducked under the caution tape. I leapt from the porch onto the spongy grass, keeping low as I made my way to the cover of the pine trees.
The footsteps trekked northwest, running parallel to the river.
I moved quick and soundless through the woods, avoiding the fallen twigs and ducking under low-hanging branches. Despite rarely being here, I knew every inch of this property. I’d made sure I did.
The soft steps slowed for a second, and I heard heavy breathing. Pathetic. Whoever hired this asshole was cheap and had obviously scraped the bottom of the barrel.
The steps suddenly quickened as if they’d heard me, but that was highly unlikely. I’d been trained to be undetectable since the age of five. Being silent meant not getting caught, and not getting caught led to easing the hunger pangs and avoiding welts across my back.