I can’t help but stare at what he’s done to the graves.
I don’t know who these people were.
Sinners or saints, criminals or law-abiding citizens.
It doesn’t make what he’s done any less of a desecration. Just total disrespectful carnage.
I wish ghosts were real. Then they could come kick some asses over what he’s done.
“You really are an animal,” I whisper. “You just couldn’t let these people rest in peace? You’re that desperate for money?”
“They’re dead. They don’t care.” He smacks his hand on the back of my chair, a warning. “Now talk. If you’re a good girl, I’ll even let you see your boy one more time before I dismember you both.”
I don’t get a chance to retort.
Because suddenly there’s a loud whistle—three quick, short bursts.
Plus the sound of hoofbeats, coming in hot.
I know those hooves, they’re the sound of my own horses. And I know damn well Declan is in trouble.
It’s Holt with somebody else at his side.
“Cut them off!” Declan barks.
His hands are all over me—awful, grabbing, ripping at the ropes, swarming over my hands and legs in a way that makes me feel violated.
That doesn’t stop me from trying to kick him off, to pull away. The ropes fall down around my ankles and pool around the chair.
He doesn’t give me a chance.
His thick, beefy arm wraps around my neck in a headlock.
There’s a metallic click.
And then the mouth of a gun pressed against my temple, cold and steely and round.
“Try anything,” he breathes into my ear, his voice almost slimy, “and I’ll blow a hole in you right in front of him.”
“Fuck you,” I hiss, grappling at his arm.
“I’ll do that in front of him, too,” he leers. “Maybe I’ll let him watch me fuck you right before he dies.”
The sick horror of those words, that promise, leaves me stiff.
Declan hauls me up, practically carrying me against his chest with my feet dangling.
I don’t dare move, kick, or bite.
Nothing while that gun burns against my temple.
He drags me through the town while his men go swarming on ahead.
Eventually we come around the side of the saloon.
Just in time to see Holt and a big, gruff-looking Alaska emerge from the darkness, Frost and Plath stepping through the trees and underbrush slowly.
Frost looks like a toy pony under Alaska’s bulk, but carries him easily while both men ride in with their hands raised, guiding the horses with their knees.
Over half a dozen men train their guns on them.
I could cry at the sight of Holt.
He’s never looked more gorgeous. Even now he’s easy and relaxed, icy calm in his black leather jacket that makes him belong to the night, jeans laying easy on his thighs.
My heart skips a beat.
He wears confidence itself like designer fashion. Not even flinching when multiple safeties click and seemingly not giving half a damn that he could die with a single pull of a trigger.
The horses stop, surrounded by a circle of men.
Holt cocks his head, a lock of dark hair falling across his brow as his gaze wanders, golden brown eyes glinting in the moonlight.
He smirks.
Of course he freaking does.
“Not even a hello? Hardly a warm welcome,” he calls out, pitching his voice to Declan.
“I told you, no more surprises,” Declan growls, hefting me up. “You’re late. Don’t play games with me.”
Holt arches a brow, keeping his hands held high.
“I’m not the one playing treasure hunt like a kid pretending to be a pirate,” he says. “Now would you mind putting my girl down?”
“Only when I’m good and ready.”
Declan sounds calm, if irritated.
I can feel what he’s not saying, the violent pounding of his heart against my back.
Something’s making him nervous.
He’s a small-time criminal, I bet. I don’t think he’s ever truly killed anyone before.
He’s probably always just been fine making big threats, using that intimidating bulk and bearish attitude to make people think he’d just as soon kill them as look at them.
But really?
He’s all talk—and he runs once he’s been found out.
Maybe he’s piss scared.
Afraid he’ll have to put his money where his mouth is and actually murder someone when he’s so weak he’d be terrified of the consequences.
Or else have the men who are already mad at him realize he’s just a big trash-talking bully and turn on him with those guns when he doesn’t deliver.
I catch Holt’s eye.
The look he gives me is long, steady, reassuring, and fierce as hell.
Like he’s holding me across the distance, whispering it’ll be okay, honey. I swear.
Protecting me when he can’t even touch me, keeping me safe and warm.
I just need him to understand what I’m getting at without Declan realizing.
So I move my lips carefully, mouthing out soundless words.
Keep.
Him.
Talking.
Buy me time.
Because the second Declan tries to bluff about shooting me and then doesn’t follow through, I’ll gnaw through his arm if I have to. Seize any chance to get loose.