Broken Warrior (The Weavers Circle 1)

Clay hesitated. It was insane to follow her.

But it took only a glance around the room at the blood running down the wall to get his feet moving. It wasn’t like he wanted to stick around at this murder scene. No way he could explain to the cops what had been going on. Luckily, the desk clerk hadn’t taken his name for the register. Just some cash before sliding over a room key.

Scooping up his bag and shoes, he jogged out the door. Cool, dew-covered grass gave way to the angry bite of gravel as he followed her across the parking lot. His head was hurting again, throbbing in time with his racing heart. This headache was probably from his head getting slammed into the wall. At least it took his mind off the long cuts bleeding on his chest.

The woman led the way to a Ford truck that was very likely as old as her. The pale-blue paint was faded almost everywhere, and a few rust spots dotted her, adding to her character. “Hurry. Get in.”

“Wait!” he shouted as his fingers wrapped around the door handle. “What about my car?”

“Leave it. You won’t need it.”

“But—”

“Move your ass!” she shouted, jerking open the driver’s door. “I’ve got a friend who can take care of it. You can’t use it anymore. They know it too well.”

With his teeth clenched, he tossed his worn duffle bag into the bed of the truck and jerked open the door. He climbed into the passenger seat slowly. The adrenaline that had kept him moving and the worst of the pain at bay was fading fast. His hands were starting to shake, and his chest burned.

“You look bad,” the old woman muttered. Clay blinked slowly, focusing his gaze on the stranger staring at him in the dim interior light of the cab. “But…I’ve seen worse. You’ll live. Need to get you home.”

Clay closed his eyes and pulled together what strength he could. When he sucked in a breath, it was like being enveloped in fresh, clean earth. A sigh of relief escaped him. He was at last away from the smell of death. She made it sound like getting home would cure what ailed him, and there was some part of his brain that desperately wanted to believe her.

The truck engine rumbled to life, and Clay sighed with relief. They needed to get away from this mess before the cops arrived.

“How do you know me?”

She frowned and slowly settled in her seat. “That’s a long and complicated story. It’s better if we get on the road first.”

“You’re going to tell me.”

She shoved the truck into reverse and peeled out of the parking spot at the nowhere motel. With three dead or dying men in his room, there was no reason for him to stick around any longer.

“I will. I promise.”

Pulling on his seat belt, he settled into the worn seat, resting his head against the window as she put the truck into drive. With its deep grumble and bright lights slicing through the darkness, the old girl left him feeling safe. Sort of like riding in a tank to a fort.

Aches and pains seemed to cover his entire body. Even his toes were cold. He should have grabbed a pair of socks out of his bag before tossing it onto the bed. But it all seemed so far away. More than the pain and discomfort, he was tired.

Tired of running.

He’d been running for six months.

No, longer. Almost twelve years.

Something had been driving him on, had kept him searching for something he couldn’t even put into words. All he’d known was that he had to keep moving.

But sitting in the truck with the uneven springs in the old bench seat, the engine snarling at the darkness, Clay was sure he didn’t have to run anymore. Wasn’t that a crazy thought?

Well, maybe not as crazy as the old lady.

“Those men chasing you…they’re pestilents.”

He didn’t know what that was. Didn’t know who she was.

And it didn’t matter. He was falling asleep. Or maybe just passing out.Chapter 2Pain dug into Clay’s skull with long, spiked fingers as he blinked at the spring sunlight streaming through the truck’s windows. He looked through the glass, taking in the live oak trees, draped in Spanish moss among the thick forest of other trees. There were the large, waxy dark leaves of magnolias and the white spring blooms of the dogwood.

Something about the sheer majesty of the nature called to him, and he sat up a little straighter, wincing as pain pulled at his ribs. He covered the area with his hand, then quickly pulled it away when he felt the dried blood. He’d slept until it was light out. How far had they driven?

They were headed up a long, gravel driveway, the truck rumbling over a few holes.