Knotted (Trails of Sin 1)

“Get him!” The one on top of me slams to a stop, stretching my bottom with intolerable pressure.

At some point, I shut off the part of my mind attached to what’s happening to me. I’ll have to deal with it eventually, but right now, the instinct to live overrides all emotion.

In a blink, I go from liquid bones to rigid muscle. Pushing down on my elbows, I arch my spine and ram my head back with the last of my strength. I tried this when they first attacked me, but this time my skull connects with cartilage.

He falls back with a yelp, cupping his nose through the mask. The absence of him in my body brings overwhelming relief, but as I move to my knees, the ground shudders.

The blast of a shotgun.

It reverberates through the ravine, and my tormentor collapses beside me. Blood saturates his shirt, spilling from a hole in his chest. Glassy eyes fixate on nothing, unseeing.

Racing footsteps retreat to the trail. The frantic sounds of a monster on the run.

“You’re dead, motherfucker!” Lorne drops his gag and trains the gun after the second man. But he doesn’t fire.

The man’s already out of sight, concealed by the bend in the trail.

I clench my hands around the rope. We don’t carry phones, because there’s no cell service out here. Lorne can either run for help or pursue our attacker.

I know my brother. He won’t chance the man getting away, and he’s a damn good hunter.

As he launches toward the trail, Jake kicks out a leg, shouting behind the gag and bucking against his restraints. I don’t blame him for not wanting to be left behind and tied up. He probably wants to shoot the man himself. But I don’t want that.

I jump into the wordless argument with muffled objections. I can’t bear the thought of either of them running headlong into danger and getting themselves hurt. Or worse.

Lorne glances at me, eyes wild. Then his gaze shifts, sailing over my body. His entire demeanor darkens, stiffens. He goes terrifyingly still.

Knife in one hand and the gun in the other, he drops his head back and unleashes a guttural scream at the sky. The sound of his grief fractures things inside me. I pull my knees to my chest, huddling, hurting, and sparing him the sight of my nudity.

Jake continues to thrash like a feral animal, and Lorne’s head makes a sharp turn. A millisecond of indecision swings his gaze between Jake and the trail.

“Fuck!” He doubles back and crouches between Jake and Jarret. “Stay here and wait for me.” Urgency tightens his posture as he cuts Jake loose and thrusts his chin in my direction. “She needs you.”

He’s going hunting.

I frantically shake my head, yelling against the gag. Don’t do this! Call the cops! Get help!

Dammit, I want that man as dead as the other one, but not at the risk of losing my brother.

He shoots me a look infused with regret. I don’t like it. There’s too much pain aging his eyes. And fury. It seeps in at the edges, black and sour.

Jake yanks away his gag and unties Jarret, shouting at him, “Get the other gun.”

Lorne pivots toward the trail. Then, armed to kill, he takes off and fades into the trees.

With a sinking heart, I let my head fall to the ground and close my eyes. The humid night air wraps me in worry, hanging on the retreating sounds of booted feet, whispering, It’s not over.

That’s when the tremors creep in. Maybe I’ve been shaking the whole time, but now I feel every vicious quake. The stress on my body, the throbbing pain in my gut, the shattering shock of it…

“Shh.” Jake pulls the rag from my mouth and traces my face with trembling fingers. “I’m so sorry.”

I work my jaw and lick cracked lips. “Not your fault.”

“Fuck if it’s not!” Shirtless and breathing hard, he tackles the rope on my wrists. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t say it.” I’m too wrung out for this conversation, but I form the words I need him to hear. “You couldn’t have stopped this. Even if I hadn’t been tied up, I wouldn’t have run. I wouldn’t have left you.”

The severe line of his mouth says he wants to argue, but he remains quiet and rigid, pulling on the knot. When the rope finally falls away, he wrangles his shirt from beneath me and drags it over my head, stretching it to my thighs.

His beautiful face twists with tortured emotion. His eyebrows gather in a sharp V over bleak brown eyes. Blood-wet strands of hair stick to a swollen gash on his forehead.

I reach for the wound. “Are you—?”

“I’m fine.” His voice clips as he catches my arm in a too-tight grip and releases me immediately.

He won’t meet my gaze and instead focuses on the rope as he twines it into a loop and drapes it over his shoulder. Jarret hovers behind him, holding the shotgun and staring at the trail like he wants to fill it with lead.