Unwrapping His Mountain Package

I didn’t like not being able to see it, just like I didn’t like the idea of her staying there. I liked the idea of dragging her out into the freezing winds even less. But still…

My jaw tightened. For one second, I felt like I could see a flash of something — maybe it was the fire coming through the window or something. But it was gone as the winds picked up again. Just the same, it left a bad taste in my mouth. I knew we were alone up here. I knew no one even knew we were there.

…But the feeling of something being off stuck with me, and my eyes narrowed.

Fuck this.

I grabbed what I could quickly — tools, radio, and the last of our canned food. I reached under the seat for the spare clip for my .45, but when my fingers found nothing, I frowned.

Hang on.

I looked under the seat, that feeling of something being wrong growing more and more nagging in the back of my head. No, the clip didn’t fall out or come loose in the fall. It was there when I grabbed the gun out yesterday, when I went out to see what the screaming was when I first heard Holly.

And now, it wasn’t there.

I tensed, reaching back for the gun tucked into the back of my jeans and pulling it out. I did another scan of the truck, and when I realized my shattered phone was missing from the floor where I left it, the feeling in the back of my head turned into a siren.

Something was wrong.

Someone had been here.

I whirled, and I was running before I even knew it. My legs burned, my lungs aching from the cold air, but I kept moving. The cabin got closer, looming dark from the swirling white winds, and I only tightened my jaw and shoved myself harder through the huge snow drifts. There was still smoke drifting from the chimney, but I wasn’t calm yet.

I wouldn’t be, until I knew she was okay.

“Holly!”

I roared as I slammed through the front door, stumbling into the cabin.

Silence greeted me.

My pulse hammered in my ears, and I whirled, feeling desperation clawing up at me. My hand tightened on the gun as I whirled again, storming through the cabin calling her name.

But she wasn’t there.

I stumbled outside, going out of my fucking mind when suddenly, I heard the crunch of snow behind me. I whirled, a snarl on my lips and my gun raised right into the face of the big, bearded man standing by the front porch, looking right at me.

“Where is she?” I roared, storming over to him. The guy was my size — that is to say, fuckin’ big, and built — and he barely moved or flinched as I rushed him, gun in hand.

“Where the fuck is—”

“You’re gonna wanna put that down, friend.”

The second voice came from behind me, and when I heard the sound of a shotgun being racked, I gritted my teeth and froze.

Goddamnit.

Normal me would’ve seen this setup a mile away. Normal me would’ve seen the unarmed guy and known this was a trap. But my head was all twisted up about Holly — my senses clouded.

I turned slowly, catching sight of the two other guys — both of them also huge, built, and bearded, one looking like a goddamn caveman.

“Down,” the caveman looking motherfucker growled, gesturing with his shotgun. “Drop it, now.”

I heard the sound of another gun cocking behind me, and I swore.

Fuck.

I slowly brought the gun down, uncocking it and tossing it onto the porch.

“What the fuck is this?” I hissed.

“This is us wondering what the fuck you’re doing prowling around our mountain with a gun when we don’t know what the fuck you are, friend,” the guy without a gun grunted. The guy was a handsome motherfucker, I’ll say that. Actually all three were rough but good looking guys.

And shit, none of them looked like Angelo’s crew.

“What the fuck did you do with her?” I hissed evenly, my voice like edged steel, my muscles coiled.

The three of them glanced at each other, nodding as if communicating without saying a word, before the first guy I saw nodded with his chin.

“The girl,” he growled out in a deep baritone, thick with a Russian-sounding accent. “She yours?”

“Yes,” I spat, grinding my teeth as I took a step towards him. “You got that Boris? Mine. You fuckin’ touch her, and I’ll break you with my bare hands.”

Slowly, the man grinned a grim smile, turning to nod at his friends. “He’s not with them.”

I scowled. “Not with who, asshole.”

He turned back, narrowing his eyes at me. “The men who took your woman. And my name isn’t Boris, dipshit. It’s Vlad.”

“You with Angelo?”

He frowned, shaking his head.

“No,” Caveman grunted, glancing at Vlad before he lowered his shotgun. “We’re with us.”