He wore brown boots and pants, a short-sleeved white button-up shirt, and an old-fashioned brown fedora that was an exact match for the ones that Grimes’s men had on when they’d swarmed into Jo-Jo’s salon. He also had the same sort of large, old-fashioned revolver strapped to his side as they had. All of that marked him as one of
Grimes’s men—and as good as dead.
The man spotted us at the same time as we saw him, and he stopped in his tracks in the middle of the trail. His eyes widened in surprise, and his hand dropped to the gun on his belt. The man’s fingers curled around the hilt of his revolver, but he didn’t immediately yank it out and start shooting at us.
His first mistake—and his last.
Chapter Thirteen
Instead of palming a knife, surging forward, and killing the man where he stood, I held my hands out to my sides, gave him a bright, friendly smile, and slowly ambled toward him.
“Oh, thank goodness!Finally, we see another hiker out here in the middle of nowhere. can you help us? Because my friends and I, we aretotallylost.”
I jerked my thumb over my shoulder at Owen and Warren. All the while, though, I kept moving closer and closer to the man. He kept his eyes trained on me, his suspicious gaze flicking over my clothes, as if he was wondering why I was wearing jeans and long sleeves when it was ninety degrees out, but he still didn’t make a move to draw his gun. Even if he did, it wouldn’t much matter.
The silverstone in my vest would catch any bullets he sent flying my way.
I drew even nearer to him. The guy must have decided that I wasn’t all that much of a threat—long dark clothes notwithstanding—because he cocked his head and leaned to the side, trying to get a better look at Owen and Warren on the trail behind me.
He frowned, and then his eyes bulged again. He must have spotted Warren’s rifle and finally realized that we weren’t lost hikers after all.
But it was already too late.
Even as the guy fumbled for his gun, I stepped forward and slammed my fist into his face. His head snapped back, and I sucker-punched him in the gut. I followed up those first two blows with hard, brutal jabs to his chest, stomach, and groin.
After the last few hours of worrying about my family, driving all over Ashland, and gathering supplies and intel, it felt good to finallyact, to finallydo something that would actually get me closer to rescuing Sophia.
So I kept hitting him, over and over again, driving my fists into his body with quick, precise, debilitating strikes.
He was listing from side to side and about to topple over when I finally grabbed his arm, turned my body to his, and flipped him over my shoulder and onto the ground.
He rocked back and forth on the trail, coughing, sputtering, and trying to suck down as much oxygen as he could, since I’d pummeled all of the air out of his lungs. I had a knife out and up against his throat before he knew what was happening or could even think about reaching for his gun again.
He froze, his mouth gaping like a fish’s as he stared up at me.
“If you make one sound, one fuckingsound, I will slit your throat and leave your miserable carcass out here for the crows to pick over,” I snarled.
He snorted, like he didn’t believe that I’d actually make good on my threat, so I nicked him with my knife. He hissed with pain and surprise, so I cut him again, a little deeper this time.
“What did I say about making a sound?”
The guy finally realized that I was as mean, heartless, and crazy as I claimed to be and swallowed down the scream that was rising in his throat. Pain filled his hazel eyes, along with fear. Good. That would make this easier.
“Gin?” Warren asked. “What are you doing?”
“There’s some duct tape in my backpack,” I said, not really answering his question. He’d figure it out soon enough. “Hand it to me, please.”
Owen stepped forward and walked around me. A zipper sounded, and he reached into the bag, which was still on my back, and rifled through the items inside. A moment later, he zipped the bag back up and handed me the duct tape. He didn’t say a word the whole time. Good. I didn’t want him to. I didn’t want anything to distract me from what I had to do now.
I kept my eyes on the guy on the ground. “If you make one sound that I don’t like, one small snort or grunt or fart, I will cut your throat quicker than you can blink.”
The guy started to nod but thought better of it as my knife kissed his throat again. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple scraping against the blade.
Warren kept his rifle trained on the man while I wrapped the tape around the guy’s hands and ankles, trussing him up so he couldn’t run away.
When the guy was secure and no longer a threat, Owen helped me haul him up and onto his feet. By this point, the guy was shooting daggers at me with his eyes, but I ignored his sullen glares. He had no idea how much more he was going to hate me before this was all said and done.
“As you’ve probably guessed by now, we are not hikers,” I said. “We’re here for the woman Grimes kidnapped this morning. We want her back, and you’re going to help us with that.”
The guy snorted again. I casually swiped my knife across his left arm. His mouth opened, and he started to yelp with pain, but I slowly waggled the bloody blade in front of his eyes.
“Not a sound. Remember?”
He winced, but he choked down his scream and slowly nodded.
I flipped the knife over, so that I was holding it by the bloody blade, then held the weapon up where he could see it, along with the spider rune stamped into the hilt.
“Now, tell me, have you ever heard of the Spider?”
The guy’s gaze flicked over me again, taking in my dark clothes, his blood on my knife, and the cold, cold expression on my face. His eyes widened again, and he nodded much faster this time.
“Good. So I can assume that I don’t have to bother explaining exactly who I am and what I do?”
Another nod, this one even quicker and more enthusiastic. Sometimes it was good to be notorious and feared.
“Well, this is your lucky day, because you get to see me in the flesh. More important, you get to be helpful. You do want to be helpful, don’t you?”
By this point, the guy’s head was snapping up and down faster than I could talk, and the rest of his body trembled in time to the rapid, jerky motions.
“Excellent. Because now we’re all going to go for a little walk in the woods.” I looked at Warren. “Where’s this other trail you were talking about?”
He pointed to the west.
“Lead the way, then.”
Warren nodded and stepped off the main trail and into the woods. Owen stopped long enough to pull a gun out of his backpack, then followed him. I slapped a piece of duct tape over my prisoner’s mouth, so he wouldn’t scream for his buddies and give away our position. Then I gestured toward the trees.
“Move.”
The guy hesitated.
“Walk or die—your choice.”
Maybe it was the threat of violence, or maybe it was the absolute chill in my eyes, but the guy swallowed, shuffled forward, and slowly fell into step behind Owen.
I kept my knife out and ready to strike in case he got any stupid ideas, then headed into the forest after the others.
We left the main trail behind and walked due west for about twenty minutes. The landscape grew more rugged the farther we hiked, as the thick stands of trees and rich soil gave way to more high, open balds made out of layered sheets of limestone and other rock. I reached out with my magic, listening to the stones, but they only sleepily murmured of the blazing sun that was slowly baking them and the afternoon thunderstorms that whistled over the mountains, bringing a bit of cooling rain with them before quickly giving way to the hot, brutal sun once more.