Looking back at the screen, then hearing the cry, I reasoned with myself. “Find the kitten and get back in the truck, Devlyn. That’s all you have to do. Wade will never know. I’ll just tell him the kitten hopped inside because it smelled the food. Yeah. I would believe that.”
Cautiously sliding out of the truck, I tried to pinpoint the sound again. The distant clang of metal and a faint gust of wind made the cry harder to locate. The kitten’s mewling was fragile, almost lost in the scrapyard’s symphony of chaos, but it tugged at something primal within me—a need to protect, even amidst the madness.
I crept along the side of the truck, keeping one ear tuned to the scrapyard’s cacophony and the other straining for the faint cries. Somewhere close, the kitten cried again, insistent and desperate. I scanned the shadows, catching sight of a small, trembling form wedged between a leaning stack of crushed car frames and a broken chain-link fence.
“Gotcha,” I muttered, crouching down as I edged closer.
My fingers brushed against the jagged edges of scrap metal, and I winced, pulling my hand back before trying again more carefully. The kitten, a scruffy little thing with matted fur and wide, terrified eyes, hissed weakly but didn’t move. I scooped it up gently, the tiny creature trembling in my hands.
“Easy there,” I whispered, tucking it against my chest. Its heart raced, a rapid flutter beneath its fragile ribcage, when someone grabbed me from behind.
Well shit. Can’t explain this away.
The grip was firm and sent a jolt of panic streaking through me. I twisted instinctively, the kitten squirming against my chest, but whoever it was had the upper hand. Their voice came low and threatening, close to my ear, “You his bitch?”
“Excuse me?” I sneered as he spun me around.
Holy shit! It’s the hooded figure!
“You the Crawley whore?”
I narrowed my eyes. “I’m no one’s whore, asshole,” I sneered just as I lifted my leg and kicked the fucker right in the balls. And when he dropped to the ground, gasping for air, I screamed for Wade and ran as if my life depended on it.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The second I entered the scrapyard, I whistled loudly and waited. Within seconds, I heard an owl hoot, a robin chirp, a raven squawk, a dog howl and, of course, Donut shouted, “Over by the bus!”
Rolling my eyes, I headed deeper into the scrapyard, my guns ready for anything.
The smell of rust and oil filled the air as I navigated the maze of twisted metal and discarded dreams. Shadows stretched long and jagged under the dim light of a flickering streetlamp, turning the scrapyard into a graveyard of forgotten machines. My heart pounded in rhythm with each cautious step, the memory of that hooded figure still fresh in my mind.
As I approached the bus, the scrapyard seemed to close in around me, the jagged edges of broken-down vehicles forming a labyrinth of danger. I felt every nerve on edge, every sense sharpened to a razor point. Donut’s silhouette appeared suddenly in the haze, his lanky frame outlined against the rusty hulk of an ancient bus. He waved me over with a happy grin, and that’s when I noticed a bag of beignets duct taped across the front of his chest.
“Seriously, Donut?”
“What?” the man scoffed. “Can’t go into battle without food.”
“Who’s the unwanted visitor?” I asked as Juju walked out of the shadows, swinging his bat.
“That would be Garland Coltraine. Idiot thought he could sneak in and steal from us again. Found him snooping around when the boys and I secured the shipment. We’ve just been playin’ hide and seek with him ’cause he said it wasn’t a fair fight. Five against one, ya know.”
“Yep.” Donut nodded, digging into the bag of beignets attached to his chest. “Told him if he could escape the scrapyard before we found him, we’d let him walk away. Gotta say, though. He ain’t real good at hidin’.”
Annoyed, I looked at Juju. “Then where is he?”
“He’s out by the front gate,” Worm said as he, Braveheart, and Thore walked over. All three looked bored. “Does he not understand the rules of hide and seek?”
“I woulda’ thought he’d be good at hidin’,” Thore grumbled, just as we all heard Devlyn scream.
Joking forgotten, we all ran to the entrance of the scrapyard to find Garland Coltraine on the ground, cupping his balls.
“Man,” Braveheart said, scratching his beard. “He’s really not good at hidin’, is he?”
“Pick the fucker up and chain him to something. I’ll deal with him later,” I ordered Braveheart when we all heard my woman scream bloody murder, which was followed by a very distinctive hiss.
“Oh crap,” Thore muttered.
Slowly rounding on my brother, I glared. “Tell me you didn’t.”
