“Eli’s anti-government stuff might seem weird, but it saved my life.” Damon shot Cain a glance. “When he took me to the hospital, he claimed he’d found me in a wrecked car on the highway, mostly because he didn’t wanna get himself involved in any investigation of the plane crash. He took me in, then took off without giving them any other information. But he came back.”
He shook his head, as if lost in the memory. “He happened to be at a diner in town a while after that. Saw my picture on the television and knew immediately I was the guy they were looking for, so he came back to the hospital, claiming to be my brother. When they discharged me, he took me home with him and kept me there for months while I recovered.”
Cain squinted through the trees that lined the road, distracted. “Why, though? I mean, I’m glad he did. I’m glad he helped you. But why would a guy who hates to get involved… well, get involved?”
“If there’s one thing Eli hates more than the government, it’s the one-percent. Rich, entitled corporate assholes, you know? The preliminary investigation from the NTSB was placing all the blame on me, so he automatically assumed it was bullshit.”
Damon was chuckling like he was recounting a fond memory, but Cain couldn’t even summon a fake smile. His eyes burned, his arm throbbed, and his head pounded. He was hungry, thirsty, and exhausted. He was currently driving them to the house of a man who was apparently like The Rock and St. Michael all rolled into one big tinfoil-hat-wearing mountain man, and who would likely hate him on sight for being a) rich, and b) related to the biggest government asshole he could think of.
Wow. Awesome.
Cain tried to play theWorsegame, tried to think of a way he could be more miserable than he was right then, but nothing sprang to mind, and that just made him feel shittier.
The road curved around to the left, and Cain slowed the Acura to a crawl. The branches of the trees were close enough to scrape the sides of the car, and he really hoped Drew was feeling forgiving when they brought it back.
A few seconds later, they entered what appeared to be a junkyard in the middle of the woods, and as the headlights played across the scene, Cain’s heart sank further and further. There was a rusted blue Chevy pickup up on cement blocks to one side, and a graveyard of used appliances to the other - a refrigerator, a washing machine, and several rusted oil drums. The ground was boggy, which was odd since they hadn’t had seen any rain, but perhaps the trees - enormous, towering oaks and pines - grew so thick overhead that no sunlight could ever seep through to evaporate the dampness.
It was every terrible redneck joke he’d ever heard, represented in one piece of property, and he could almost swear he heard a banjo playing somewhere nearby.
Please don’t let this be the place. Please, please, please.
“Stop here,” Damon instructed, confirming Cain’s worst fears. And it didn’t help when he cracked open the door, turning on the interior lights, and burst into laughter. “Cain! Oh my God, you should see your face!”
Right. Yes. My face is the problem here.
Cain reached for his door handle.
“No, wait!” Damon said, but the urgent words didn’t register until after Cain’s door was open and he was already twisting his cramped legs out of the car.
“I’m just stretching my legs,” Cain complained. “I’ll help you to the door so you can deal with- “
And then the dogs started barking.
“He has dogs?” Cain demanded.
Of course he did.Rottweilers, by the look of them, and not remotely friendly ones.
“Get back in the car, Cain!” Damon demanded. And when Cain hesitated, he yelled loudly enough to disturb Chelsea and Molly. “Now!”
Cain twisted his legs back into the car and slammed the door just as the dogs reached them, snarling and barking as they pawed at the driver’s side door. From the backseat, Molly screamed.
Damon, meanwhile, opened his door and whistled sharply. The dogs immediately silenced and dropped to the ground, going over to Damon to investigate. Within seconds, he was petting them, scratching them behind the ears. In the rearview mirror, he met Chelsea’s glance and saw his own shock and dismay mirrored in her eyes.
“Ripper! Puck!” a harsh voice boomed, and the dogs obediently trotted over toward a giant of a man who stood halfway between the car and the shack, a shotgun cradled in his arms. “State your business,” the voice demanded, and Cain would be lying if he said that voice didn’t shake him to his toes.
Not Damon, though.
“I came for pancakes,” Damon yelled.
The man appeared to squint through the darkness.
“Hooooleeeey shit!” the man said, stepping closer and holding the rifle at his side. “Damon? That you?”
“Who else would come to see you, Eli?” Damon demanded, and the man chuckled as he reached the door.
Handsome. Damon had forgotten that little adjective when describing Eli, but in the light from the car interior, Cain could see the man was tall and strong andhandsome as fuck, with black hair, a full black beard, and blue eyes just a shade brighter than Cain’s own. He was also young - maybe a few years younger than Damon.
“You brought friends,” Eli said, as he looked from Molly to Chelsea to Cain. His eyes lingered on Cain’s the longest, and it took all of Cain’s focus to meet that intimidating gaze with a steady, blank stare of his own.
