“Sure thing,” she said agreeably, then rolled her eyes, telegraphing her irritation.
Interesting. The woman might have hooked up with the biker, but she clearly wasn’t besotted with the man. If I played this right, she might be my way out. Bet Mackenzie Kyla Dunwitty could get her hands on the keys to the cuffs and the leg irons. Once free—once I got my hands on a weapon—I’d make these people sorry that they ever messed with the Rasmussens.
I was raised right. In the old days, I’d never play a woman dirty, never pretend to like her to get what I want. But the old days and the old ways were dead, weren’t they? Just like my mother and father, my little brother, and all the good people who worked the ranch with us.
My heart hardened and my jaw clenched, still I managed to lift my brows in sympathy with her annoyance. I flashed another smile before she turned away. I’d use the pretty young woman to escape my shackles. After all, she wasn’t a prisoner. She’d crawled willingly into a pit of vipers and had no one but herself to blame if she got bit.
My conscience twinged and Reverend Elliot’s voice sounded in my mind, a ghost from my happy childhood speaking to me. “The Lord’s been good to you and yours, Bear. You owe it to Him to treat people right.”
No. A woman who threw in with Nazis deserved none of my sympathy.
I heard Reverend Elliot’s voice again, calling out a warning. “Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.”
“Move your ass,” Tuck ordered, frowning.
The young woman giggled and plastered a smile on her face before turning toward the man. “No need to be such a grump. I never seen a real cowboy before. I was just checking him out.”
The trio retreated from the room. The key clanked in the lock again. I stared at my barely edible supper and fought the urge to throw it across the room.
“Sorry, reverend,” I whispered. “I’m not going to leave revenge up to the Almighty. Whatever it takes, I’m going to get free. Then vengeance will be mine.”
THIRTY-FIVE
Ripper
Sunlight streaming through the open window woke me early the next morning. I got up, closed the window, and pulled down the blind before the light could wake Mac. I threw on my jeans and T-shirt, then paused at the foot of the bed, studying my sleeping woman.
When I was finished last night, Mac’s teeth had chattered and tremors had racked her body. She’d stared up at me with glazed, expressionless eyes.
Shit. Had the knife play been a mistake? She’d asked me to do it, but maybe in the heat of the moment, she’d overestimated her capacity to handle something that intense. A knot formed in my stomach. I prided myself on my ability to read people, to judge their physical breaking point. Had I fucked up? Had I been so excited and turned on that I pushed the woman I loved too far?
“Mac?” I had touched a cheek damp with tears.
Her gaze had focused on me, and a slow smile had crept across her face. “Wow,” she whispered.
“You all right?”
“I’m beyond all right. I’m floating.”
“Yeah?” That sounded good. The knot in my stomach eased. I stretched out next to Mac and pulled her into my arms. She lay trembling and exhausted, one hand splayed against my chest. “Go to sleep, darlin’,” I said.
“Mm-hmm,” she murmured, her voice dreamy.
Over time, her tremors subsided, her eyelids drifted shut, and her breathing grew deep and regular. I lifted her hand from my chest and gently untangled our bodies. The night was warm, and sweat would sting her welts. I climbed out of bed and slid the window open, careful not to wake her. Returning to bed, I turned onto my side and watched Mac until my eyes grew heavy, and I joined her in sleep.
She lay on her side now, her back turned to the morning light. I resisted the urge to drop a kiss on her cheek—didn’t want to wake her—and slipped from the room, shutting the door quietly behind me.
I found Libby in the kitchen, already hard at work fixing breakfast.
“Morning, Ripper.” She offered me a cup of coffee. “Jerrilyn and Boyd are up. Tuck and the boys are still asleep.”
“Morning.” I took the cup of coffee and nodded my thanks. “Mac’s still sleeping, too. I’d like her to get some extra rest today, so I’d appreciate it if you leave her be.”
“Whatever you say.” Libby grinned. “Sounds like you two had quite a night. Getting started on that baby?”
Jesus. I liked the notion of having a baby with Mac someday, when the world was more settled. Spending time with Gus back in Grants Pass showed me how much I wanted a kid, but I sure didn’t want a bunch of white supremacists nagging me to start a family. I swallowed back my irritation and shrugged, then ambled toward the front porch.
“We’d like a word with you,” Jerrilyn said before the screen door slammed shut. She sat on the porch swing, feet braced flat on the floorboards while she pushed the swing back and forth. Boyd occupied a chair facing her.
“Sure.” I leaned against the railing and sipped coffee, studying them over the rim of the cup.
“We gave you the night,” Jerrilyn said. “Should be enough time for you to decide if you’re ready to join the brigade.”
“Been giving it a lot of thought,” I lied. My answer was a given, requiring absolutely no thought. I’d do whatever was necessary to stay on the ranch, including swearing allegiance to the fucking Wilcox Brigade.
“And?” Boyd asked.
“I’m in.” Maybe I should have said that my sympathies aligned with theirs, or that I saw them as a force for good in the world, but when the moment came, I couldn’t make myself say the words.
“Good. Good.” Jerrilyn slapped her knees. “We’ll give you a few more days to settle in, then we’ll send you on your first mission.”
Send me on a mission? Hell no. No way I’d leave Mac at their mercy while I went off on some damned assignment.
“What do you have in mind?” I asked mildly.
“There’s a National Guard armory not a hundred miles from here,” Boyd said. “I scoped it out and saw a handful of survivors—soldiers—outside the building.”
Military survivors still in control of a National Guard facility? That was news to me and not unwelcome news.
“We want the weapons, the ammo, and the protective equipment in the armory: helmets, tactical vests, eye protection, ear protection,” Boyd continued. “We need it all.”
“Uh-huh.” I nodded, encouraging him to continue.
“I need a steady man—an experienced soldier—to help me take the place,” Boyd said. “Dwight and Darryl, well, their hearts are with the cause, but they lack your real-world experience. We’ll leave Tuck and my cousins to guard Valhalla and the women. With the element of surprise on our side, you and I can seize control of the armory.”
I swallowed coffee, buying myself the time to formulate a response and sort through the thoughts swirling through my mind. This fucker wanted me to kill American soldiers in order to steal weapons and PPE for his Nazi brigade. He expected me to leave Mac behind under the protection of a pair of horny dimwits and a violent abuser. Hell no to it all.