Page 54 of Obey

In the next second, one of Boar’s men steps out from behind some brush. “Your daddies never teach you not to make so much fucking noise in the wilderness?”

Knives lets go of my hand and steps forward, putting himself between me and the shotgun.

“What can I say? We’re both city boys,” he answers.

“Don’t be an idiot,” I tell him. “I’m not dragging around your dead body.” I look past him at the man with the gun. “All you have to do is walk away, and we’re probably dead,” I say flatly. “No sense in hurrying it along and wasting bullets.”

“Boar wants to have another chat with you,” he says. “You killed Slim, after all.”

I let out a disgusted sound, and Knives snorts a laugh. “Sure, we killed Slim.” He reaches back and squeezes my hand.

Follow his lead, again.

I bristle, considering where that got us, but if Boar wants us alive, that’s a better prospect for us than the swamp is.

I eye the man. He’s got tall boots, but they aren’t wet very high up. He isn’t dirty or sweaty. There’s no way he got here entirely on foot, especially not considering how far we got with the airboat.

That means he must have some form of transportation.

I squeeze Knives’s hand back.

“Hands on your heads, and you both walk toward the water,” the guy says, motioning with his shotgun.

“If we actually knew where water was…” Knives mutters, but he does as ordered—which means my own arm goes up too.

I glare at the shotgun guy. “How’s this supposed to work? We can’t both touch our heads like this.”

The guy bursts out laughing. “Fuck. You guys are idiots, y’know that? Just keep walking.”

There’s no point in fighting right now. We walk awkwardly. I wince in pain from the strain of lifting my shoulder, but I’m not going to complain about it.

Realistically, I’ve endured worse. I’ve hurt more than this after a night at Club Alpha.

BDSM has never left me feverish or with a potentially infected wound, of course.

I let out a sigh of relief when I see the motorboat the guy came in on, one that’s bigger and more modern than the airboat we’d stolen.

“You sit down there and don’t make any sudden movements,” the guy says.

Knives and I glance at each other. Our eyes meet, and we don’t even nod, but I know we’re on the same page.

We get on the boat. The guy has to lower his shotgun so he can push the boat back into the water, off the slippery mud.

When he steps back, we strike.

Knives knees him hard in the gut, and the guy cries out, fumbling the shotgun. I take it and toss it to the other side of the boat.

“Fuck… Fuck you!” the guy shouts as he grapples Knives, and we may be exhausted, but Knives is still a huge man with considerable muscle. The boat sways as they fight, and I kick at the guy’s knees.

He goes down, and Knives follows, forcing me down with him. We both grab the guy’s head and plunge it underwater.

He struggles, and bubbles rise to the surface, but we hold fast.

This isn’t my preferred way to kill somebody, but I’ll take whatever’s available.

We probably hold him underwater way longer than necessary, but we aren’t taking any chances. When his body is completely limp, Knives experimentally lets go.

No movement.

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