Page 47 of Mason

“Good news, patient. No need for amputation.” I give her foot a squeeze.

She yanks it out of my grasp just as quickly and tucks it back under the blanket. “Very funny, Doctor Doom.”

“We could still amputate if you insist,” I offer, shrugging. Needling her is my new favorite form of stress relief.

She pulls the blanket close, hiding everything but her face in the forest green fabric. “You might not have to. The cold will take care of it in no time.”

“About that…” I trail, eyeing the chain that leads to the bathtub. The current setup isn’t practical as the days inch toward winter. I can’t be around as much. Not with the shit swirling in town. “You’re about to get some more slack.”

I took care of the secondary measures on the way in, installing a barrel bolt and chain lock outside of the front door before coming inside. I grabbed them along with tools, firewood, and other odds and ends. I had to get a little creative at the small town store, but the end result would do its job. I’m especially proud of the boarded up front window.

She shifts her body upright at the news, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Slack?”

“No chain,” I explain, lifting and jingling the one attached to her cuffs buried under the blanket. “Handcuffs only. Free roam of the cabin so you can sit by the fire.”

It’s the only way to prevent her from freezing to death. The low tonight is supposed to be thirty-three according to my phone. She’d be a goner if I left her in the bathroom, and I need to get the hell out of here.

She blinks. “What’s the catch?”

“None,” I answer, sitting back on my heels. “Well, I guess you should know that my buddy who owns this place will patrol the woods with his dogs. He has orders to shoot anyone on sight, so I’d recommend staying in here if you don’t want a chest full of buckshot.” I’m painfully full of shit, but I couldn’t care less. Fear works better than physical binds, and as her lip trembles, I know it does the trick.

Her jaw drops. “You wouldn’t! You said you need me alive!”

I nod solemnly. “The situation is rapidly evolving. I don’t want to, but it’s better than what they’re planning on doing to you.”

Her throat bobs with a nervous swallow. “Who?”

This is sick. It feels like I’m kicking a puppy and cussing out my grandma all in one. But it needs to be done.

“There’s a two-million dollar bounty on your head, kid. Higher if you suffer. Sick bastards.”

The pink vanishes from her cheeks. “Why?”

“Working on that,” I answer. Until now, I’ve tried to stick to the truth with her. Not because I’m opposed to a white lie here and there, but because it makes my life easier. Less moving pieces to track. Fewer stories to keep in a row. Liars always get sniffed out. Not really my scene. But I’ll lie if it keeps her alive and the heat off my ass. “It’s worse than we thought. You need to stay hidden.”

Her hands fly from beneath the blanket, waving at the bathroom surrounding us. “I’m a sitting duck here!”

“A living, breathing duck,” I correct, hooking a finger under her chin to force her to look at me. “As long as you’re in here, you’re alive. You go out there, you’re done.”

And the longer I’m here, the closer I inch toward the grave.

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