Page 44 of Kings of Sherwood

“Not to sidetrack things,” Tuck murmurs, nodding at Nick, “but what’s the plan here?”

LJ rubs his chin. “We don’t babysit bounty hunters.”

“He’s not exactly a hardened threat,” Will says. “I mean, look at him.”

“That’s my point. He’s desperate. You ever try to cage a wounded animal? It’ll claw your eyes out.”

“He hasn’t done anything to hurt you,” I point out. For whatever reason, I feel obligated to intervene on his behalf.

“Yet,” mutters LJ.

Rob, though, is thoughtful. “He stays. For now,” he adds. “We’re not gonna decide how to handle this tonight.” He pushes off the counter and straightens up, striding over to Nick in two swift steps.

“Here’s the deal.” He points a finger just inches from Nick’s nose. “You sleep downstairs where we show you—spare room with the foldout, off the game room,” he adds, to the rest of us. “You don’t leave. You don’t take or break or mess up anything. You do what we ask, when we ask. You follow all that and whenever we cut you loose, you’ll go home with a thousand dollars, cash.”

Nick nods, blinking as if he can’t quite process what’s going on—not that I blame him.

“But you fuck around?” Rob closes his fist. “We bury you in the forest. Do I make myself clear?”

Nick swallows. “Crystal,” he croaks.

“Good.” Rob withdraws. “Now I’m taking a burning hot shower and drinking two fingers of bourbon. Possibly at the same time. I suggest y’all do the same. We’ll do better rested up.”

With a final shake of his head, spritzing rainwater everywhere, he leaves. Slowly, LJ, Will, and Tuck do too—“there’s more coffee if you want it,” Tuck adds before he leaves—all of them glancing at me to make sure I’m okay.

And I am...I think.

“Is he...” Nick’s voice cracks, and he swallows again, looking to where they all disappeared. “Is he serious?”

I guess he’s asking me. “Rob?” I sip the last bit of my coffee. “Yeah. They’re all...like that.”

Nick licks his lips. “Cool,” he says. “Cool cool cool.”

Chapter Ten

Will

Half an hour later and the house is quiet.

There’s still a light patter of rain outside, but nothing so violent as what we slogged through, and after a shower long and scorching enough to test the limits of even our Cadillac of hot-water heaters and a change into something not crusted in mud, I’m feeling ninety percent human again.

Which means I’m ready to talk to Rob.

I sigh as I knock on his door. I don’t exactly relish this conversation, but if the events of tonight have made anything clear, it’s that this shit cannot continue.

“What’s the password?” comes his voice.

“Fuck you is the password,” I mutter, and open the door anyway.

The room is its usual disaster, clothes and gear flung everywhere and dirty boot prints ground into the carpet. I think about making some wise-ass comment before I remember I’m trying to get him on my side here, so I refrain. Instead, I just nod at Rob—who’s sitting, shirtless, damp-haired, and in joggers, on the floor, propped at the foot of his bed. A nice tableau, if I say so myself. If I were Maren, I’d...

Hm. I look around. No one else here.

“Flying solo?” I ask, by way of greeting.

“What, Maren? Nah. Not tonight.” He shakes his head. “Don’t think she’s in the mood. Either that or Tuck, ah...tuckered her out.” He shrugs. “I’m in no hurry.” He nods at me. “Couldn’t sleep?”

I tip my head. “Something like that.”

---