Page 31 of The Mountain Man's Retribution

Terror gripped me, my knees shaking as I sprinted from the shower into the bedroom, sliding into one of Bodie’s large shirts and grabbing the handgun. I crawled along the floor, finding, in horror, flames licking up the walls of the cabin.

Our cabin. Our books. Our life.

Tears froze on my face as their voices called again. “Come out, little stepmother. Time to pay for what you did to Father.”

Did to Big Man? I don’t understand.

“We know you set our father’s cabin on fire. We know you burned him alive to escape, you little whore. Not even twenty-four hours after unrepentantly wetting his cock, you evil, wicked temptress! You must learn your place and face your punishment!” Malaketh screamed.

Big Man had both sons convinced that he had first consummated our union years before, with frequent conjugal relations following. He used to make me scream and wail with fake pleasure while he beat himself off, ensuring his sons heard the noises emanating from the bedroom. He called them our shows, but they always made my skin crawl. Nevertheless, I had to comply, and I did it as convincingly as possible to keep his far more terrifying sons at bay.

Reliving these memories in Bodie’s burning cabin, my stomach roiled, mind racing for a place to hide. But as the heat of the flames engulfed the home, making my skin steam, I knew I had only one option. To make my stand.

Kael screamed, “We watched your man leave this morning. We know you’re all alone, so don’t even try to run from us. There’s no way?—”

Crawling out of the guest bedroom’s side window, opened just enough to squeeze through, I crouched, sneaking towards the voices, until I got Kael in my sight. I opened fire, recalling everything Bodie taught me about this gun. But at the first whir of a bullet, both men dropped to the ground, scrambling into underbrush and exchanging fire.

“Hands up!” a new voice screamed, its tone dark and menacing. Bodie’s friend, Roscoe? Perhaps.

A hail of gunfire followed. Bullets whizzing, fire devouring, smoke choking my lungs. More bullets.

In the tumult, I ran into the woods, finding a spot to continue laying siege on Malaketh and Kael. Squinting into the early morning light, I trained the weapon, ready to fire again. No more hiding. Instead, actively fighting back.

Pulling the trigger, I watched with satisfaction as Kael gripped his upper arm, eyes searching the tree line as I buried my head beneath the verdant vegetation of the elderberry bush.

Frantic screams.

Sirens.

Squealing truck tires.

The Law.

Firefighters.

And then, two voices calling frantically for me. I close my eyes tightly, wishing the last hours away, unable to move, think, or even breathe properly until I hear Bodie’s voice again. My heart feels like it’s failing, melting in my chest.

I watch from my hidden burrow as firefighters strain and grunt out orders, working in synch like ants at their hill for the same goal. Tears run diagonally across my cheeks, remembering my folded pages and the grand library in the cabin with its countless tomes, each a hidden treasure.

But I am alive, and endlessly grateful that Bodie wasn’t here for this ambush. He could’ve been shot by those depraved men as we tried to escape. We both might’ve been. But even worse than that mutual fate is the thought of living without my mountain man. I sob quietly to myself, trying to keep it together.

“Fawn? Where’s Fawn?” a frantic voice screams.

“We don’t know,” the unfamiliar male answers.

“We keep calling her name, but she isn’t responding,” the softer woman’s voice adds.

“Have you seen a woman? Anyone?” My giant of a mountain man towers above the firefighters, face drawn with worry.

Without a second thought for my lack of clothing apart from his shirt, the strangers swarming the place, or the whereabouts of Big Man’s sons, I shimmy out of my burrow beneath the berry-laden bush, sprinting towards my man.

“Bodie!” I scream, barely giving him a moment to react before I slam into him.

“Fawn,” he exclaims, voice shuddering. “Thank God.” He can say no more, burying his head in the crook of my neck and weeping.

I wrap my arms frantically around him, kissing and touching him, trying to convince my churning brain that this is real, not a dream. My hair swirls around us, a curtain against prying eyes, as he grips me so tightly I can only draw shallow breaths.

“If anything ever happened to you,” he whispers. “God, I can’t even imagine. I would die.”

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