Page 13 of Wilde's End
The sudden contact makes me release him and back up. When he sits, his glare is still deep, but at least he doesn’t look like he’s going to start screaming for help.
“I want you gone by tomorrow,” I warn, standing and turning toward the window.
I’m not expecting his humorless laugh to follow me. “Prepare to be disappointed.”
It takes all my willpower not to walk over there and manhandle him again.
“You don’t want to play that game with me,” I whisper.
“Why? Because you’re some big, bad mountain man? If you were going to kill me, you would have done it already.”
I hate the tiny flicker of respect his words create, and I shove it down hard. He’s not being brave; he’s being a city boy with a big mouth. He’s not in the land of law and order anymore, and he clearly hasn’t worked out that the rules don’t apply. “Where you’re from, if something happens to you, if someone breaks into your home, who do you call?”
His glare lessens at the sudden topic change. “The police.”
“And who do you think we call around here?” He doesn’t answer, and the sneer I give him is mean. “I’mthe police.I’mthe judge. I’m the fucking jury. My word is law. And when I tell you to leave, you leave.”
“That’s a lot of power … Careful. You wouldn’t want it to go to your head.”
“I hope you’re this funny when you’re being run out of my town.”
I’m not expecting him to smile, and I’m definitely not expecting him to push to his feet and approach me. He’s a breath away, and his low voice is a gentle hum that steels his confidence and puts a dent in my own. “Yourtown?” he echoes. “Try again. My brothers and I just bought this place. And we’re not going anywhere.”
CHAPTER
FIVE
HUDSON
The second the enormous stranger is out of my window, I slam it closed, jam a pole into the frame to stop it opening again, and jog up the stairs to wake the twins. I’m fucking rattled, still not totally convinced that wasn’t a dream, and worried if I fall back asleep now, I’ll forget it even happened.
My heart rate is sickening as I barge into Kennedy’s room and kick the mattress he’s sleeping on. “Hey, get up!”
He doesn’t move, so I kick the mattress again, harder.
“Huddy?” he grumbles, voice thick with sleep.
“We’ve got a problem. Get up now.”
He sits, movements jerky and tired, and when I’m sure he’s conscious enough that he won’t drop off again, I leave him and head for Hartwell’s room.
Hart took the one furthest from the stairs, and when I push open the door, I can’t see a damn thing because of the tarp he’spinned up over the window. I stumble blindly forward, hands searching at knee height, until I make contact with something.
There’s a grunt, and then Hart kicks out, sending pain shooting through my shin.
“Ah, fuck!”
“The hell you grabbing my ass for?”
“I can’t see anything! Did you have to kick me so fucking hard?”
“You try being snuck up on while you’re sleeping and see how you react.”
If he only knew. “Well, I can tell you I didn’t kick the man. Now, get your ass up. That’s exactly what I need to tell you.”
A confused “wha’” leaves him, but his blanket rustles like he’s thrown it back. I stumble toward the door and out into the hallway, where it’s fractionally less dark. We’re trying to save the generator we brought with us, but I could really use some light to shake off the lingering creepy feelings of my visitor.
Kennedy is hovering outside his room, and I motion for him to follow me. We thunder down the stairs, the loud, quick thuds matching my heartbeat, and it’s not until we reach the moonlit living area that Hart’s slow footsteps sound behind us.
