Page 58 of Wilde's End
There’s no point denying the obvious, so I use a different tactic. “I’m used to not having what I want. Can’t say the same for you, city boy.”
“You’re right. Because I always get what I want, and you’re not going to be an exception.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
HUDSON
When I wake up to find the front door busted open on one of the houses we’ve torn apart, I know Wilde is back. Apparently, our sex only held him off for so long.
I creep inside the gutted building, all exposed wooden frames and stripped-back flooring, to find the line of tools we’d had yesterday is no longer sitting where I left them. And it’s no great mystery where they’ve gone.
Fucking Wilde.
I kick the toe of my boot into the filthy floor. What do we do now? With no tools, there’s no work, but those fuckers were expensive. Maybe Wilde thinks he’s being cute, but this game is wearing thin, and when my brothers see what we’re missing, they’re not going to be happy. It’s bad enough that I banged up the bike we bought; now the guy I fucked less than a week ago has stolen our prized possessions.
They’re going to kill me.
Before they wake up, I duck back into our house as fast as my sore ankle will let me move, grab the bike keys, and take off again. The motor kicks to life with a low rumble, and then I’m off. My first stop is Wilde’s house, but it’s empty, and so is the swimming hole I followed him to the other day. I check down by Booker’s place, the giant building where they have Peril matches, and get lost more times than I can count. How they keep track of where anything is out here is a mystery, but I keep following trails that lead to other trails, and thankfully, the bike is loud enough that it scares off any wildlife before I come across it.
Apparently, it also scares off humans because I don’t catch sight of anyone. No Wilde, no Booker, and neither of the other men I’ve seen with him. The forest is exactly as deserted as it’s supposed to be, and it’s the first time I wish it wasn’t. If I don’t get back with all of our tools, I might as well not come back at all.
I’ve traveled further down toward the river, judging by the sounds of birds and softly moving water. It’s the deepest I’ve come yet, that I can remember, and even if I have no clue where the hell I am, I’m pretty sure if I follow the river, it will take me back to Old End.
And just, I dunno, let my brothers take a swing at me, I guess.
Maybe this will be the thing that finally makes them pack the car up to go.
Because we can replace the tools, but if we have to keep replacing everything that we buy, this place will bankrupt us. Borrowing against the business, again and again and again, will reach a point where it’s not sustainable.
This place was supposed to save us. Not ruin us.
Maybe Hartwell is right.
Maybe life was as good as it was going to get for us.
I turn to follow the river, but the second I look up, I almostjump out of my fucking skin as I pull the bike to a fast stop and land heavily on my sore ankle.
But that’s not what catches my attention.
“Holyshit.”
There’s an enormous cat blocking the way. It’s spotty, with tufts on its ears, golden eyes, and lips pulled back to expose tiny, razor-sharp teeth. It’s on all fours, and the fur along its back is prickled as it watches me through the light mist that clings to everything around here.
I think it’s a bobcat, and I have no idea if those things are dangerous or not, but I’m not in a hurry to find out.
Especially when it takes a menacing step forward and lets out a demon sound, halfway between a hiss and a yowl.
“Fuck.” My heart is thrumming against my ribs as I yank the bike around and hit the gas. I tear through the trees, paranoia creeping over me that the thing is hot on my heels and too chickenshit to glance back and check.
I refuse to be scared, but the instinct to put distance between me and that thing fills my head as I beg to find the gravel road without another accident, and somehow, luck is on my side for the first time since I moved to this hellhole. The second the front wheel hits gravel, I lean on the accelerator and take my first real breath since I saw the beast. We’re in the middle of nowhere. Wilde even talked about bears. But knowing there are things out there that could eat your face and actually seeing one of them are two very different things.
And that cat definitely wanted to eat my face.
I reach town, heart thrumming, and burn rubber against the road as I slide to a stop in front of our house. It’s not until I climb off the bike that I let myself look backward and confirm the road behind me is clear.
Because of course it fucking is.
