Page 30 of Gatling
“Is that clear, friend?” he grunted.
Fetterman whimpered and nodded, lips pressed into a thin line. Mute with terror.
“What did you tell him?” Blackbeard asked.
“It’s a secret.”
Blackbeard huffed and jerked his thumb at me.
“Would you tell Gatling if he asked?”
Vlad shrugged.
“Of course. I like him better than you.”
Blackbeard looked at me, eyebrows raised expectantly. I shook my head. No way. I wasn’t about to get pulled into the frenemy feud between them. Like bickering divas.
“Nope,” I said. “I’m not asking. I don’t want to know.”
“Come on,” Blackbeard wheedled.
“See?” Vlad said. “Gatling won’t stick his nose where it doesn’t belong. He’s a smart man. You could learn a thing or two from him.”
Blackbeard crossed his arms.
“Listen, sasquatch. Just because you’re freakishly large doesn’t mean I can’t kick your ass.”
Vlad scoffed.
“I’d like to see you try, pirate. It would bring me great pleasure to snap your bones like little toothpicks.”
“Boys,” I warned. “Don’t make me separate you two. I will stand by and do absolutely nothing while you try to kill each other. I’m a shitty mediator.”
“You’re shitty at picking sides, too,” Blackbeard pointed out.
I snorted.
“I don’t pick sides because I can barely save my own ass on a good day. I can’t be held responsible for you on top of that. So stop pissing off the bear for fun."
We left Fetterman curled up on the floor, shell-shocked, as we retreated to the cage, parked at the curb. Disappointment weighed heavy in the pit of my stomach.
My only lead turned out to be a wild goose chase.
Chapter ten
Kelsie
Noah and I didn’t return to Brightwater for three long weeks. To my surprise, he didn’t lock me in a motel room the entire time we were gone. Instead, we actually did things, like hiking at national parks, stocking up on fresh fruit at a farmer’s market, and dumb touristy stuff, like visiting the world’s largest ball of twine.
Even though I hated the circumstances that got us here in the first place, I appreciated the chance to spend some quality time with my brother. As much as I craved my independence, I still liked hanging out with Noah.
But it killed me that I couldn’t contact Ryker and he couldn’t contact me. No texting, no phone calls, not even an email.
At a rest stop, I overheard Noah on the phone with Ryker. But the conversation was brief, for information only. And Noah wouldn’t relay it to me, no matter how much I pestered him about it.
Then one morning, I woke up nauseous. All I could stomach for breakfast was a bottle of water and a handful of crackers.Noah pressed his hand to my forehead, hitting mother hen mode.
“Could be food poisoning,” he said. “Our diet has been pretty rough lately.”
