Page 57 of Auctioned to the Lumberjacks (Auctioned)

It won’t be difficult to do what needs to be done.

For her and for my own peace, I’d go to the ends of the fucking earth.

I return for my rifle before tearing the sack from Carter’s head.

His eyes are wide, staring up at me as bloody drool drips from his split mouth.

The smell of his piss catches in the air.

Coward.

The night is dark, but the light of the moon casts a low beam, allowing us both a degree of visibility.

I’m glad he gets to see my face.

The shovel I left here earlier glints and the deep hole I dug yawns closely.

I wait.

“You don’t have to do this.” It’s a whisper, a moment of gentle pleading from a man with so much blood on his hands and misery in his wake, he’s heading straight to hell.

I lift his chin with the tip of my rifle.

At nine pm, the rumble of tires on the road and the glow of headlights creep toward me.

Bill is still listening to the country channel I selected, which amuses me. He was always more of a rock man. I open the rear door, checking that he’s fulfilled the last part of the arrangement.

The car seat nestled in the backseat contains a sleeping baby with rosy cheeks covered by a soft pink blanket.

My heart squeezes in an unfamiliar way that tightens my throat.

Amongst all the darkness in the world, there is innocence and beauty.

I haven’t had much of it, but that’s about to change.

I close the door as quietly as possible, wanting to avoid waking our precious cargo, and climb into the passenger seat. Bill passes me the burner phone that I’ll destroy later.

His eyes drop to my rifle as I place it next to me.

He was my partner. A man I should have been able to trust with my life.

He doesn’t ask, and I don’t tell.

We all have secrets that we’ll take to the grave.

So, instead of making conversation, we head into the trees and towards the cabin.

Toward a new life.

The lights are on, and the curtains are open. The lodge illuminates the tree line around it like fire embers in a dark hearth.

West’s truck is here. Shona’s Corolla is gone.

Bill stops the Defender fifty feet away and keeps his eyes fixed in front.

“We’re square?”

“Yep.”

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