Page 38 of Auctioned to the Lumberjacks (Auctioned)

I wake too early, exhaustion still weighing heavy. The sun is up, but the clock reads the ass crack of dawn. I wish I could sleep for longer, but I know from experience that trying only ends up in frustration.

Surprising myself, I’m almost considerate as I emerge into the corridor and pad softly along the floorboards and into the kitchen. I don’t want to wake anyone. It was a tough night.

I shake my head. I’m turning fucking soft.

I’m surprised to see both Finn and West already at the table, huddled and talking in whispers.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” I roll my eyes. They know me and sleep aren’t the best of friends, but West’s comment suits the mood.

“Fix me a coffee, someone!”

“Course, man.”

I watch Finn as he lumbers over to the machine. He returns, places a steaming hot mug in front of me, and I lower my head to inhale the rich scented steam. I need this caffeine hit to yank me into the land of the living.

“I guess Skye is still out for the count.”

“Yup, I checked a few moments ago, and she’s dead to the world!” Funny, I didn’t hear him; I guess he was fairy-footed, too.

West slides his phone across the table as I take my first bitter sip. The face of Carter Reynolds, Skye’s ex, looks back at me from the screen. The man’s a weasel, smugness radiating off the newspaper’s front page, a coldness discernable in his cesspit eyes. Anger bubbles against the back of my throat, making me grit my teeth. I glance between Finn and West, trying to read their thoughts.

“Is this the dude Skye is married to? West couldn’t shake the name once she had said it, and when we saw this, we realized.”

I give Finn a grim nod. “Yep. That scum bag is rotten to his core.”

“Are we at risk, Jack?” Finn’s expression is concerned, but West looks like he’s preparing for battle, veins bulging in his neck and the tattoos on his bare arms depicting signs of a soul ready to torture for what he wants.

“Put it this way, some of his men make us look like saints. But I reckon that if pushed, they’d regret ever laying eyes on us!”

“So, what are we gonna do about it? What are you saying?” Finn’s eyes are questioning.

Finding Carter Reynolds and helping Skye reunite with her daughter, Hallie, is something we need to consider.

West rubs the back of his neck. “So we’re gonna get this motherfucker then, Jack?” He says it like it is.

Carter Reynolds poses a threat to us all. To Skye for having the courage to break away and possibly take what he thinks is his, and us, for standing by her side.

He’s a direct threat to someone who belongs to us now.

And he’s holding in his possession someone else that we want: Hallie.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, West. And this is how it’s going to happen…”

We spend the next hour reviewing our ideas, each of us pointing out pitfalls and risks. Between us, we bring all that is needed: strategy, tactical solutions, brute strength, a willingness to succeed, and a drive to protect what is ours.

And by the time Skye has surfaced from whatever kind of rest she found, we’ve shaped the beginnings of a plan.

Carter, son-of-a-bitch Reynolds, will regret the day he was born.

I’m going to make sure of that, personally.

15

WEST

UNDER THE COVER OF DARKNESS

The bar that Carter Reynolds operates his bottom-feeding criminal empire from is a dive. In our truck, Finn observes the door through a pair of binoculars. I keep a watch on people coming and going, taking the occasional photo. My right arm is stiff from work. Mondays are usually the worst, like my muscles adapt to rest over the weekend and object when they’re asked to labor again.

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