Page 47 of Auctioned to the Lumberjacks (Auctioned)

“My stepfather.”

Shit. This isn’t a straightforward passing where people feel grief over their loss. This is a fucked up, complicated passing of a man who caused a lot of pain. “When.”

“Yesterday.”

“How do you feel?” Finn asks. He’s brave. I wouldn’t have approached that part so directly.

“Like I want to find his corpse and hack it into pieces, then piss on them.” He laughs, but it’s not warm. It’s dark and hollow and filled with malice.

Finn rubs his hand over his chin, rasping the stubble there. He picks up the bottle of Jack Daniels and pours two more glasses, then tops up Jack’s glass.

“To Jack’s evil stepdad. May he rot in hell and suffer all of the hurt he inflicted on others.”

Jack stares at Finn, and for a second, I think he’ll fly across the room and tear his head from his neck. Instead, he raises his glass and drinks. “Rot in hell,” he repeats.

“Rot in hell,” Finn and I say in unison.

“Have you heard from Bill yet?” I ask.

Jack shakes his head. “He’ll call. And I’ll be ready when he does.”

Then Jack does something I never thought I’d see. He heads over to the fridge and starts to rustle up a meal for us all, leaving Skye to rest and grieve her pain in private.

18

FINN

BLOWN IN BY THE WIND

The tension from the past few days is taking its toll. Jack's recent confession and subsequent considerate behavior feel like a cause for concern, especially against the backdrop of his disheveled appearance. It's just so out of character to offer to make Skye coffee in front of the guys in the yard and then make dinner.

I always worry that he will tip over the edge. He never does. At least he hasn't since I've known him.

He usually lets off steam by hacking logs to pieces.

I worry that his current kindness is concealing something too dark to even contemplate.

Skye is restless, getting more desperate by the day. She has lost weight, and her clothes are noticeably looser, hanging from her slight frame. Her pallor and worried eyes tell me she's not sleeping enough, and her cheekbones seem hollower than when she arrived. Last night, I held her in bed, but I was exhausted and fell asleep before she did. When I woke, she was already up.

West is the only one of us who seems to be in control of himself with the current situation.

He’s on a mission to keep us all safe and together, plotting and planning. His eyes move quickly, and his face remains impassive. The usual wariness he wears like a cloak is magnified.

I know he feels bolstered by the boys at the lumberyard and my friends from the biker crew having our backs. Even the founder, Bones, has offered his total support.

That doesn’t change how he feels, though.

With Ethan and Carter both moving closer, we're all on high alert.

West stays at the cabin today. Skye's in a state and none of us feel like leaving her alone, day or night. We are taking no risks and are routinely bolting all doors and windows no matter how short a time we leave the cabin for. The curtains are permanently drawn.

West keeps his gun by his side around the clock, something he's never done, and Jack's is never too far away.

The yard is busy as demand always seems to peak this time of year.

To be honest, me and Jack could do with the distraction and although I’ve been at the yard a few hours, I've not yet laid eyes on Jack.

He was up and out with the dawn chorus.

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