But I shouldn’t have thought that.
Because things could always get worse.
Chapter 21
“He thinks I should just let you go,” Mitchell said. The gun in his hand had finally started to shake.
As I watched, he reached up and dashed his free hand across his eyes.
The old man was crying.
Stupid son of a bitch that I was, I almost felt sorry for him.
“Dad...”
“Don’t move!” Mitchell shouted, his voice cracking. The gun came back to me and he shouted, “Get over there. With them. You sorry son of a bitch. Get over there, where I can see all of you.”
I did what he said, keeping a wide distance. As I moved, I was absently aware of the fact that I was cold. The fire had died down, half-smothered by the Kevlar vest I’d had to throw in with the rest of my clothes. Not that it would matter much in a little while.
Mitchell wanted me dead, and I didn’t think Ridley was going to argue with that. For reasons I hadn’t quite yet worked out in my head, though, Detective Dale Mitchell seemed to have taken an opposing view.
“Where are his clothes, Dad?”
“Burned them.” Mitchell smiled, despite the tears that continued to track down his face. “The dumb-ass cops sent him in here with a wire, thought I wouldn’t check. My son’s a cop.” His lip curled as he said it and the way he spat the words my son made it clear just what he thought of that connection just then.
If Dale was bothered by it, he didn’t let it show. He just nodded and looked around. “This place is probably heated by the fireplace and a generator. It’s cold in here. You plan on letting him get hypothermia before you kill him or what? Let him get some clothes on.”
“I don’t care if he turns to ice in front of me,” Mitchell sneered.
“I do.” Dale glanced over at Ridley. “Get him a shirt, some pants.”
“Don’t,” Mitchell warned.
“Do it,” Dale snapped.
When his father rounded on him, Dale strode forward, his eyes blazing. “You going to shoot me because I don’t want a man freezing his ass off in front of me? Then do it. Go on! Do it!”
He was close enough now to grab the muzzle of his father’s gun.
For a second, I waited, motionless. I was afraid to breathe, afraid to move, afraid to even blink.
Then Mitchell swore and lowered the gun, backing away. “How did I raise such a fucking pussy?” He turned his head and spat on the floor, the disgust coming from him in waves.
If he thought Dale putting himself in front of a loaded gun made his son a pussy, we had very different definitions of what that term meant.
A muscle pulsed in Dale’s cheek and he shot me a look. I couldn’t quite decipher it. If he hated me, fine. If he let his father shoot me right there, I would go to my grave thankful.
He’d gotten Haley out. He’d gotten Carly out. The two things in my world that really mattered and he’d taken care of them. I’d be indebted to him for the rest of my life, however long that ended up being.
A moment later, a bundle of clothes were shoved into my arms and I looked up just in time to see Ridley shuffle around me. He slid me a look then glanced down at the clothes. Then away. At the clothes, then away.
The clothes...
I tightened my hold on them. They were a damn sight heavier than they needed to be for a sweatshirt and jeans.
What in the hell?
Casually, I managed to turn slightly. It took more fumbling than I liked, and then my entire world froze down to nothing as I awkwardly shove the palm-sized pistol inside the front of my jockeys one-handed as I pretended to fumble with the sweatshirt. They were apparently Ridley’s clothes and too big. Ridley wasn’t much taller than I was, but he was massive, broad as a damn barn. The sweatshirt went past my hips, and the sweats weren’t much better. I felt like a kid trying to fit into his big brother’s clothes...with a gun lodged next to my unprotected cock.
“Hurry your miserable ass up, Cantrell,” Mitchell said.
“I am, I am,” I said as my teeth started to chatter. He’d kept Haley in this place for who knew how long. No heat on or anything, just that miserable little fire that hadn’t done shit to dispel the chill in the air.
I wanted to strip Mitchell naked and leave him up in the mountains to freeze to death.
“Why did you let Carly leave?” Ridley asked.
His voice was wrong somehow. Flat. Almost...well, if I had to make a stab at it, I’d say he sounded the exact way most people would assume he sounded. He was big and solid, and until you had to deal with him, Ridley struck most people as some all-brawn-and-no-brains type. He didn’t look like he had a near genius IQ. He was a mean bastard, and he sure as hell looked like he could be, but he was smart. Now, though, he sounded like the grown-up version of some high school bully who had fought and blustered his way through life.
“She wasn’t necessary,” Mitchell said.
“The only reason I even helped you–”
“Shut up.”
“Don’t tell me to shut up.”
I chanced a glance in the mirror, and saw that Ridley had moved to stand between Mitchell and me. Taking the brief chance he’d given me, I palmed the gun and shoved it into the slash-styled pocket of the pants. I took a minute to tie the waistband as tight as I could and pull the sweatshirt back into place. The oversized shirt was baggy enough to hide the lump and I wondered if Ridley had picked his biggest clothes for that reason. Of course, hiding it there would hinder my chance to go for it, but there was no way to secure it anywhere else.
“You need to move your dumb ass out of my face,” Mitchell said when Ridley tried to push again about Carly. “I don’t give a fuck if you’re pissed your little whore’s gone.”
Ridley tensed and I imagined plunging my hand into the old man’s face, pummeling until blood flowed.
Dale’s gaze moved to mine, and I saw his eyes drift down, rest on my right hip.
Shit.
Then he looked back at his father, slid a casual glance toward the back door. He was trying to tell me something, and I had a feeling he knew about the gun.
How, I didn’t know. I didn’t think he’d had a chance to chat with Ridley, and I was almost positive there was no way he’d seen me palm it. I might have been out of practice, but I was still pretty damn good.
As Ridley and Mitchell continued to snarl and snap at each other, Dale gave a lazy nod to the back door. I looked at my bare feet and thought about hauling ass down the mountain. It wasn’t far and I’d made it through worse.
But then I looked at Ridley. What happened if he messed up and–
“I swear I should have just killed that cunt and the kid!” Mitchell said, shoving past Ridley and moving closer to the spot where his son and I waited.
So much for that silent conversation we’d been sharing.
“You.” Mitchell’s lip curled at me, while behind him, Ridley’s face went red and his eyes narrowed down to dangerous slits.
With his temper, I’d known better than to turn my back on him, but I wasn’t the one standing that way right now.
“You, your little cunt, that bitch kid–”
Ridley’s nostrils flared, his jaw clenching shut.
Dale lifted the gun he had yet to holster. “Dad.”
“You ain’t shot me yet, you ain’t gonna do it now,” Mitchell said, mockery in his voice. “Told you that you was a pussy. Came from living with your mama all those years. Why don’t you just get on out of here now?”
But Dale wasn’t looking at him. His eyes were focused behind his father and I knew he’d seen the true danger in the room.
“Ridley. Don’t. Okay?”
Mitchell glanced over his shoulder.
The next moments were a blur of noise and screams and bellows of rage.
Ridley grabbed Mitchell, one big arm snaking around his neck.