Moot point—none of the keys even fit the ignition.

Now what?

I wasn’t sure how long I’d been in the camper, but it felt like hours had passed. The sun was pounding down, superheating everything. A fly buzzed by, landing on Teeny’s body. When I heard a motorcycle in the distance, my first reaction was a surge of excitement. Puck is coming to save me! Except Puck couldn’t possibly be coming to save me, because his bike was still up in Idaho.

The roar of the bike’s engine grew louder.

I ran over and locked the camper door, then darted into the tiny bedroom. Peering out from behind a faded curtain, I watched as a motorcycle pulled up next to the camper. A man wearing Longnecks colors swung off. He pulled his helmet free and I gasped.

It was Bax—Teeny’s brother.

Crappity crap crap!

Frantically I grabbed the .38, sitting down with my back against the bedroom wall. What should I do? Hide? The whole vehicle shuddered as Bax pounded on the flimsy door. I heard him cussing at Teeny, then everything shook again as he took his shoulder to the door. Seconds later he stepped inside.

“Oh, Jesus,” the man muttered, and I imagined the scene before him. His brother on the ground, chunks of brain and hair spattered around the room. The murder weapon still sitting right there, dripping with blood and slime. “Teeny, you little asshole.”

More rocking as the big man shuffled around. A gasping, wheezing noise. Was he crying? My tension grew as long seconds passed—would he search the bedroom? If he found me, I was fucked. I’d have to shoot him. Shoot to kill, preferably before he even realized I was here.

Looking down at the gun, I swallowed. Could I do this?

Another sound broke through my thoughts—a second vehicle was coming. I heard it turn toward the camper, growing louder as it pulled up. Bax must’ve heard it, too, because he scrambled to his feet, cocking his gun.

A door slammed. I clutched my own weapon, sliding toward the window to peek outside. Puck was just stepping out of his truck, semi-automatic pistol out and in front of him. His Reaper friend was climbing out the other side. I watched as they started around the camper in a wide circle, obviously scoping the place out.

No fucking way. How he’d found me I couldn’t imagine, but one thing was certain—if I didn’t so something, he’d walk right into an angry Longneck looking for revenge. A strange and terrible calm came over me and suddenly I understood why Puck had yelled at me earlier.

I had to protect him.

Nothing else mattered.

Pulling away from the window, I edged toward the door, easing it open in silence. Bax stood waiting, gun at his side. He stretched his neck and smiled. I focused on my target as reality narrowed down to just the two of us.

I’d seen that look on his face before. Smug. Sure of himself. Exactly the way he’d looked right before he raped me. Lifting my gun, I braced carefully as I took aim.

Then I pulled the trigger.

The gun bucked in my hands but I held it steady, watching as Bax jerked to the side and fell heavily to the floor. His weapon dropped and I stepped forward, ready to shoot again as the men outside started shouting.

Puck didn’t sound like a very happy camper, I thought, wondering why that seemed so funny. It wasn’t normal, wanting to laugh right after putting a bullet in a man . . . Maybe I’d finally lost it? Oh, well. As for Puck, I’d just have to worry about him later. Right now I needed to be sure Bax was down for real. Reaching his gun, I nudged it away with my foot, then stood over him, gun trained on his head.

“Puck, are you out there?” I shouted.

“Becs? Is that you?”

“Yeah,” I yelled back. “I’m inside. There’s two guys in here with me, but I think they’re both dead. The door should be open, come inside.”

I heard the door hinge squeak behind me, then the hiss of Puck’s breath.

“Your girl doesn’t fuck around,” said the Reaper.

“Becs, drop your gun and step back,” Puck told me. “I’ve got them covered, so get out of the line of fire.”

Didn’t have to ask me twice.

I moved back toward the bedroom, setting my gun carefully on the dirty countertop. Puck stepped into the camper, nudging the bodies with his foot. Neither moved. He gave me a quick glance, his eyes taking inventory of my body.

“I’m fine,” I reassured him. “I mean, I think I just killed a guy, but aside from that it’s all good.”

Puck raised a brow.

“Sure you’re all right?” he asked. I considered the question seriously—everything felt sort of detached. I could feel my heart pounding, but it didn’t seem like a real part of me.

“I might be in shock,” I admitted, swaying.

“Fuck,” he muttered, ducking into the camper to catch me. I wrapped my arms around his neck, savoring the smell of his body. This was real—Puck was actually standing here, holding me. Everything would be all right.

“How did you find me?”

“Your mom called me from your cell,” he murmured. “Gave me directions. She said you’d need my help cleaning up.”

“She killed Teeny,” I managed to say, my mind spinning. And she called Puck to save me. “He decided to shoot me after he learned you’re my old man—figured you’d hunt him down if I told you what he’d done.”

“So you were just going to disappear? He think I wasn’t gonna notice?”

I gave a dark laugh. “Thinking’s never really been his thing.”