Chapter Nineteen

Someone killed a man whose rifle had just been pointed at Johnny’s head. It could have been a stray bullet that did the job, but Johnny didn’t think so. A moment later, he was sure of it.

Satyr ran toward him, waving a gun and shouting. Shaking off the dizziness that continued to cloud his brain, Johnny regained his feet, glanced at the place where he’d left Laidlaw, and took off in the opposite direction.

He’d circle back to Pappy’s shack; he had to. Mockerie was still there, and so was Melia.

“No way do you win this, Johnny!” Satyr yelled. “If I have to shoot every one of your limbs, then so be it. Whether you die fast or slow, I don’t care, just as long as she’s first.”

The shots just kept on coming. Johnny saw red flashes of gunpowder wherever he looked. A spray of bullets seemed to be going back and forth across the clearing.

“Your men are shooting at air, Ben,” he shouted above the barrage. “Why the show of force?”

He kept an eye on the burning shack. Getting back there was paramount. But Satyr wasn’t foolish enough to let him do it. He planted himself behind a bush between Johnny and his destination, and he kept right on firing.

“All I have to do is keep you busy long enough for Melia to die.”

Johnny eased sideways. “What about Mockerie?”

“He can take care of himself. His agenda, my agenda. It’s possible for them to work together. And they will. You’re going to see Melia dead before I kill you. And I’m going be watching your face when that takes place.”

Was the shack burning on the inside? The smoke had grown so thick, Johnny couldn’t tell.

He’d circled around just far enough that he could see the bush Satyr was using for cover. “Gotcha, bastard,” he whispered and, raising his Glock, took aim. The distinctive click behind and slightly to his right stopped him. “Fuck!”

“You know it, pal.” The guard who had him in his sights raised his voice. “Got him, boss. He’s all yours if you want him.”

“Toss your weapons, Johnny,” Satyr ordered. “All of them.”

Johnny complied. The guard with the rifle grunted. “He’s unloaded three, Washburn. Check him for more.”

Rough hands patted Johnny down, chest to ankle. They swung him around to face his captors—two of them, muscled and mean. Smiling because, well, because they were muscled and mean.

The bushes rustled in a nonexistent breeze. Pandemonium continued to unfold around them. Smoke billowed from the shack, thunder shook the ground. It was reminiscent of an apocalypse to Johnny’s mind. Not quite biblical, but dramatic enough to please even the Satyrs of the world.

The man who’d frisked him gave Johnny a shove as his nemesis approached.

“My, my,” Satyr crowed. “Isn’t this a humble sight. Look at the shack, Johnny. It’s going up in flames.”

“And taking Mockerie with it.”

“Absolutely not. I guarantee he’s not ready to die yet.”

“Or let the woman he came all this way to torture die, either?”

Johnny saw Satyr gnash his teeth. “If she doesn’t perish in the fire, I’ll put a bullet in her head myself right in front of you.”

“And face Mockerie’s wrath before the powder burns settle?”

“He’ll understand.”

“The hell he will. You can’t win, Ben. You never look for pitfalls or potential disasters, unpredicted outcomes. You focus on one and only one goal and miss the external forces that could drop in and crash your party.”

Satyr’s mouth twisted into an ugly sneer. “Fine. If she doesn’t die now, she’ll die later. I’ll see to it, or James will. You lose either way, Johnny.”

“Don’t count on it.” In a barely perceptible move, Johnny planted his elbow in the throat of the man who’d frisked him. He used the man as a shield when his partner fired. Then he grabbed the dead man’s gun and put two bullets into the first guard’s throat.

Satyr froze. Only for a moment, but it was long enough for Johnny to kill the two men, spin back, and launch himself at his old cellmate.

Fire burst through the roof of the shack. Johnny’s mind gave a primal scream at the sound of rending wood, but he had to believe Melia had escaped. There was nothing left for him to do except believe.

He put everything he had into the punch he leveled at Satyr’s head. He knew enough about Mockerie’s habits to suspect that Melia wouldn’t have been tied down. Where was the fun in that? Add in the fact that she was resourceful and smart… She’d have escaped somehow.

Unless Mockerie had knocked her out.

“Goddammit!” He plowed his fist into Satyr’s face, rolled away, and started to run. But Satyr’s obsession gave him unexpected strength. He gained his feet and tackled Johnny from behind.

Johnny shoved a foot in his face, knocking his head back and his hands away. Blood gushed from Satyr’s nose. Howling, Satyr went down. “We’re not done yet, Johnny. No fucking way!”

The bullet caught Johnny in the hip. Grazed him just enough to slow him up. Another shot just missed his chest.

Johnny dropped, snatched a Derringer from his sleeve, and, twisting around, fired.

Satyr was maybe ten feet away. He stopped in his tracks, a look of bafflement and shock on his face. Blood dripped from his nose and the hole where his eye patch had been.

His mouth opened. “You killed…” He looked at Johnny in disbelief. “Me.” Then he gurgled out a breath and pitched forward into the weeds.

Johnny didn’t waste a second. He shot to his feet, set his sights on the burning shack, and took off toward it.

…

Melia’s heart missed so many beats, it surprised her that she didn’t have a coronary on the spot. The hollow click of a gun in her ear, the weight of the man who’d squeezed the trigger, the fact that she wasn’t dead when he tumbled with her down the stairs.

Tumbled down and refused to let her go.

“We die together,” he rasped and somehow strengthened his grip on her. She was pinned beneath him. As he flipped her onto her back, she glimpsed the glazed look of death in his eyes.

“AJ,” she whispered. “Don’t… I can help you.”

“No, you can’t.” He spat hugely to the side. “But I can sure as hell hurt you.” He was panting out the words, and she spied blood around his mouth and nose. “Misery loves company, doc, and I don’t want to die alone. If I’m going to face my judgment, you’re coming with me.”

A knife appeared, smaller than the one Mockerie had threatened to use on her, but plenty large enough to get the job done.

She fought him with her knees and her hands. Her fingernails raked his face, and she thought she must have kicked him at least once between the legs. But he still didn’t release her.

“Say goodbye to this life, doc, and hello to the hereafter.”

The knife rose. She bucked up, twisted her body, and screamed for Johnny.

Lightning flashed, smoke hung in the air. She heard the crackle of flames, saw AJ’s sweaty, bleeding face—then the knife was coming toward her.

“Johnny!”

The blade halted less than a foot from her throat. AJ’s hand simply stopped there, suspended in midair. Shock widened his eyes.

“Son of a bitch…” he croaked. And with one last look down at her, he released a breath and toppled sideways.

Thunder caused the ground to tremble. Melia didn’t wait for AJ to hit the ground before she scrambled out from underneath him and gained her feet. Direction didn’t matter. Escape was her goal. And finding Johnny.

She glanced back once at the shack, consumed by flames. When she turned around, she slammed into something soft but solid and almost catapulted over it. Over him.

“Gomer!” she exclaimed. She grabbed the dog’s collar. “You’re here. Why are you… Where’s Johnny?”

“Look to your right, babe.”

She whirled and spotted him immediately in the dense smoke. “Oh thank God.” Suddenly, she had no energy. Her muscles had turned to rubber, and her entire body began to shake.

Shock, she realized, in the wake of…whatever this had been. A near-death nightmare. A real-life horror story. Night of the Living Dead.

Johnny met her halfway, catching her as she stumbled into him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tight. “I thought… I was terrified you might be dead.” She breathed in the scent of his skin, mixed with the smell of wood smoke, greenery, and blood. “But I didn’t really believe you could be.”

“Cat with nine lives,” he agreed. He set his cheek on the top of her head, then hugged her so tight she almost couldn’t breathe. “AJ was the last one standing, Mel. Satyr’s gone. It’s over.”

Her heart continued to beat hard and fast. She didn’t want to move, never wanted to leave his arms, but she forced herself to look up at him. “You’re bleeding.”

“We’re all bleeding. You, me, Laidlaw. Even Gomer. He hurt his leg while he was leading me to where you were.”

Whimpering, the dog held up a nicked paw. Melia smiled and, reaching down, ruffled his ears. “Bandage and bone when we get home,” she promised him. Laying her head back on Johnny’s shoulder, she said, “It’s not over. Not as long as there’s a chance Mockerie’s still out there.” She raised her eyes to his. “Did you say Satyr’s gone?”

“Body’s back there in the bushes. He was never going to give up trying to punish me. Not ever. There was no other way to end it.”

“If it really is ended.”

“Yeah, there’s that.” Tipping her head back, he stared down at her. “Let’s say it’s done for now, find Laidlaw, and go home.”

Melia managed a weak smile. “Best idea I’ve heard in years. ‘Hold fast to my heart, my love, as I will to yours. Our time together has only just begun…’”