Ensnared (Brutes of Bristlebrook, #1)(95)

“No!” I exclaim. “Leave it be! Do you have any idea how poisonous water hemlock is? You really didn’t eat any, did you?”

“No, I didn’t eat—”

“You would have been dead within an hour!” My hands are shaking. “You shouldn’t just grab any plant if you don’t know what it is! You should know better than that.”

Beau’s jaw clenches and, for a second, I think he’s going to yell back at me. But after a moment, he steps back and picks up the pan. He dumps the contents in the bushes. Still not looking at me, he stalks to the small brook and starts washing the pan.

His back is like a wall.

I take a deep breath, willing myself to calm down. In a brief moment of clarity, I wonder if this is how he felt when he fired on me yesterday. The thought of what could have happened . . .

“Beau—”

“What happened to breakfast?” Dom asks from behind me, and I jump about a foot in the air.

He eyes me. “Remind me not to put you on watch duty.”

I lift my chin. “We had to get rid of breakfast.”

Dom frowns, but Beau stalks back. “Leave it, Dom. Let’s get moving.”

The large man looks between us, then shrugs cautiously. “Fine. Let’s go.”

I’M ON A TIME OUT, and I hate it with every fiber of my being. As soon as we started the approach to their camp, Dom and Beau nestled me under a large boulder well out of the way and told me to stay put until they came back for me. At least Dom had left me with sweet words of comfort: “If we’re not back in an hour, we’re not coming back. If that happens, head to Bristlebrook.”

I could punch him.

Anxiety churns my stomach. It’s only been ten minutes or so, but the minutes drip by like treacle. For once the scents of damp earth and fresh air do nothing to pacify me. I’ve been straining to hear something, anything, as though listening harder will actually bring the sounds closer.

I get to my feet, needing to move. They didn’t seem too worried, and I vividly remember how easily they handled the hunters last time. They know what they’re doing. And if I want them to give me and my skills the benefit of the doubt, the least I can do is offer them the same.

But, God, it’s different.

What if something goes wrong? This isn’t like last time. Last time the hunters were running blindly, confident they were chasing down one unarmed woman. This time, they’re prepared. They’re expecting trouble. They’ll have someone on watch. It will be so much harder for them to be caught unawares.

I worry my lip between my teeth as I think about that. Why would they take out the cameras? So we lose visuals, sure, but why? So they can get more men through the woods unseen? Didn’t Dom say that the rest of the men were elsewhere? Without the cameras here, how can we be sure there aren’t more?

And if the hunters were taking out the cameras just to hide their own tracks, then why wouldn’t they have just avoided them, since they clearly knew their location? They had to know that the dead cameras would be noticed.

It . . . doesn’t make sense.

There’s no reason to tip us off like that.

Which means . . .

Panic ricochets through me just as the first crack of gunfire shatters the silence.

It means this is a trap.

Without stopping to think, I bolt toward the sound. It’s followed by a series of rapid blasts. I’m not sure what I can do, if there’s anything I can do, but I can’t sit by and listen and do nothing when they’re walking into a nightmare.

Branches whip at my cheeks and arms, and I force down memories of my last flight through these woods. I’m not the hunted this time. I grip my knife.

Never again.

Why why why didn’t I think this through last night? Or this morning? I’m the worst kind of idiot, fretting about Beau being mad at me and worrying about punishments when I should have been considering what lay ahead. The very real, actual danger they would be facing. Stupid. Dom is right—I’m not ready to face this kind of threat.

I slow as the sounds start getting louder. The gunshots are deafening, and I can hear shouting now. I think I catch Beau’s voice amid the racket, but I can’t be sure. Pressing a hand to my chest, I take a deep breath.

Think, Eden. I can’t go rushing in there. I need to see what’s happening. Looking around, I try to find inspiration. My eyes dance over the brush and green twice before settling on the tall, heavily branched trees. It makes me think of Lucky, whistling from the treetops as he fired down on the hunters.

Tucking my knife into my belt, I hurry around until I’m as close as I can get to the clearing without revealing myself.

Carefully, quietly, I climb a large, overhanging tree. It takes more effort than I’d like—my upper body strength isn’t what it should be—but I manage it. My ears ring and my pulse thrums a staccato beat in line with the gunfire. I’m desperate to hear Beau or Dom, but I can’t tell voices apart in all the yelling.

Keeping low on a thick branch, I edge forward until my head just peeks from the leaves and I can see down in the clearing.

When I do . . .

I press a hand to my mouth.

Carnage.

There are more than four men here. Three bodies are sprawled and splattered in the clearing, one over by the tree line. I try to avoid looking at the gory chunks torn from their sides, their heads, and just take in features, clothing.