Rope the Moon (Runaway Ranch, #2)(107)

Dad ambles into the living room and squints into the bright light. “What’s going on out here?”

Terror grips my heart.

“Daddy,” I gasp.

Fallon and I watch in horror as Aiden raises the gun and aims it at our father. A shot pops off, the silencer muffling the noise.

Stede crumples to the floor.

“No!” Fallon cries out.

“You bastard,” I hiss as I race across the room to our father. “Daddy,” I whisper, crouching beside him. Blood seeps through his pant leg.

Across the room, Fallon stands frozen.

Stede moans.

“Stay still.” I grab a towel from the coffee table and press it over the wound, hoping to staunch the blood. I can’t tell if it’s deep or a graze, and it terrifies me.

Relief fills me when Stede’s hand finds mine. His grip is strong.

“Run,” my father rasps.

I can’t, I mouth. Tears fill my eyes as I look up at Aiden and take a steadying breath.

“So you what, waited?” I ask, trying to draw his attention away from my father. Trying to get one good chance to go for the tracker. Trying to understand his strategy so I can fight for a way out. “Now what? What are you going to do with me?”

“I have plans. I didn’t work this hard with this one”—he jerks the gun at Fallon and she flinches—“to not have a plan. You know that, Dakota. Don’t be so fucking stupid. You know you’re mine. You know I win.”

“Can you let her go? Please,” I beg.

“Dakota, shut up,” Fallon hisses.

I ignore her. “Fallon has nothing to do with this. Or us.”

My eyes land on the cheeseboard. The knife, in particular.

“Doesn’t she now? She’s family.” Aiden circles Fallon. “Why would I leave your pretty little sister out of this?”

He traces a hand down her arm.

Fallon snaps. “You motherfucker,” she shrieks, suddenly charging Aiden.

He backhands her with the gun, snapping her head back and stunning her. Eyes wide she stares at me, makes some sort of tiny, exhaled groan, and collapses to the ground.

A scream rips through my throat.

Choking on sobs, I crawl from my father to my sister. Her breathing’s hitched and her body convulses. “No,” I cry out, digging my nails into her shoulders to hold her steady.

Our father calls to us, his voice anguished.

There’s the crunch of popcorn as wing-tip loafers settle beside us.

I squeeze my eyes shut. “Please don’t do this. Don’t hurt her. I’ll go with you. Please.”

“That’s right. You’re going to pay for taking what’s mine, Dakota,” Aiden says, bending to lift Fallon’s limp body.

When he’s distracted, I slip the cheese knife into the large front pocket of my hoodie.

“Davis will kill you,” I growl, watching as he tosses my sister over his shoulder.

She flops against his body like a rag doll.

Aiden’s gaze snaps back to me.

“If he makes it in time. Which seems unlikely, seeing as how he’s on the other side of town saving little boys from deep dark forests.” Aiden jerks the gun at the front door. “Now get the fuck up and let’s go.”





My boots crunch gravel as I hop out of my pickup truck and head toward the bright lights of the Bullshit Box. Keena prances proudly beside me, even if tonight was a waste of time and manpower.

It took an hour to get over to Briar Gorge, only to discover there was no one there. No parents. Definitely no kid. Richter and the deputies stayed behind in case they showed. Maybe the parents found their son. Maybe they forgot to call it back in.

Regardless, I needed to get back to Dakota.

As I enter the Bullshit Box, I let out a tense breath. Home.

“You find the kid?” Charlie asks, angled into the dartboard, scrutinizing his target. Aiden King’s photo has a dart sticking in the middle of his forehead.

“Nope.” I settle in at my desk, unholster my gun, and take a quick breather. My gaze scans Wyatt, who’s reclined in a busted folding chair. Keena goes to her water bowl as I open my phone and check the tracker. The GPS still shows Dakota at Fallon’s.

“No one was there. Think it was a prank call,” I say, rolling out my shoulders. “I’m dropping off Keena, then I’m headed back out.”

“That’s real shitty, man,” Wyatt drawls, standing. “Who’d lie about a goddamn kid going missing?”

Something cold settles in my gut.

Wyatt plucks his beer off the desk, takes a long swig, and flings a dart at King.

He hoots in victory. “Right between the fuckin’ eyes.”

The door opens, and Ford enters. He leans back against the wall and stares the dart board for a long second, then looks at Wyatt. “Really takin’ it all out on Fallon’s guy, ain’t you?”

My head snaps up. “Say that again.”

Ford frowns. “That ass-face on the dartboard.” His amber eyes flick apologetically to Wyatt. “Saw him and Fallon the other day at the Legion.” He holds up his hands. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

The room spins. My stomach’s turned into an iceberg.

I launch myself out of my chair. “Fuck.”