Quinn hopped off her bike, flicked the kickstand, and adjusted the rifle slung across her back. She rode her bike everywhere now since Gramps’ bright orange 1978 Ford F150 Super Cab—the Orange Julius—was nearly out of gas.
She tugged the bag of filled water bottles from the handle; her bandaged hand flared with pain. She ignored it. The cuts had stung the entire bike ride. The bruises on her thighs and torso ached, and her face looked like a smashed watermelon. What else was new?
She had a new respect for Hannah, who accomplished more than most people even with a crippled hand. Strength could look like more than one thing.
She hobbled across the road toward Liam, wincing at the fire in her ribs. “I brought you fresh water from our pump. It’s Whitney’s job, but I volunteered.”
Quinn kept her slingshot and a few flechettes in her jacket pocket, but she’d upgraded in weaponry. She took the AR-15 everywhere, the Berretta pistol holstered at her waist, and the karambit blade fit snug at her belt.
She thrust a water bottle at him. “How’s it hanging?”
Liam frowned at her but accepted the water bottle. He took a long swig and wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his jacket.
Above them, sunlight filtered through the latticework of branches. The morning had been frigid, but around noon, the sun peeked through the clouds.
Maybe this arctic winter would finally relinquish its hold on Michigan. Or maybe that was too much to ask.
Jonas Marshall and another volunteer armed with scoped AR-15s kept watch a hundred yards on either end of the road while Liam and Bishop felled sycamore and maple trees with chainsaws.
Several trees already barred the road, interspersed about twenty feet apart.
Thirty yards away, Bishop was busy roping the section of a thick trunk with chains attached to the winch of an old Ford.
She shifted uneasily, glancing from Liam to Bishop, then back toward her bike.
They were alone on the road. She could see the scouts far ahead.
Bishop glanced up from his work, caught sight of her, and flashed a thumbs up.
She knew what he was thinking. This was her chance. Better take it.
She scowled, but he’d already returned to chaining the next tree.
“How’re the ribs?” Liam studied the road, the trees, the houses tucked into the woods, always alert for danger.
Quinn kicked at a chunk of asphalt. “Everything hurts like hell. My bruises have bruises.”
Liam grunted like he knew the feeling.
“Why? How do I look?”
“Like you argued with a rhinoceros and lost.”
She touched her tender split lip, which was starting to scab over. She missed her lip ring. It was somewhere in the cavernous warehouse at Vortex, along with a healthy chunk of her flesh. “Sounds about right.”
“You’re young. You’ll heal.” He shot her a hard glance. “Don’t do anything else that stupid.”
She felt herself shriveling beneath that appraising gaze. Like he’d judged her and found her wanting. After all, he’d had to risk his own life to drag her out of that hell.
That wasn’t how things were supposed to go down.
She swallowed. Half of her wanted to turn and flee. She could spend the rest of her life in her bedroom, curled like a pill bug beneath a pile of blankets. That was normal, right?
Instead, Quinn planted her boots and forced herself to straighten her shoulders.
This was what she’d come for. Bishop had told her she wouldn’t get past this shame worming inside her if she didn’t make this right with Liam.
She couldn’t chicken out now.
“Are you mad at me?”
His brows lifted. “Why would I be mad at you?”
“Because I went off alone. I took things into my own hands. I didn’t tell you about Sutter because I wanted revenge. But I almost got us both killed instead.”
Liam pursed his lips. “That sums it up pretty well.”
Her face burned like hot coals.
“Sutter should have killed you. He was bigger, stronger, more experienced. And mean as a pit viper. You got lucky.”
“I know that.”
“You got mettle, kid, but you have a long way to go.”
“I know that, too.”
He studied her for a long minute.
A pair of robins chirped from a maple tree across the road. Anxiety torqued through her, but she waited, her tongue thick in her mouth.
Finally, he shrugged. “Okay, then.”
“Okay?”
“Yep.”
“That’s it?”
“What else is there?”
“But aren’t you mad at me? Let me have it. I can take it.”