Page 2 of Man of Honor
But he wasn't. None of themwere.Ben was rotting in a prison cell, Mason was working himself to death, and our oldest brothers were barelyspeaking.If I didn’t make it out of here,they’d never even know I’d comehome.Just another name added to the long list of missing in Devil'sGarden.
The girl was different, though; she might have someone waiting for her.I could get her out, even if I’d never managed it myself.
My thoughts drifted back to Wyatt, to that day in the bayou, when I was just a scrawny kid who decided to take my chances in the swamp rather than die by my real father's hands.It was like being lost in hell.To this day, I’d never felt so alone.I remember curling up in the fog and mud, too numb and exhausted to cry, until the figure of a man emerged from the mist.I knew instantly that the shape didn't belong to my father; this man was taller and leaner with wide shoulders and a radio that squawked like an egret.He knelt before me, larger than life, but so calm and reassuring that I instantly latched onto him.I didn’t believe him when he said I was safe, but I wouldn’t let him go, either.My legs were too weak to stand, so he lifted me in his huge arms and carried me, unconcerned about the filth I smeared all over his uniform.
Wyatt was the first hero I'd ever met; Boone was the second.But Boone was gone, and for some insane reason, I wanted Wyatt to find me again.I longed for him to pull me out of the nightmare one more time.But grown men don’t get rescued.We claw our way out on our own, or we don’t get out at all.
An old cypress tree loomed in the distance, half-hidden by a curtain of Spanish moss.Its twisted roots stuck out of the muck like a tangle of bones.Everyone who grew up in Devil's Garden knew the landmark; we called it the Devil's Hand.Beyond the tree was the old stone bridge where I'd played as a boy, and just beyond it, the Thibodeaux homestead.
I’d rather jump back in the gator pit than ask Etienne Thibodeaux for help.The old man had lived too deep in the bayou for far too long.If he found someone on his property, it was anyone's guess whether he'd shoot them outright or make them squeal like a pig, Deliverance-style.Either way, I wasn't itching to find out.
I set my jaw, adjusted my grip on the girl, and headed across the bridge.The stones were moss-slick, and I nearly bit it a few times before the dilapidated shanty house came into view.A line of rusted cars encircled the property like the world's ugliest fence, and I let out a long, shaky breath.“Bingo.”
I kept to the shadows, crouch-walking toward the nearest truck and swallowing my muffled gasps and grunts.By the time I set the girl down, my ribs were screaming.She felt cold and limp, and an old familiar dread started to crawl up my throat.Even if I found a way to call for help, an ambulance would take forever to reach us out here.My only option was to get her to the hospital as fast as this rust bucket could go.
I grabbed the driver’s side door, and the hinge squealed so loud it drowned out every cicada and bullfrog for miles. My gaze snapped to the cabin, but it was all dark windows.No sign of life. I held my breath and ducked under the steering column, pulling off the plastic casing by feel.The truck reeked like mildew and motor oil.In minutes, I had the wires stripped and twisted, working fast and cursing under my breath the entire time.The wires sparked, and the engine roared to life.
Mason had taught me well.
Five years of trying to outrun this place, and less than a day had me falling back into the same bad habits.
I hoisted the girl into the back seat, arranging her skirt over her knees as best I could.Reluctantly, I pressed two fingers against the clammy skin of her wrist.Her pulse felt surprisingly strong, but I was no expert.
The shocks and struts in Etienne's busted Chevy were toast, and I fought hard with the steering while we rattled and jolted over uneven turf.By the time we hit the dirt road, I had her wide open, barreling toward the highway and praying we didn't run out of gas before we got there.
That was when I saw it—a sheriff's department cruiser hidden in the shadows behind a speed limit sign.Before I could check my speed, a flash of red and blue lights lit up my rearview mirror.The cop was closing in fast, headlights slicing through the darkness like a spotlight.My boot came down hard on the gas, and the transmission lurched, but the truck wasn't built for speed.It didn’t stand a chance against a V-8.Trying to make a break for it would only delay the inevitable.
“Shit!” I cursed under my breath and eased onto the shoulder, but I didn't shift into park, just in case.I'd known the cops in Devil's Garden all my life.Some were okay, but I didn't trust any of them not to screw with me just for fun, and this girl didn't have the time.They all had their own quirks: Sheriff Vanderhoff always paused to check his hairline before exiting his vehicle, Teddy fidgeted with his radio, and Wyatt...
My heart started jackhammering the moment I recognized the dark silhouette in my side mirror.I'd know that slow, confident stride anywhere.Like he had all the time in the world.As he approached, the headlights backlit him enough to pick out details.His hair was shorter than I remembered, but his jaw was just as sharp despite the midnight scruff.And that mouth. How many nights had I dreamed of the shape of it?I'd only kissedhim once, but I remembered how those lips felt: firm, then soft—then gone.
I sat back hard in my seat. My pulse was pounding so hard I felt it in my throat.Goddamn. Wyatt hadn’t changed.If anything, he was an even more potent version of the man I’d tried so hard to forget.
Forbidden fruit.
I went to wipe my damp palms on my jeans, thought better of it, and clamped them back on the steering wheel.Wyatt’s flashlight made a sweep across the body of the rusted truck before beaming me straight in the eyes.I winced, turning my face to the side, but even without looking, I sensed the exact moment he recognized me.There was a sudden stillness in the air, and every hair on the back of my neck stood on end.
“Well, now…” His voice held the same low, magnetic rumble that always made me twitch.“Some things never change, do they?”
I swallowed the automatic urge to mouth off, glancing toward him just enough for my eyes to land somewhere around his throat.When I was a teenager, I would’ve taunted and toyed with him, saying whatever flew into my damn fool head.Anything to get his attention.I knew better now, so I kept my trap shut and focused on the rise of his Adam's apple.
He grunted impatiently. “Look at me.”
Yeah, that was the Wyatt I remembered, the man I used to think of asmyWyatt, the one who could make me feel like I'd just been peeled down to the bone.
I forced myself to breathe and jerked my gaze upward.The flashlight blinded me, scanning my pupils, and then finally dropped.
“Wyatt,” I managed to scrape out in a voice so rough it didn't sound like my own.
Wyatt tilted his head, almost like the sound of me saying his name threw him off-balance.Then he swept the flashlight over my bruised, bloodied knuckles, and his mouth tightened.“Turn off the truck.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?” He leaned through the open window, invading my space with the spicy scent of his aftershave, and spotted the exposed wiring almost instantly.“Goddammit, Gage,” he whispered.
The twist of shame in my gut embarrassed me, like I’d disappointed him again.Wyatt always had a way of catching me at my absolute worst.My mouth went dry, but before I could think twice, I reached out and caught him by the wrist.“I don’t mind catching a charge but let me get her to the hospital first.”
His wrist felt like steel under my fingers.For a second, neither of us moved, then Wyatt pulled his arm away and shone his flashlight into the backseat.The beam landed on the girl, gleaming off the crusted blood at her temple, and his face turned to granite.