Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 148220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
Only one thing’s in my head. Burning this place down. And I’ll do it with one word to Anna. Because the Hellfire Riders haven’t shown up yet, so that means they need a lead. A link to the Cage. And Cherry gave it to me.
Strawman.
* * *
Problem is, I can’t just say the name. Not because of Anna. I say “Strawman” to my sister, and she’ll wonder what the fuck I’m talking about—but then she’ll tell either the Prez or Gunner or Zoomie. And the name will do the job it needs to do. It’ll give them that link.
But if I say it and Victor hears it, then it’ll blow that link apart. Everyone who set this shit up—Gunner’s family and whoever they know in the Iron Blood—must believe that there’s no damn way the Riders or anyone else will ever track down the Cage or find this barn. They must think they’ve covered their asses that well.
And they have. Because after Zoomie was taken, the Hellfire Riders were looking hard for the Cage and we didn’t see a damn thing until I tripped right over it.
So if I expose that link, it’ll get covered up again quick. And then this phone call won’t be worth shit.
The trick will be saying “Strawman” without saying it. And without saying anything close to it. I’m pretty sure that Gunner’s brother being called “Strawman” has something to do with a scarecrow. But that won’t help, either, because Victor’s no idiot.
But “strawman” has another meaning—one Anna will put together. Because that’s another thing our mom drilled into our heads.
Look out for strawmen.
It’s a shitty tactic people use when they’re in an argument they can’t win. Instead they build up a strawman that resembles the other person’s argument, then they knock it down and claim a victory. But the strawman is just empty bullshit that lets the person avoid addressing the real argument.
But I have to word it just right. And be quick, because Victor’s not going to let me have a conversation with Anna. And make sure she tells Gunner—not the Prez and not Zoomie—because even if she figures out what I’m getting at, it won’t mean anything beyond that to anyone except him.
About an hour passes before Victor bangs on the forward wall of the cargo hold, telling the guard in the cab to pull over. Reception must be shit inside the van, because he opens up the back doors, unlocks my ankle shackles, and shuffles me out.
Middle of nowhere again. A two-lane road stretches through a whole lot of nothing. And it’s fucking freezing.
The guard from the cab hands Victor a shiny new phone—probably an untraceable burner, because these assholes are damn good at covering their asses. “What’s her number?”
I tell him and he dials it in, then hits the speakerphone. Not letting me get my hands on the device.
I wish to hell they weren’t so good at this.
The phone rings. And rings. And rings. Fuck, if the Riders have Anna hidden out at the clubhouse, the call might never get through. Reception out on the ranch is shit.
And that would be just my goddamn luck.
Then I hear a hesitant, “Hello?”
My stomach hollows out with relief and my throat closes up. Shit. Ah shit. All that planning to say just the right thing and the sound of my sister’s quavering voice just knocked the wind out of me.
A sharp “Stone?” follows a second later.
No wavering this time. Only fear and worry.
I can’t bear to hear how afraid she is for me. “How you doing, pipsqueak?”
There’s a sobbing breath and then a quick, “I’m all right and I love you. Daisy’s okay, too.”
“Good.” Damn good. And I didn’t realize how badly I needed to hear that. Emotion burns in my throat, but I can’t waste more time. “Now tell Gunner that me and Crash had a real bad argument, so I had to knock him down.”
Even before I finish speaking, Victor drops the phone to the blacktop, then stomps on it. Fuck. How much got through? Enough? Tell Gunner. A bad argument. Knock him down. That’s enough to tip her off, as soon as she starts to think about it. And she will think about it. Because they’ll expect me to try and get a message through. But did she get it all?
I just don’t fucking know.
13
Stone
It’s nearly dawn when we arrive back at the barn. Sitting in a van for hours has stiffened up every muscle that took a hit last night.
Every hit that Crash laid on me.
And he keeps laying more on me. Every time I think of him, the hole inside me tears open wider.
I’ve had one good thing to fill that emptiness with: the realization that Anna had her phone with her. She’s not locked up or being held by the Iron Blood, because there’s no fucking way they’d let her keep a device like that with her.