Bouncer by Kim Jones Page 0,14

it connects to. I walk over and grab the cord. It’s buried an inch under the ground. I pull it up, following its path that leads to the back of the yard. When I near the edge of the woods, I find it connected to another extension cord.

I should get my Brothers.

I should warn them about this.

But there’s no time.

Now that I know it’s here, I have to see where it leads.

About two hundred feet into the woods, I see it’s hooked into another cord. I pull it from the soft ground, keeping my eyes peeled for anything that looks out of the ordinary. I notice a trip wire with a tiny bell tied to it. I step over it and around another one. I’m nearly on the campsite before I see it—it’s camouflaged that well.

Pulling my gun from my back, I take cautious steps toward the tent disguised in limbs and natural debris. The pine needles offer a thick ground covering so every step is silent. I locate the entrance and ease back the curtain.

There’s an army cot, a small heater, a milk crate filled with clothes, a lamp and bucket of water. There’s a steady hum coming from the heater, but the space is almost as cold as it is outside. Whoever is sleeping here is pretty fucking miserable. My instincts tell me they’re not a threat. But I’ve been wrong too much lately to fully trust myself.

When I spot a bottle of lotion next to the cot, I know instantly who it belongs to. And I don’t have to smell it to know it’s scent.

Fruity vanilla.

And there’s only one person who smells like that.

My mystery girl.

My one-night stand girl.

Now I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Jinx was right.

It was Apple.

Nine

APPLE

I’m going to fucking die.

If the cold doesn’t kill me, my own embarrassment will. Every time I think of how I acted at the clubhouse shame fills me. I can’t believe I flipped off Bouncer. I can’t believe I could be so disrespectful to him—to anybody. I know better.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Severe upper respiratory infection and pneumonia, according to my visit to the E.R. this morning. Good news is I tested negative for that virus floating around. So my choice was to either stay at the hospital and have a greater chance of getting it or resting at home and taking antibiotics.

I chose the latter.

Probably should’ve took the risk of getting infected. Because though I’d planned to stay in a hotel, the decision to trek back to my home in the woods to get my stuff was a stupid one. No way would I have the energy to walk back to the road to get a cab.

I’m going to die out here.

And probably never be found.

My house comes into view and I’ve never been happier to see the shabby, cold, strange-critter-infested-triangle-of-canvas in my life. Why in the hell did I think it was a good idea to put it so far away from…everything?

Because you don’t want to be found, idiot.

I stumble into the tent and toss my backpack to the floor. The door, a simple flap of nearly threadbare material, is secured by three strips of Velcro. My fingers are shaking so bad, it takes me several tries on the first one. By the time I get to number three, I’m frustrated and near tears.

It’s cold.

So cold.

I hurt.

Everywhere.

Each breath is pure agony. And I can’t feel my fingers or my toes.

You deserve this.

That’s why you’re here.

I press my palm to my forehead and apply pressure until the thoughts start to disappear. But in their place is this eerie feeling that someone is watching me. My space feels crowded. I swear I can sense the presence of someone else. But I’m not scared. Probably because there’s no room for fear with how terrible I already feel.

Hell, maybe they’ll put me out of my misery.

With one hand on the metal frame for balance, I turn to face the culprit sitting on my bed. For some reason, I’m not the least bit surprised to see it’s Bouncer. Something inside me knew who it was before I even looked.

Great. Now I’m crazy.

“What do you want?” I ask, too tired to fight. Or be angry. Although I’m sure he’ll draw it out of me soon enough.

“I want to know why the fuck you’re stealing from my club.”

Wait.

What?

I draw in a deep, disbelieving breath at his accusation. The cold air burns my lungs and I cough for what