Page 30 of Property of Rattler

We’d only gone a mile before mywifesuddenly covered her mouth and pleaded, “Please stop.”

Seeing her pallor was not just white but green, I’d pulled over to the side. She fumbled with the handle, then threw herself out and proceeded to bring up all the contents of her stomach. Her retching got to me. I felt like vomiting myself.

She didn’t want this. Neither did I. Perhaps it’s because I shared her feeling that I approached her instead of leaving her to cope alone. While someone being sick normally turned my guts, I’d forced myself to gather her hair and hold it back.

“It’s going to be okay,” I told her, then steeled myself for her reply.

“No, it’s not.”

After little more thana thirty-minute drive, during which we climb over five thousand feet in elevation, we arrive at our destination. As I turn off the engine, I survey our new, and hopefully very temporary, home. It’s rustic, but charming. Built of logs and seeming to disappear into the surrounding trees. I eye the log pile off to one side, thinking that signifies work for me in the future, but also note the solar panels covering the roof, so at least the electricity is covered.

Exiting the truck, the temperature is pleasant, while only slightly lower than what we left in the town it feels less oppressive, fresher. Pleasant enough for now, but I hope the Stone situation will be quickly resolved so we’re not living here in winter. This area gets snow.

The cabin is set well back out of sight from the road and away from the campgrounds and clusters of cabins rented to tourists. Instead of traffic, I hear birdsong. But fuck me, I hate being this close to the compound and being forbidden to set foot on our land.

Seven years ago, I found the club and worked my balls off to get through the prospecting stage. My life before I found the Kings, I try hard not to remember. It’s as if I started living at the point they’d voted me in. I’m already feeling withdrawal symptoms, wishing my brothers were around. I know I’m going to be fuckin’ lonely here, with only a helpless bitch for company.

One million dollars, I repeat in my head.

Taking out a burner phone, I shoot off a quick text to Bullseye.

Rattler: Arrived safe

Prez: Keep it that way

A thud, a scrape, and a muffled cursing have me heading around to the other side of the truck, where I find Ames pulling herself to her feet and brushing leaves and dirt off her jeans. I bite back the laugh at the indignant look on her face, and am, yet again, going to comment on her clumsiness. The truck’s lifted, and she must have forgotten that when she’d gotten out.

I suppose I should have done the gentlemanly thing and gone around to help her. Well, shoot me. I didn’t. And perhaps it’s a lesson she needed to learn. Not that she’ll be going anywhere for a while, or at least until we know what Stone is doing, or has been taken out of the picture.

Problem is that my trips away from the cabin will also be limited.

Fuck my life.

Waiting a moment to check that only her pride’s been damaged, I return to the rear of the truck and open the tailgate. Balancing on the step, I lift one of the many boxes we’d broughtwith us out. I turn to step down with it, only to find she’s waiting with outstretched hands.

“I got this.” My voice is gruff.

She shrugs. “We’ll get moved in faster if I help.”

Despite my better instincts, I pass down the first box. “Don’t fuckin’ drop it.”

She rolls her eyes and makes a show of securing it in her hands. “Do you want me to take it straight inside?”

“Nah, let's get everything unloaded, then we’ll sort out where it all goes.” I turn back, reach for another load, and again pass it to her. Though I’m loath to admit it, it goes quicker with her help. Soon, the truck bed is empty, and a pile of boxes has built up.

I even see that, in placing them, she’s sorted them as much as she can. The lighter ones are obviously our clothing and personal shit. Then there are the open cartons packed full of provisions that will hopefully last us for a few weeks. I’d been told there’s supposedly a large freezer and a fridge inside. Among the pile are a couple of dozen crates of beer and two boxes of the white wine she’d admitted to liking, occasionally. The sealed cases that are for my eyes only are left to one side.

She points at the latter. “I don’t know what you want to do with them, but I guess the frozen food should get into the freezer soon.” Not waiting for my agreement, she picks up a box, adjusts her stance to take the weight, and walks to the front door of the cabin.

Ignoring the weapons and security equipment I’ve gotten on my list to install, I collect another load of the frozen shit. I balance the box on my hip as I extract the key and turn it in the lock, then step aside to allow her to precede me inside.

Blinking, I wait for my eyes to adjust from the brightness outside to the dim interior. It’s obviously been built to contain heat in the winter. A large fireplace extends down the side wall,and while there are two windows at the front and one at the back, they’re not overly large. The room has a polished wooden floor with a rug in its centre, a couch, and two comfy-looking armchairs that complete the seating arrangement. By the rear window is a small dining table and a couple of chairs. There’s a television, though I’m not sure what reception we’d get, but my eyes fall on a device with a steady blue light on it.Looks like we’re set for Wi-Fi,thank fuck.

“It’s cute,” she says, but not with conviction, rather in the tone of someone making the best of their lot.

“Kitchen’s to the left,” I point out, unnecessarily, considering the door is open and she’s not blind. She heads that way, and I follow her. Then I copy her actions as she places her box on the counter, looks around, opens the cupboard doors, and finally reaches the built-in fridge. But no fucking freezer.

“Shit,” I breathe out.