Page 41 of Property of Rattler

I voice my greatest hope. “What if he’s found some other way to repay the Bratva?”

“Can’t see how. A multi-thousand-dollar amount isn’t easy to scrounge up or loan as Stone appears to be broke. And, Rat? You know what you signed up for. We knew this wasn’t going to be an easy or quick fix.”

Sucking in air, I breathe out a heavy sigh. “You’re not the one stuck here with her.”

“Yeah, I hear you, Bro. Appreciate you doing this. But don’t forget you also stand to gain. Why don’t you just concentrate on how you’ll spend your million?”

“Eye on the prize, eh, Prez?”

“Always.” He ends the call.

I go back inside, unable to believe this is only our second full day, and that we could be stuck here for months. It already feels like I’ve been here forever. Might not be so bad if I had a different companion. One of the club girls would come in very handy right now. Since getting my patch, I don’t think I’ve gone more than a couple of days without getting my dick wet.

Though I have to admit, Ames does have a few good points. She can cook, for a start. She fixed me a bed that I wouldn’t have thought of, half-carried me down the mountain yesterday, anddoctored my ankle. Icing it certainly helped, and that bandage at least allows me to put some weight on it.

I still when I suddenly realise, she’s nowhere in sight.She wouldn’t have gone out without telling me, would she?If she has, I’m going to spank that ass raw. There’s no way I can run up the mountain after her. If I couldn’t keep up with her yesterday with two working feet, I’d have a cat’s chance in hell of catching her now.

Just when I start swearing and prepare to go out looking anyway, she appears. Her reddened face and the towel she’s still working over her hair betray that she’s just had a shower.

Her hand pauses mid-rub. “Who pissed in your cornflakes?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

She shrugs. “You look like you want to kill someone.” Then, she dismisses the topic and instead brightens. “I found something in the cabinet in the mud room that might help you to be more mobile. I left them out.”

Intrigued, I move past her to see what she means. In the middle of the mud room floor is a pair of rubber boots. They look about two sizes too big. Telling myself she was trying to be useful, I call out, “They’re not my size.”

She appears behind me, having moved as silently as a ghost. When she startles me, I hide my reaction with a frown. “That’s the point,” she says patiently, then points to my ankle. “You can’t get your motorcycle boot on over the bandage, but maybe you’ll be able to make do with one of these and wear your own boot on the other foot.” Giving a toss of her hair, she adds, “It might look stupid, but there’s no one to see. And it will get you out of the cabin.” She raises a brow. “Unless you’d prefer to go barefoot?”

I’m stuck. It’s a good suggestion, but one I immediately want to ignore as it’s come from her. Then again, would I really prefer to be cooped up indoors, or take the other option, risk stepping on a fucking scorpion? Swallowing my pride, prepared for herto gloat, I balance against the worktop and see if my bandage will fit into the boot. I don’t know whether to be pleased or disappointed when it slips inside. It is a tight fit around my ankle, which actually gives it support, but my toes grip only air, and it flops around my calf.

Walking though? I look like John Wayne in one of his cowboy films, the extra width causing me to walk bow-legged. As I make my way back into the living room to retrieve my proper boot for my other foot, I expect her to laugh.

But again, she surprises me, observing simply, “That seems to work.”

Although she’s found a solution for me, I offer no thanks, other than a scowl. Then, ask, “Where did you put your gun?”

“Oh. I left it upstairs,” she says casually.

I stare at her, then shake my head.Stupid bitch.She hadn’t listened. It only takes the pinched expression on my face to get her to move and race back up to retrieve it. In a moment, she’s returned with the weapon in her hand and starts opening a drawer.

“No, bring it with you.” I start to pick up an armful of the empty beer bottles I’d drained last night.

“What are you doing with those?”

I frown, thinking it’s obvious. “Target practice means shooting at something.”

After rolling her eyes, she imparts, “I kinda guessed that. But breaking those will leave the ground covered in glass. Think of the animals that could hurt themselves.”

I pace toward her, getting right up in her space. “I don’t give a fuck about the local wildlife. I’d rather think of the animal you might need to put down if he comes to the cabin. Without knowing how the gun feels, how to aim and hit what you’re pointing toward, there’s no point in you being armed.”

Her mouth purses, then she sidesteps away from me and opens a cupboard. “What about these?” She pulls out a tower of plastic cups. “Will these do?”

Of course, they will. It’s a good solution. But I’ll be fucked if I’m going to praise her idea.

My lips purse. “Bottles will be better, but they’ll do.” Does that look she’s just thrown at me suggest I’m full of shit? Unfortunately, I think it does. I growl. “Let’s get outside. Sooner we get started, the sooner we finish.” Though inwardly I think we’ll be here for hours. If she couldn’t balance a tray of beers, I doubt she’ll stay steady enough to accurately shoot. But best I try to teach her, else her clumsiness might mean I catch the bullet she’s aiming at someone else.

I’m grateful for the tightness of the boot around my ankle, even if the excess material rubbing further up my leg is annoying. I can at least walk across the uneven ground at the back of the cabin. I’m aiming for a fallen tree trunk I remembered from yesterday. Glancing around once, I’m satisfied she’s following.