Page 49 of Claimed By Ruin

Jack fixed his gaze on me, staying still, until I looked back at him.

I recognized that look. Knew exactly what it meant.

I wanted to argue, but knew it was futile. We didn’t have time for it anyway.

“Fine.” I relented. “But don’t kill him, Jack.”

“Why not?”

“He might be from town. Sent by Christopher to test me. Or maybe he ran away and has information we can use, so I need to talk to him.”

Jack nodded, and I hated myself for how relieved I was. All because Jack agreed with me.

But then I reminded myself of what I’d never be able to forget. Jack was a man of his word. He’d more than proven that when he left.

I settled in my perch as Jack left, feeling ineffectual, itching to join in the action, but holding my post.

I saw when another white blob made it out to the field. Saw when the blobs merged and became one, the rustle of weeds and leaves loud enough to reach my perch.

And then, finally, there was stillness.

I tried to ignore the tightness in my chest, and the way it eased when one of the figures stood.

It was Jack.

Even in night vision, I recognized him, and told myself it meant nothing that I was elated when I did. He was useful; of course I didn’t want him to die.

I left the perch, then made my way to Jack.

“Did you kill him?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Unconscious.”

I followed his gaze to the man. His body was crumpled on the hard soil, and there was no way his stark-white button down would ever get clean again.

“I’ll go get Lourdes. Take him to the shed and cuff him. See what kind of shape he’s in.”

Lourdes was in the kitchen; one look at me, and she moved towards the door.

We made it to the shed in record time, the scent of earth and rust fading to nothing as I watched the intruder. He shifted, clearly returning to consciousness. Jack stood in front of me, but I still saw the man’s face.

“Who the fuck are you?” Jack said when the man was fully awake.

I planned on asking the questions, but conceded that Jack was a better choice. And besides, this gave me an opportunity to observe, and I would take it.

“Dante,” the man said, his deep voice rising with a hint of an accent I couldn’t quite place.

“You lost?” Jack asked.

“You found that eighteen-wheeler, didn’t you?” Dante said.

“What about it?”

“Had my eye on that thing.”

“It’s no longer available.”

“I know. I watched you steal it right from under me,” Dante said. For a man who was handcuffed to a cot and crowded by strangers, he seemed remarkably at ease. “Figured a single guy out there like you, taking that much, had to have a place to lay your head.”