Page 143 of Split You Open

Rhett whirls around with wide, startled eyes, his grip adjusting on the axe to use as a weapon in the same move. Wes’s hand goes to his hip where his gun is but doesn’t draw it when he turns in my direction.

I turn to face Anchor as he emerges from the woods.

Damn, I was hoping the trail cameras would pick him up. But that was foolish of me—of course he’d avoid the trail cameras. He wouldn’t want to give away his position. And he knows where they all are—he helped me install them.

Our eyes meet and he smiles at me. Or rather, he tries to smile. He never could get that expression right. There’s always been something too sharp, too intense in the way he stares to make the smile on his lips seem pleasant.

At least he’s trying.

I don’t bother. While I’m not exactly sure of his intentions, I know that he’s not here just to pay a friendly visit. Missing a text from Anchor has been my biggest slip up to date. You don’t ignore a text from him. That’s his rule. You get twenty-four hours to respond. After that, he worries and Anchor loathes to worry.

“Anchor,” I greet as he comes to a stop in front of me. “Good to see you again.”

Anchor eyes are lifeless.

The campfire doesn’t brighten them, nor does the smile on his face.

Sometimes, when I’m around enough, I can bring a spark back to them, but it’s been years since I’ve seen him and it shows. The man in front of me is a deadly, soulless killing machine who hasn’t been in contact with other living beings in a long fucking time.

“Sparrow…” he drawls. “It has been awhile. You look…” his brows furrow as he tilts his head and studies me closer.

“If you say ‘old’ I’ll put a bullet in your head.”

Anchor’s smile grows but again, it’s off—as always.

“I was going to say, ‘hairy’.”

I chuckle as I reach up and tug at my beard. “Yeah, well, I thought I could lean into the whole lumberjack thing.”

I’ve never kept my facial hair this long before. But from the first night here, I noticed how much Blair liked it. Her eyes would smolder just a bit each time they skimmed across my face. If she likes it, I’ll keep it for however long she wants.

My hand falls away from my face as Anchor’s gaze bounces over toward Rhett and Wes.

Right… Introductions.

Turning halfway around, I call out to the others, “Come on over, guys.”

Rhett looks like he’d rather do anything else judging by the dark look he shoots at me, then at Blair’s dad. Stiffly, he lowers the axe at his side but brings it with him as he stomps over. Wes has more grace. He smiles easily and his whole body relaxes as he gives us a nod.

“One second, let me take the chicken off the grill. Blair will kill me if I dry these breasts out.”

Anchor hums.

It’s an innocent sound. One that could be considered thoughtful coming from anyone else. But I know Anchor well enough to hear the sound for it really is—a warning.

Well, shit… How did Wes slip up? Even as I wonder, the answer comes to me. Ah, he’d used Blair’s real name rather than her alias, CeCe.

Quickly, I redirect his attention.

“Anchor, this here is Rhett,” I introduce, trying to push down my fear for Wes’s safety. “Gnarly Pines’s Head Mechanic.”

Anchor turns his full attention to Rhett.

“Rhett… No last name?” Anchor asks.

Rhett glowers at Anchor before leaning the axe against his leg to reach into his flannel’s chest pocket. He pulls out a cigarette and a lighter. Rhett takes his time lighting the cigarette. When it’s lit, he sucks in a deep toke then lets it out through his nose.

“Wells,” he offers gruffly when he’s done. “Rhett Wells.”