Tattoos and men. Sex and sin. Fucking great. It was everything we didn’t need here. I’d been fine without them!
My attention slid toward laughter, finding Zayne in his suspenders, with his sleeves rolled to his elbow, smashing his ax through the wood. His bright eyes lifted, meeting mine as a smile played on his full mouth. He turned his head, and my gaze swung to Sian, who was also shirtless and had at least washed the blood off of himself. Eryx had rolled up his sleeves, leaving his olive-colored forearms exposed, showing off his colorful tattoos.
Tearing my eyes from the men, I noticed the truck was backing up entirely too fast to stop. A toddler was standing behind it, her wide, blue eyes following an orange butterfly in front of her. I glanced back at the truck, and a scream ripped from my lungs as I took off. Clearing the space between us, I tossed the toddler out of the truck’s path, leaving myself in harm’s way.
The truck smashed into my head, and I reached for the tailgate, pulling myself up just as Lucas got the driver’s attention, screaming over the music playing from inside the truck. The startled driver slammed on the breaks, and I dropped to the ground, grabbing my forehead where blood was dripping down my face. Rounding the back of the truck, I ran to the driver’s door, opening it to rip him out of the vehicle.
“What the fuck?” he demanded, growling at me with his fangs exposed. “Stupid bitch, I’m the only motherfucker willing to make the drive up this mountain!” he snarled, sending anger rolling through me.
“You almost ran over a child!” I shot back, and he lifted his shoulders, dropping them in a shrug.
“One less fucking mouth to worry about feeding then, bitch,” he snorted.
I jumped without warning, hooking my feet beneath his armpits and my hands around his waist. Using the momentum, I flipped him into the air, grabbing the back of his head as he fell toward the ground, slamming his face into the dirt. Hard. Bone crunched, and I walked around his large frame, oblivious to the crowd watching.
The truck driver, a shifter, came up quickly, forcing me to roundhouse kick him in the face and lowering my body to the ground, removing his feet from beneath him. Before he’d hit the dirt, I used a spurt of speed to drive my fist into his face, smiling as I felt his teeth snapping off beneath the gums.
The moment he came back up, I was ready for him. However, I wasn’t prepared for the ax that swung through the air or for the driver’s head to go sailing across the courtyard, painting my face in blood. My eyes followed the body to the ground, slowly lifting to hold Saint’s angry stare.
“What the fuck did you do that for?” I demanded.
Saint snorted, staring at my forehead where blood still dripped from the gash made by the truck hitting me. “You’re my mate, and only I get to talk to you like that, Braelyn.”
I huffed as I walked toward the large semi, crawled into the driver’s seat, and backed it into the delivery dock. Putting the truck in park, I jumped out and strolled back to the mess Saint had made, whistling loudly.
“James, toss the prick’s body into the pen with the hogs. Caiden, grab your bike and an overnight bag.”
I lifted the truck’s hood and hefted myself onto the front of the truck. Pushing my hand past the scorching engine block, I grabbed the GPS tracker and tossing it to Caiden, who caught it and held it up.
“Ballard is going to notice this shit,” he grunted, lowering his hand and folding his arms over his chest.
“He will, which is why you’re going to take the tracker and drive your bike to the nearest truck stop in Billings, Montana. By the time Ballard figures out he’s missing, the snow will have started. He won’t come looking until spring, and by then, this truck will be in a million pieces, and that asshole can eat shit. He won’t be able to prove his driver died here. Drive twenty miles an hour down the mountain and slower on the corners. Don’t go over sixty and slow your ass down on the passes like an 18-wheeler would drive with an empty trailer. When you get to the truck stop, find a truck with out-of-state plates and plant the tracker somewhere on its trailer. Get this bitch unloaded and then get her buried on the side of the mountain until spring. Move, we’re wasting daylight,” I growled, lifting my hand to signal the truck carrying the herbs from the field to back up.
Once the truck was in place, I went to the shed to retrieve my gloves before heading back to unload the cargo. Saint watched me silently, as if he was waiting for me to thank him for interfering. He’d only created more work for everyone by murdering the one crazy son-of-a-bitch who would drive up the mountain to deliver the canned foods.
Jumping onto the trailer, I grabbed a bale of wet herbs and tossed it onto the ground, immediately getting back to work. If I were lucky, I’d be so exhausted tonight and stink from sweat that Saint would seek rest elsewhere. Or maybe he already intended to do that? He’d claimed rights to me with his bite while leaving himself free of mine.
That had stung, and it made my wolf furious that he’d rejected her mark. Not that either of us should care, but if I were honest, it did sting. He was the perfect male for me, picked by the wolf god, Fenrir, and Saint had rejected me.
Lucas jumped onto the trailer, grabbing my shoulder when Larson stepped up, checking my forehead. He smiled, knowing I was going to send his ass away. I’d heal quickly enough and didn’t need him to fuck with my wound.
“That’s a nasty gash,” Larson complained, holding up the suture kit. “Let me fix it, Brae.”
I stepped back, tilting my head as a soft smile played on my lips. He growled loudly, producing the stapler, which I yanked from his hand and slammed against the wound four times before handing it back. Larson groaned, staring at the fresh blood caused by the staples. I felt eyes on me, turning to look at Saint, who stared at us. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he pursed his lips.
Lucas handed me a water bottle, which I used to wash off the blood before handing it back, and started working again. The trailer bounced, and I peered over my shoulder as I lifted a bale. Holding it up, I waited for Saint to move aside. Instead, he stood there, looking at the wound then stepping out of the way so I could throw it to the men waiting to take it to the shed for storage.
“You could have been hurt worse than you were, Brat,” Saint grumbled, lifting a bale to toss to the ground.
“The child could have been killed, and I would have only been wounded. One of those things is permanent, and the other isn’t. It was an easy choice to make. Now, either throw the bales over the side or get out of the way. We have five more trucks coming in today. More deer are expected, which need processing, and the hay for the horses has to be stocked, so pick a chore.”
Saint smirked, grabbing two bales and tossing them over the back of the trailer. “Your shirt is wet, and I can see your nipples, Braelyn.”
“Then stop looking,” I replied icily.
We worked side-by-side until country music started playing from inside the courtyard. Colt Ford’s Workin’ On echoed through the speakers, and I was guessing it wasn’t something Saint and his men jammed out to very often. I sang along with those around me, continuing to work until sweat trickled into the gash on my forehead. The music changed, and a rendition of My Mother Told Me started, and the entire courtyard paused, singing the song loudly as the children danced around.