Bone to Be Wild (32 page)

“Reverend Farley hasn't married Amanda and Clemont. They aren't
truly
married until
he
performs the ceremony.”

Silas shifted in his chair, clearly uncomfortable at the direction the conversation had taken.

Mason put his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Silas, I want you to spend some time with her. I'll make certain you're together next week. You make sure she's on the path. What she saw today might frighten her, make her question her commitment to the church. Bob Doleman gave our little snoop a real bonk on the head and it upset Amanda. I'm trusting you to help her through this.”

“Okay.” Silas sounded eager.

Amanda was a pretty girl, and it made me sick to hear these two men talking about her as if she were property to be parceled out to whomever they chose. They were obsessed with forcing women to obey. To be reduced to a slave and breeder was intolerable. I had to get loose and call in the reinforcements.

Mason put his hand on Silas's shoulder. “When Reverend Farley returns to the church compound, talk to him about Amanda. See what he thinks about the idea that you might make a better husband. Things here need cleaning up, and I need to help the women pack up their belongings. I'll be finished in time for the evening worship service.”

Silas glanced at me, but he'd raised all the objections he had in him. Mason had put him in his place and given him a reward, a pretty girl. He'd take the spoils of war and forget those who perished.

Silas stood up. “Mason, do I tell Amanda I'm interested in a future with her?”

“You can. Obedience is a woman's lot. She needs to learn now if she hasn't already. But maybe it would be a better surprise down the road.”

“Thank you. You're so right. I want her to know me and like me before I tell her.”

Silas went out the front door and spoke to someone waiting on the porch. Though my eyes were closed, Mason knew I was awake. He stood over me, waiting for me to break, to move or say something. I swung out with my foot, hoping to connect with his groin, but all I accomplished was falling off the sofa onto the floor. I couldn't use my arms to break my fall, and I hit hard on my cheekbone.

“Shit.” I tried to roll over but couldn't.

“A little bit of rope can teach a woman a lot of patience.”

“You are a sicko, and I wish I'd shot you.”

“So the mask of the repentant woman has fallen off.” He laughed as he hauled me to my feet. “It's more fun to break a feisty woman.”

Now he was provoking me, and very successfully. I lunged at him, but he used one hand on my head to push me back to the floor. I fell with my face aimed under the sofa. My cell phone was gone. They'd obviously found and taken it. Probably destroyed it. My last hope for rescue died.

He righted me. “Don't look so sad, Ms. Delaney. This could be the very path you were asking me to help you find. The Lord works in mysterious ways. Now that's not a Bible verse. Some folks get confused and think it is. A true student of the Bible knows better. But while it isn't God's word, today I believe it suits my purposes.”

He pushed me roughly toward the front door. At least I was on my feet—with a throbbing head—and we were moving outside. A tall man in a dark suit stepped off the porch and walked away. He'd heard every abusive thing Mason had done to me and never lifted a finger to help me. No one here would help. I had only my wits.

“Does Bijou know you're holding people hostage on her property?”

“I don't think she's overly fond of you, Ms. Delaney. She's been in terrible distress ever since someone sent her poisoned brownies. She's pretty sure you're the culprit. I don't think she'd much care what I did with you.”

He had a point. Sort of. “She might care when she realizes she's an accessory to kidnapping.”

“You came here all on your own. No one kidnapped you. I caught you trespassing, and by the way, that seems to be a real bad habit of yours.”

“How do you know about my trespassing?” He'd been talking to Gertrude Strom. The car I'd seen—like my mother's. Gertrude had bought it, and she'd been here. If she was behind all of this in some sick attempt to hurt me …

“Never you mind. Now, as I was saying, I found you here and restrained you. If you happen to meet an untimely end, it won't be a hard sell to Sheriff Coleman Peters. The man knows you're a loose cannon.”

“If you let me go now, we can settle this without involving the law.”

He shoved me across the porch. I stumbled down the three steps and nearly sprawled in the dirt. It was hard to walk without using my arms for balance.

“Where are you taking me?” I tried to present a bold, assertive attitude, but my gut was twisting with fear. Mason Britt had convinced me he was capable of anything. He enjoyed hurting women. He liked exerting his power over me.

A couple of men crossed the yard and entered an equipment shed. If they saw me, they ignored my plight. No help from that quarter.

“Move it,” he said, pushing me off balance. Each step caused my head to pound harder and took me toward a fate I wasn't ready to meet. I spun to face him and stopped, gob-smacked. Jaytee came out of an outbuilding. He wasn't restrained in any way. In fact he walked across the yard and stopped to talk with a young woman who demurely kept her gaze on the ground.

Mason's words about a convert hit me hard. Jaytee hadn't been taken. He'd come here voluntarily. The whole thing was a setup. Jaytee was the convert who would prove Farley's godly powers. And Jaytee was the inside man, feeding information to Mason and Farley.

I started to call out to him, but Mason clamped a hand over my mouth. He saw them too. Anger infused his face. “You had to know we had someone on the inside of the club helping us.” He was almost gloating. “Shut up and move!” He pushed me so hard I had to run several steps to keep the momentum from tumbling me again. When I regained my footing, Jaytee was gone.

I thought he might have been a figment of my imagination, a hallucination brought on by the blow to my head. I was damn good at making believe, but I couldn't deny the truth. Jaytee wasn't a prisoner. He was here voluntarily. Which meant everything about him was a lie.

This would kill Cece. As I knew from personal experience, betrayal rode the top of the list for soul-destroying experiences. Jaytee was the first man Cece had really trusted. She'd let him into her life and into her dreams for the future. Their relationship exploded like a starburst, because Cece had wanted love for such a long time. Jaytee had accepted her—a transsexual—and he'd shown her fun and joy and pleasure. Their affair happened too fast, with too much passion, but no one could have predicted that Jaytee would betray Cece, Scott, and the band.

I would kill him.

A murderous rage sparked inside me. I had no weapon and couldn't even use my hands but I meant to hurt him. Bastard. He used Cece and Scott and everyone else. He was in cahoots with the crazy people.

As mad as I was at Jaytee, I was equally furious with myself. I should have checked closer, run down more leads, somehow found out Jaytee was a poser and a scumbag before we let our friend fall so deeply in love with him. Koby was dead, Mike wounded. Cece, in particular, would pay a terrible emotional price.

I dodged to the right, running toward the shed where I'd seen Jaytee. Blinded by fury and a desire to do bodily harm, I evaded Mason's reach. I was halfway across the barnyard when a tug at my bound wrists almost pulled my arms from the sockets.

“Stop, Sarah Booth,” Mason said quietly.

“I will kill him.” To my utter horror, I sounded like I was about to cry.

“Get moving.” He turned me about and nudged me, this time more gently.

To my surprise, Mason herded me away from the buildings and toward the woods. For a moment, I felt hope bubble up inside me, but then I realized that the woods offered seclusion for whatever he wanted to subject me to.

The red tide of rage had subsided a bit, and I knew I had to think fast and creatively if I meant to stay alive. “Mason, we can talk about this.”

“Keep moving.”

We gained the trees, and he indicated I should walk along the edge of the fallow field, heading always away from the barn area of Hemlock Manor and any potential help.

When we were hidden from view, his fingers dug into my shoulder. “Now you listen to me.” He jerked me around to face him. “I—”

He never got a chance to finish. Seventy pounds of hound catapulted out of the woods and hit him full on in the chest. He stumbled backward into the field, his boots immediately clotting up with the thick topsoil that stuck to his soles in clumps. Sweetie Pie hit him again and he went down.

The rain from the night before had been heavy, and the resulting mud, called gumbo in the Delta, weighed down Mason's arms and legs. He struggled like a turtle flipped onto its back. And I ran.

“Sarah Booth! Come back!”

What kind of a fool did he think I was? Did he believe I'd wait around for him to pull himself out of the quagmire so he could abuse me again? Running with my arms tied behind my back was awkward as hell, especially after I ducked into the woods. Limbs slapped me in the face and there was nothing I could do to protect myself. I tucked my head and bulldozed on.

Behind me, Mason called my name, and then I heard a sound like a Tasmanian devil. And Mason yelled. Roscoe had joined Sweetie Pie, and while my hound had a gentle mouth, Roscoe was another matter. Mason had a world of hurt coming his way.

I was free.

I angled toward the car, hoping I could find a sharp edge to cut the bonds tying my hands. I was safe from Mason for the moment. Sweetie and Roscoe would keep him down in the dirt until they tired of the game or someone came to call them off. But what of the other members of the church? They could be anywhere. I had no doubt that if they saw me, they would take me prisoner again. They all marched to the orders of Jebediah Farley.

Limbs stung my face and neck as I slammed through the woods. Buck vines, some as thick as my wrist with huge thorns, grabbed at my flesh and clothes. One cut my cheek and blood traced a path down my face, dripping onto my jacket. I pushed on, focused on the car. The keys were still in my pocket. I was all but home free.

Up ahead I saw a clearing. I tried to remember if I'd passed it on the way into the estate, but I was panicked and tired. My head throbbed and dizziness assaulted me. If I lived through this, I vowed to give up cigarettes and really start a fitness program. I would excel at Zumba and P-69 or whatever the super-workout was called. I would organize my underwear drawer and throw away my hidden supply of dark chocolate. I would be a better person and a better friend.

I stumbled and went down on both knees. My head swam and nausea churned in my stomach. I couldn't faint. I. Could. Not. Faint. Not now. Not when freedom was so close.

Something rustled in the deadfall behind me. It tramped through the thicket, unconcerned that it alerted me to its progress. All around me the birds fell silent. The wild creatures knew danger stalked.

In the distance I could hear the dogs, and I had to believe Mason was still pinned down by them. Whatever was moving around the woods, circling me, wasn't Mason Britt. This was a new danger.

Leaves crackled, limbs broke. The person drew near.

I tried to propel myself to my feet, but I couldn't. I rolled to my stomach and tried to push up on my knees. I wasn't strong enough. Dizziness washed over me and I refused to think about concussions or aneurysms. There was more at stake here than just saving myself. I couldn't quit.

The creature moving through the underbrush could be a person, a bear, or a wildcat. At one time such creatures were plentiful but now they were almost extinct in the Delta.
Almost
. It didn't really matter if it was a bear or a Chihuahua, because I didn't have any fight left in me. I pushed myself against a tree trunk and waited for the worst.

When Pluto stepped out of the woods, his shiny black fur covered in leaves and brambles, I almost laughed. “Pluto!”

He sauntered over and headbutted my chin, then turned his attention to nuzzling my left hip. I appreciated the affection, but I needed help, not love.

“Pluto, untie my hands.”

Even if he could understand me, Pluto had no thumbs. Highly unlikely he could untie the knots Mason had used. The clothesline I was bound with wasn't thick, but it was strong. Pluto, always game to help, slipped behind me and pulled at the rope. He got an A for effort, though it didn't help. Tired of the rope, he headbutted my lower back. When he dug his claws into my butt, I'd had enough.

“I'm getting up.” The cat wouldn't let me quit.

The sound of the dogs harassing Mason ceased, adding another layer of urgency. I had to fight. I couldn't let Mason catch me and take me back to the kooks.

The sound of a dog crying out in pain or surprise forced me to try harder to stand. I managed to get to my knees and stagger to my feet. I pushed on through the brambles. I couldn't help Sweetie Pie and Roscoe until I got my hands free and surely there was something at the car I could use to cut my bonds.

Struggling through the undergrowth I arrived at my car. The dogs had chewed a hole in the convertible top to escape. I didn't care. Thank goodness they'd gotten out and come to my rescue. Now I had to figure out how to get home.

In the distance I heard the sweetest music. Sirens. Somehow, someway, Coleman had figured out where I was and he was coming, along with the cavalry.

 

19

“Do not untie her hands until she explains herself.” Tinkie stood before me, hands on hips, as she tapped her boot-clad foot on the ground. “You ran off and left me. You got yourself in big trouble and no one knew where you were.” She stood on tiptoe and got in my face. “You are irresponsible and you worried me sick.”