“God!” Clay yells as he cups his jaw and shoots me a wounded glare.

Before I can process anything, giant hands grip grab me back in a thick, muscled embrace. I bat out with hands that must seem infantile to this giant. He squeezes me to his chest, the metal buttons of his overalls digging into my cheek. His chest is sleek with sweat.

I hear Clay behind me. “I said get your hands off!”

The giant releases me just as the driver swerves. The van rocks and I crash into the wall with a thunk. My elbow throbs where it dented the van wall. When I sit up, Hatch squats beside me, staring wide-eyed. My hospital gown has slipped off revealing my bare shoulder. As I snatch at the gown, his eyes watch my hand and then trace down other parts of my body. I don’t like the hungry look on his face. He leans forward. Clay grabs the straps of his overalls and hauls him backward.

“I told you to keep your goddamn hands off her!” Clay’s tone is dangerous, considering this monster, with his tree trunk arms and barrel chest, has eight inches and seventy-five pounds on him.

The giant brushes Clay’s hands off with a flick of his wrist. “Boss said keep her still.” Even his voice is meaty and slow. His sausage fingers curl into fists.

Clay pokes a finger into the denim bib on Hatch’s chest. “I’m boss’s son and I say get the hell away before I make you!” His hand claws toward the revolver at his hip.

“Boys,” says a familiar voice from the front, “knock if off, gawddammit.”

I see the crescent-shaped scar first. Then the crooked smile. The Sheriff grins at me from the driver seat.

“Been a while, little lady.” He nods and tips an invisible hat. “Welcome to the family.”

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

The tension in the van sits thick and heavy.

They let me ride in the middle bench with Ethan. Clay sits up front with his father. Hatch rides behind us. No one talks. Every now and then, Hatch farts or the Sheriff whistles a little tune through his teeth. The only other sounds are the road and the thoughts blaring in my head. How did this happen? Where are we going? Is Ethan okay? Looking at him, curled into me, his hair’s too long (he keeps blowing it out of his eyes) and he’s got what looks like his lunch smeared at the corners of his mouth, but he’s all there. Clay’s been taking care of him after all. I slink one arm around his shoulders.