I can’t think. I just act. I hurtle over the Jeep tailgate and jump into the dust. Bear Paws sees me and levels his gun in my direction. I scramble, choking on the dust I kick up. Behind me, a gun fires. I wait for the bullet that will punch through my guts, but nothing. Patting my body for holes, I look back over my shoulder.

It wasn’t Bear Paws’s rifle that went off. He clutches his shoulder, his mouth dropped open in surprise as blood blossoms under his hand. Clay stands behind his rock, smoke curling from the barrel of his gun. There’s a devilish gleam in his eye.

Bear Paws shrieks and shakes a fist at Clay. “You will be punished! No one harms the Mother’s children!” He drops down behind the Jeep again.

Twenty yards away the truck starts up with a grumble. I got to go.

I run up to the rust-eaten truck with no back windshield and mismatched panels welded together in lopsided squares. Juto sits on the cracked leather driver’s seat, looking small and out of place in his blood-splattered loincloth and smeared body paint. He’s swearing at the gearshift he grinds into first. The truck sputters and jumps forward. He doesn’t see me.

You have no weapon and this man has at least thirty pounds on you! It’s too late for plans. I yank the door open and stare up into Juto’s very surprised face.

“Wha—”

I grab his arm and drag him out.

Without time to brace himself, Juto tumbles out of the cab. I slide over as he falls with an oomph into the dust. The truck lurches forward. I climb into the driver’s seat and slam the door. It’s warped and won’t close properly.

Hands claw at my door. “Let me in, you dirty bitch,” Juto says, pulling at me through the open window.

I fight off his fingers and reach for the button to roll the window up, but it’s long gone. Juto leans through the open window, his dirt-flecked upper lip curling in rage. His fingers dig into the collar of my shirt and drag me toward him. I claw his face, racking my nails through the paint on his cheek. Lines of blood bubble up where I’ve scratched him. He shrieks, high-pitched and feminine, and pulls away. The truck bounces forward on its own while I dig around the cab for a weapon.

Juto yanks the door open with a loud screech. He’ll drag me out and kill me. My hands scramble over the dash, into the glove compartment. Nothing. His hand cinches over my bicep hard enough to bring a cry of pain to my lips.