Free Leave a Trail by Susan Fanetti Page A

bruising, and the slack look of his face, his mouth open and lightly scummed with foamy saliva.
    There was some kind of grainy dust on the surface of his desk, and a rolled bill in the middle of it. Though that kind of stuff was several miles from her scene, she knew what it meant. The colors began to fill in on her heretofore incomplete image of the past few months with Badger.
    “Badge! Oh, my God.” She ran to him and shook him, grabbing the leather of his kutte in her fists and trying to lift him, make him sit up, wake up. “Badger! Badge, please! Justin!” She didn’t know why she’d used his real name; she never used his real name—in fact, he’d told her it wasn’t his real name, that ‘Badger’ was. ‘Justin,’ he said, was his birth name. But he stirred a little when she did, his eyes fluttering a couple of times. He took a breath—she wasn’t sure he’d been breathing.
    And then he slid off the chair to the floor. Adrienne still had him by the kutte, but she was no match for his dead weight, and she lost her grip as he landed hard on the concrete floor.
    He struck his head on the base of his chair—and that somehow managed to rouse him.
    “Huh? What? What?” He blinked and opened his eyes, taking another, deeper breath. Adrienne could see color returning under his bruises. She dropped to her knees and hugged him.
    “Oh, thank God. Oh, thank God , Badge. I’m—hold on. I’ll be right back. I’m gonna get help.” As she began to stand, he grabbed her arms with both hands—his grip was cruelly strong despite his condition, and she cried out.
    “No!” he hissed. “No! No help!”
    “Badge, you’re sick! I have to get help!” She pried herself free and got up. She got out of his office and had started to run when she was yanked backwards by her hair. She screamed in shock and pain. Weasel was barking like crazy, and the horses were starting to yell, too. She had a millisecond to wonder if they could hear the commotion inside the house.
    “NO HELP!” Badger had her by the hair, his face—looking like someone else completely, some madman—right in hers, so close that she felt a spray of spittle hit her face as he yelled. She could see in his eyes how sick and weak he was, but still he was strong in his fury or fear or whatever it was. “YOU’RE GONNA GET ME KILLED, YOU STUPID BITCH!”
    That was worse than any of it, hearing him call her that, yell at her like that.
    But then he hit her in the face, and that was the worst thing.
    He let her go, and she fell to the floor, hurting her tailbone all over again. But that didn’t even matter. The acrid taste of copper filled her mouth, and she put her hand up and touched her lips. When she brought her fingers back to see, they were wet and red. He’d split her lip. She’d never been hit ever, by anyone ever, and within the past twenty-four hours, the man she wanted to love had hurt her twice.
    As that understanding rolled over her, she realized that he had left her alone. She looked up to see Show, his massive hand around Badger’s neck, holding him against the wall, his feet off the ground. Badger’s fingers clutched ineffectually at Show’s hand.
    Show pulled him away from the wall and slammed him back. “You’re right, motherfucker. I am going to kill you. Right now.” Adrienne had never heard Show sound like that—his normally deep, soft voice was sharp and thick with menace. It was terrifying, and she knew for a certainty that he intended to kill Badger. Right there, right then. Badger did, too. His eyes were bugged, and his skin was going ashy. His bruises had darkened almost to black, and the cut through his eyebrow was seeping blood. Show was killing him right in front of her.
    “Show, wait!” Adrienne stood and put her hand on Show’s arm. “Please don’t. I’m okay.”
    “No, you’re not.” He glanced at her mouth, and she wiped the fresh blood away.
    “Please, Show. He’s sick. He didn’t mean it. I know.