Free Depraved by Bryan Smith Page B

the pen, and grinned at Pete.“Get in, boy.”
    Pete just stared at the woman.
    She had a slender body and looked as if she might be pretty, but it was hard to tell because her hair was matted and she was covered in grime.
    Pete’s whole body shook.“No. Please. No. No.”
    He was whining now. Couldn’t help it.
    He heard a whiff of air, and then Carl’s pipe cracked against the back of a knee. Pete cried out and pitched forward, fell to his hands and knees. Gil stepped forward and kicked him hard in the ass with one of his heavy boots.
    Pete was in the cage now.
    He looked up at the woman.
    She rocked faster, pressing her face between her knees.
    The gate slammed shut behind him. He heard the click of the lock.
    He closed his eyes, felt the rough dirt against his cheek.
    Gil said, “We’ll be back to check on you later, boy. Don’t have too much fun while we’re gone, ya hear?”
    Carl cackled and then they were gone.
    Pete thought of Megan.
    Run, he thought.
    Please.
    Run and don’t look back.

C HAPTER T WELVE
    The look on the man’s face when she came out and pointed the rifle’s barrel straight between his eyes was strangely satisfying. She’d spent so much of the day as a victim, running and fearing for her life. The deadly encounter with the hunter and the Kincher boy was an anomaly, a quick and dirty minitriumph in the midst of a greater struggle, over almost as soon as it had begun. Now she was the hunter, the terrorizer, and dammit, it felt good. It also felt primitive and uncivilized, this reveling in the shock and terror playing across the face of a human being, and maybe later, if she survived, she’d look back and feel bad about this.
    But right now?
    Fuck, yeah.
    Jessica and the man in the rocking chair stared at each other. His jaw hung slack. His eyes were wide with dumb disbelief, the dull orbs reflecting incomprehension as well as abject fear. A corncob pipe dangled from one corner of his mouth. He had a thick beard and a mop of bushydark hair. His clothes looked homemade. His appearance might have made her laugh, had the circumstances been a tad less dire.
    Christ, he looks motherfucking Amish!
    “You’re not fucking Amish, are you?”
    The man’s expression shifted subtly. He was still afraid, still wary, but a bit of the blind terror drained away. He removed the corncob pipe from his mouth and held it delicately between a thumb and forefinger. “No, ma’am. Ain’t no Amish in these parts.”
    Jessica breathed a relieved sigh.“Good. I didn’t want to have to shoot some peace-loving Amish dude. Not sure I could live with that.”
    The man’s gaze shifted from her eyes to the rifle and back again.“Yes, ma’am. I can see how that’d be the case.”
    Jessica scowled. “Don’t be a smart-ass. I’m still aiming a loaded weapon at your face, and you better believe I won’t hesitate to put a big fucking hole between your eyes if you do anything to make me jumpy.”
    The man flinched. It was a small thing, barely noticeable. But she was glad to see it. Couldn’t let him get too comfortable, or allow herself to be lulled into thinking she was safe. She wasn’t safe. And this guy was still the enemy.
    He swallowed a lump in his throat and sat very still as he looked her in the eye again.“Yes, ma’am.”
    Jessica shot quick glances to her left and right. They were still alone here, so far as she could tell. Still, it wouldn’t do to tarry long here. She moved up onto the porch, careful to keep out of leaping distance from the man’s rocking chair. She walked backward toward the far end of the porch, listening to the loud creak of the wooden planks beneath her feet. She stopped at a window and peered inside. She saw a sparsely furnished room she guessed accounted for maybe half the little cabin’s living space.There was a sofa, a table, and some chairs. A thick, black-covered book with red-tinted pages sat in the center of the table. A Bible, most likely.
    The room was