Page 28 of Bad Decisions & Back Roads

His face drained of color.

I left before he could answer.

* * *

My next stopwas twenty minutes out, down roads civilized people avoided out of fear of getting shot.

I pulled up to the gated road just off the north corner of my cousin’s property and hit the intercom next to the mailbox that had “M.Hurst” emblazoned on it in worn out white paint.Static crackled.

This land bordered the northern edge of our farm.We'd sold it to the Hurst twins a decade ago so they could live in peace and isolation.A narrow trail connected this property to my parents’ farmhouse.The fifteen-minute hike along the lake would be peaceful if the mosquitoes along that stretch weren’t vicious.

“I brought beer and frozen pizzas.”I knew he’d heard me.“And a sudoku book.”

“Cheese only?”

I glared into the camera.Of course that was his first question.Mark lived like a survivalist hermit.I’d seen him eat an entire squirrel barely cooked, but apparently, he still had dietary standards.

“Yes, Mark.Cheese only.”

The gate groaned open like it objected to visitors as much as he did.

I drove the gravel road deep into uncut forest until his cabin came into view—a rough wood structure tucked beside the lake.Mark demolished his parent’s rickety house several years ago to build.The rustic appearance hid high end security and every necessity to be off-grid with solar power, pump water, a functional chicken enclosure, and no neighbors.No witnesses.Basically, this was Mark’s idea of heaven.And exactly what we might need to deal with Jimmy McClary for good.

I grabbed the paper grocery bags from the truck and approached slowly.The last thing I wanted was to startle my cousin and end up shot.

The front door cracked open enough to let me in.

“You doing okay, Mark?”

He rubbed at a beard that hadn’t been cut or trimmed in a long time.I had no doubt he was armed with at least four weapons I couldn’t see.His eyes were red rimmed with dark circles carved deep beneath them from too many sleepless nights.

I worried about him.Which was exactly why I kept my tone casual.Concern made him retreat faster than a deer in hunting season.

“Why are you here, T?”he asked.

“Other than helping you avoid society by doing your grocery shopping?”

He grunted, which in Mark Hurst language was practically a hug.

As I set the groceries on the counter, familiar colors in the trash can caught my eye.“Is that,” I pointed, “a folded-up pizza box?”

Mark’s scowl deepened.“I know how to order food.”

I straightened slowly.“Online?”

“I have a fucking phone.Get over it.”

I bit back a laugh.“Next you’ll tell me you’ve discovered indoor plumbing and basic human companionship.”

“Don’t push it.”

A laugh escaped me.“Look at you clawing your way into modern conveniences.”

“Why are you here?”he repeated, crossing his arms and leveling me with a look so severe it could’ve soured milk.

I blew out a breath and let the humor leave with it.“Jimmy McClary is threatening the family.”

Mark’s lower jaw worked back and forth once.“How?”