“Tiernan de Haas—”

“I’m a Van der Berg,” I growl, correcting him and launching the knife.

He dives out of the way, shielding himself, and I pluck out two more and throw those, as well, the guys stumbling into the living room.

I don’t waste time. I run back into the shop, keeping the lights off and the bay doors open.

“Get her!” I hear Holcomb shout.

My heart leaps into my throat, and I go to make a run for it, but think better of it.

If I can just get them out of the house…

Slipping behind the wardrobe in the shop I’d painted months ago, I freeze, tucking my arms in tight, so they don’t see me.

Footfalls hit the small set of stairs, and I hear shuffling on the cement floor of the shop.

“She can’t go far!” Holcomb shouts. “Get her the fuck back here!”

I see one of the guys dash outside, and I pull myself in tighter, afraid he’ll see me.

But then he’s gone, and the lights in the shop turns on, the other two moving around.

What does he think he’s going to accomplish? I guess if he gets what he wants then he wins. If not, I can’t prove he did any more than scare me. He hasn’t laid a hand on me yet.

I put my palm over my mouth to silence my breathing.

“Take the bikes,” Holcomb grits out. “They owe us.”

“What about her?”

“I’m gonna fuck that bitch, just as soon as I send her crazy-ass boyfriend to jail,” he fires back. “Dumb cunt is going on my wall.”

His wall. The scoreboard Jake warned me about. Jesus…

“You sure there’s not a warrant out for us?” the guy asks instead. “I saw Jake in town earlier, heading into the station with Kaleb and Noah.”

“They can’t prove that fire was us.” Tools shift, cabinets open, and something slams shut. “And if I can’t find the fucking keys again, I’m burning down the stable this time, with the horses inside.”

My hands go cold as realization hits me. Fire.

Keys.

Jake was right. Someone started that fire in the barn. They couldn’t make it out with the bikes they intended to steal that night, so they started a fire, instead.

“This is getting out of hand,” the other guy tells him. “We almost died trying to get up here and back down last winter. What if that fire had spread? They could’ve gotten killed.” His tone grows harder. “There’s no help up here if they needed it!”

“I know.” Terrance chuckles. “That’s the beauty of it.”

I peer around the corner, seeing him searching the worktables and desk. The other guy faces away from me, but I see he has a dark buzz cut and rings on his fingers.

Terrance spins around to look at him, and I dive back behind the armoire, spotting my bow on the tables behind me. Thunder cracks outside, and I grab it, picking it up quietly.

“So what would you rather do?” Holcomb asks him. “Join the Army like your dad wants you to, or you wanna race? I’m getting us our bikes and a new sponsor, and I’m not leaving without them!”

I stick a few arrows into the back of my jeans and load another one into the bow.

“She’s writing me a check, and then—maybe—I’ll leave,” he says. “After I turn her inside out, but you don’t need to stick around for that part.”

Kaleb, where are you?

The bowstring creaks, and I wince, waiting to see if they noticed the sound.

“Or you can stick around for that part, too, but me first,” he adds.

I blow out a silent breath, pinch the arrow between my fingers, and get ready.

“Here!” he bursts out, and I hear keys jingle. “See if that works.”

The bikes fire to life, and I realize they found the keys to the finished projects Jake is about to ship off. I don’t know where the third guy is, and a trickle of sweat glides down my back.

Just leave. Take the bikes and go. Please.

Just leave.

“We won’t get away with this,” the other man says.

“We will,” Terrance retorts. “They were lost in the fire.”

“What fire?”

I hear laughing, and I pause, letting his plan sink in.

Holcomb is going to threaten me when he finds me. I know Kaleb won’t get into any serious trouble for some damage to their property, so his attempt at blackmail failed.

So Plan B is, if I don’t comply, write him a check, and give him whatever else he wants from me. He’s going to take everything. He’s going to set another fire.

And he has two witnesses with him who will vouch he was anywhere else but here tonight. They’ll make off with the bikes, and the fire department will never get here in time.

I swallow down the bile.

Jake, Kaleb, and Noah built this place. This is Kaleb’s home. The only place he feels good outside of the fishing cabin.

I almost stop and reach into my pocket for my phone again. I could call the police.

But by the time I tried to alert them, Terrance Holcomb would be on me. And by the time they traced the call, he’d be done.

Shooting out from behind the armoire, I pull the bow string, drawing back my arrow, and shoot quick and sure, grazing the other guy’s shoulder.

He flies back, falling to the ground as the arrow stabs the wall behind him, and Terrance darts away, out of the area, stunned.

I round them, making my way for the steps of the house again and load another arrow, aiming for Holcomb and shooting fast.

I just want them to run. Just go!

He flies out of the way, crashing to the ground and shattering my end table into pieces in the process.

They scramble to their feet, the other guy staring at me wide-eyed like he suddenly realizes he made a mistake.

But they don’t run. Holcomb charges for me, and I scream.

Fuck!

I dart inside the house and lock the door, racing through the living room and up the stairs. I’ll lock myself in my room, call the police, and if I have to, I’ll escape off the balcony. I wanted to stop him from burning down the place, but not at the risk of him hurting me.

He’s fucking insane.

I stumble on the stairs, my shin slamming against a step. I cry out, but then a couple of pounds hit the door downstairs, and I hear wood splinter as it flies open, hitting the refrigerator.

I stop breathing.

Climbing to my feet, I dig in my heels and run to the second floor, hearing footfalls on the stairs behind me. I bypass my door and keep going, tearing up Kaleb’s stairs and swinging the door closed behind me, locking it. I back away from the door, pulling out another arrow, but I trip over my shoe and fall to the ground, catching myself on my hands.

Scurrying farther away, I nock the arrow, hearing his steps ascend the stairs, and I pull back the bowstring as he kicks open the door.

I fire.

His shoulder jerks backward, and I hop to my feet, plucking the last arrow out of my jeans.

But before I can fit it, I watch as he stumbles, sways, and falls to his knees, the arrow pierced through his right shoulder.

I exhale, my lungs and stomach screaming.

More sounds hit the stairs, and I draw back the last arrow, seeing his friend fill the doorway.

His worried, dark eyes fall from me to Holcomb lying on the floor.

I point the arrow at him, and he straightens, holding out his hands in defense.