Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 114793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
I grinned to myself. Clayton Barris’s men had no idea what kind of welcome they were about to get.
The moment the guy’s boot hit a tripwire tucked behind the roots of a pine, there was a sharp click and a pressurized hiss like a snake about to strike.
The man had just enough time to yell, “What the—” before the bear spray bomb detonated.
A high-pitched whoosh of it burst into the air, catching him square in the face.
“Shit!” Jesse whispered as the guy immediately collapsed to his knees, clutching his face, gagging and coughing violently, his weapon clattering to the ground, forgotten.
Barris and two of the others scrambled back, keeping their distance as they covered their mouths with their arms as the orange mist curled through the trees like a furious cloud of mace.
Ira snorted softly, as we all pulled our t-shirts over our noses. “That one was mine. I call it ‘The Eye-Peeper.’”
Remy groaned quietly. “You named it?”
“Of course I did. It’s art, and art always has a name.”
The rest of the intruders had frozen, clearly rattled by one of their own dropping like a sack of potatoes. Barris cursed under his breath, looking around, trying to pinpoint the source. But we were already shifting position, closing in. They wanted a fight? Well, they were about to find out that we had all the imagination—and all the traps.
Let the real games begin.
The woods had stilled, the silence thick and uneasy, like the air knew it was seconds away from cracking apart. The man who’d caught the full blast of bear spray was still curled up on the forest floor, sobbing like a child who’d licked a jalapeño on a dare. Two of his buddies tried to drag him away, but they were moving slow, cautious now—good. Let them be careful. The second they forgot where they were, they'd meet another surprise.
And we had plenty.
To the left, another of the intruders stepped over a fallen log, moving fast, eyes scanning but not down. That was his mistake.
Snap. A thin tension wire pulled taut.
Then, there was a twanging noise as the next trap launched from under the brush, accompanied by a mechanical groan and a hiss of compressed air. A bundle of cans, nails, and sharpened sticks shot upward like the angriest wind chime ever assembled.
He screamed as the barrage caught him across the legs and side, the sound echoing through the trees like an alarm.
Remy winced next to me. “That was mine. I call it ‘The Noisy Divorce.’”
I raised an eyebrow. “Because it rips things apart?”
“No,” he said flatly. “Because it’s loud, painful, and you lose your footing.”
I might’ve laughed if another snap hadn’t pulled my attention forward—this time followed by a grunt and a very distinct, very satisfying sound.
A solid thud. Then a high, reedy scream cut through the woods. It was the sound of a man who hadn’t expected the earth to literally swallow him whole.
“Ohhh…” Jesse breathed, eyes wide with delight. “That sounded deep.”
“That,” I whispered with a grin, “would be the pit trap.”
Remy blinked. “You actually dug a pit?”
“Of course I did. First time I brought Gabby here. We spent two hours arguing about how to camouflage the lid. She wanted to use moss, I said leaves, and we compromised and used both.”
Jesse shook his head, almost impressed. “What are the odds?”
“Gabby’s the one who suggested I make it deep enough to break spirits but not bones.”
Another scream echoed from the pit, followed by a desperate string of curses in a voice that was quickly growing hoarse.
Jesse muttered, “That guy sounds like he’s rethinking his entire life.”
Behind us, Ira let out a satisfied huff. “That one’s what I like to call ‘natural selection.’”
Another crash came from somewhere to our left—someone had stepped into one of the noisy traps strung with tin cans and crinkled foil, setting off a cacophony that sounded like a metal band falling down a staircase.
They were losing momentum and control, which meant we were winning.
I adjusted my grip on my rifle, eyes narrowing on the direction of movement. Barris hadn’t gone down yet—and he wouldn’t be the type to run. No, he’d continue hunting for Gabby regardless.
And if he was headed for her, he had one hell of a gauntlet to get through first.
The screams from the pit were dying down into moans now, the guy probably trying to figure out if his pride or his spine had taken more damage. A gust of wind stirred the trees above us, but underneath, everything was chaos—crashing brush, shouted orders, and the beautiful, unrelenting symphony of traps triggering everywhere.
Just ahead, one of Barris’s men crept through the underbrush like he thought he was smarter than the last guy. He was crouched low, moving carefully.
I watched, tracking him, just as his boot nudged a wire strung low to the ground.