Out of the Woods (The North Star Companion Book)

Prologue

This is a companion novel, and you should read The North Star before reading this one. 😁

Edited*

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Prologue

"You're getting slow," I said, blocking each blow my father threw at me. It'd been an hour already, and the old man wasn't giving up anytime soon. His pride couldn't handle not being able to knock me down, but at the same time, his eyes lit up with each blow I managed to land.

He grunted, then faster than I could keep track of, swung again. I just managed to dodge, and doing so sent me falling onto my ass -- beaten... again. A triumphant smile lifted his lips, but only a second later it faded.

The sound of engines roared in the distance, more than one, out of place in the otherwise peaceful afternoon. They shouldn't be here. It wasn't time.

Pop shot me a stern look as he pulled me from the ground. "Keep your eyes sharp," he said, already moving towards the front of the house.

I nodded at his back and followed. We rounded the corner just as the bikes pulled up the drive. John wasn't with them. He was always with them -- in the lead. A weight settled within my chest; every muscle tensed in preparation. Something wasn't right.

In his place was a new man. He looked young, but the way he carried himself said otherwise. Four men stood behind him as they reached us, and I noticed my father's stance. He was readying himself.

"You must be Paul," the young man called the minute the engines cut off.

A smile slashed his face -- no hint of it in his eyes. He sauntered over, stopping three feet away and placing a hand under his chin. Dark eyes flicked from my father to me, lingering, sizing me up. My father took a step over to block his view, and the man's grin widened.

"I'm Drake. I came to introduce myself properly. Seeing as we'll be working together."

"I don't recall ever agreeing to work with you," my father said. "Where's John?"

Drake's eyes hardened. "My father's dead." He pulled a cigarette out of his shirt pocket, lit it, then took a long drawn out drag as casual as if he'd just mentioned the weather. "It's me you do business with now."

He didn't show it, but I could tell the news hit my dad hard.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Dad said. "He was a good man." His voice lost some of its rasp but his alert posture didn't let up.

Drake smirked. "It's very sad," he said, pulling another long drag from his cigarette. "But it's done now, and there's gonna be some changes I thought you'd like to know about."

"Changes?" My father's hand came back -- so slight I don't think the men noticed -- a warning for me to be ready to run.

I held firm.

"We need you to hold more for us." Drake waved a hand to one of his men, who stepped forward revealing a bag full of white powder.

My father stiffened further, and his voice was deadly as he said, "We don't mess with that side of things. Your father knew–"

"He's dead," Drake barked.

I knew what was coming next.

"I want you, and your men, off my property. We're done."

Drake looked around at the group behind him. "He says they're done." His eyes met my father's. "How about, you not only do what I tell you to, but," he paused to take another pull from his smoke before tossing it to the ground. "I think we need to re-evaluate the payment here. My father, god rest his fucking soul, was a little too generous in my opinion."

"Go get your mother, boy. You know what to do," he murmured back at me, voice even.

I wanted to argue, to stay and help, but when he turned his head to meet my gaze I knew what I had to do. I had to protect her.

It felt wrong to take the two steps back, but I forced myself to keep going. Voices grew behind me, my father's baritone booming above the rest. It propelled me, urging me forward to find my mother so I could get her safe and return to stand beside him. The shotgun under the sofa was fully loaded -- ready and waiting for me to grab it on my way through. She wasn't in the kitchen, so I checked one bedroom, then the next, my steps growing more desperate as I realized the house was empty.

"Ma!" I called, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears, harsh and shaky from the adrenaline lighting my nerves on fire.

No answer. I swore under my breath as I ran out the backdoor and around the side of the house. The scene I found waiting for me made my heart stop beating. My father stood, hand lifted as he pointed towards the young man before him, face set in harsh lines.

Pointed back at him, was a forty-five. I stood frozen in place, the shotgun heavy and useless against the odds in front of me. I noticed my mother on the porch, one hand to her mouth while the other gripping the railing.

I'd taken one step in her direction -- just one -- when the gun went off. It echoed out into the air with a crack like thunder. Birds flew from the trees. The world came to an end. Unreal, not real. Looking through a tunnel, I watched it all.

My father hit the earth, blood pooling around him, pumping from the hole in his forehead. Not real. My mind fought to reverse it, to change it. Denying what couldn't be denied. My mother started to run to him, but didn't make it. She gripped her chest, her heart, clutching it as she fell to the ground.

A roar filled the air, and I realized I was making the sound.

Her chest stopped moving. When I looked up, all eyes were on me. Drake waved, calm as a neighbor out to get the paper. His smile unapologetic and joyous in a way that set my blood to burning.

Without thinking, I lifted the shotgun and fired. The men scattered, some falling to the ground, others running to the sides. Drake lifted his gun, but I was already firing the second shell. He ducked, and I took my chance.

I darted out of view and along the side of the house. Instinct kept me moving -- no time to think about what had happened. Survival kept pushing me to get to where I knew they couldn't win. I'd just barely made it into the trees when the bullets started to fly behind me. Several hit the ground at my feet, narrowly missing me. My heart slammed against my ribs, each thump more painful than the last. Sweat beaded along my head and into my eyes until I couldn't see.

I'll regret that day until I die. I'll regret leaving him and going inside. I'll regret not firing the gun sooner.

Most of all, I'll regret running too fast.