TEX

I wanted to pick up Fern, tell Merle to go long, and toss her ass as far away as possible. Then I wanted to gut that well-fed fucker and whichever asshole had put the gun to her back. I could sit them in facing chairs and make them watch each other's insides become outsides.

I'd fucked up. I'd taken one look at that barrel against her spine and forgotten everything else: the men, the bears, Pop, the war. My only thought had been that she couldn't die, and I almost got us all killed because of it. What had I been thinking? They'd already had her. All I'd done was point out how fucking good that meant they had me.

But fuck me, she never ceased to amaze. She'd saved us all. No fear. The sight of her—back arched, elbows pointed, bow drawn. The steel in her eyes. The conviction is her voice. She'd looked ready to save the world, and she probably fucking had. If they'd gotten the guns from the men by the dock, it would have been over. No liberation of Savannah. No siege on the Capitol. No future for any of the people still holding on, waiting for change.

I'd charged the men toward a cliff, and she'd stopped us at the edge. My small but fierce survivor, keeping us alive. My heart hadn't beat the whole time they'd had her, then having her in my arms shocked me back to life with an intensity that stole my breath.

She'd had me strung to four horses since the day she shot me, and her decision to die had made them all bolt in different directions. She ripped me into chunks and left me scattered. I wanted to hold her. I wanted to scold her. I wanted to scream at her until she swore never to do it again, and I wanted to show her just how goddamn much I worshiped everything she was.

No part of me wanted an alliance with the mother fuckers that had almost taken her away, but he wasn't lying, and logic—something I usually strived to use—dictated that having him, his men, their guns, and that ship was ideal.

But the smooth, silver tongue I needed had been sharpened to a blade. He kept pushing, picking, and I wanted to cut the smile off his face. But I didn't do that. I couldn't because I knew Fern didn't want me to. Her emotions ran so fucking high, the scent of them clouded the air, blocking out all else. Every time I'd start to lose it, her anxiety would magnify. Followed by displeasure. Then disappointment. She didn't want to fight, and I wasn't about to start one with her still within range.

"It has to be now," I said. "Or there'll be no one left to fight."

Sergio shrugged one shoulder. "Is no one now. They have already won."

"We have enough," I said. "And we can get more. An army stronger than you could ever imagine. But I'm not going to tell you how until I know damn sure you won't pass the information to the wrong ears." It was bad enough he knew who we were, where we were headed, and why. I wouldn't tell him about the bears, and I wouldn't give away the few still waiting by the boats. I damn sure wasn't about to tell him we were big because of the green. I'd rather be sent to Savannah than have them turn me into a lab rat.

"You want us to fight in war, not knowing how big is army." Sergio finished in Russian, laughing beneath his breath.

"I've told you enough to bury my army." I fumbled for a new cigar, lit it and took a long drag. It didn't help. "Any more puts too much at risk. If you're seriously against Arogandor's agenda, you'll understand how much is at stake." I sat back so I wouldn't jump up. "I've laid down all the cards I'm going to. You want me to keep gambling, you're gonna have to lay down a few more of yours."

He leveraged his arms on the table and used them to heave himself from the chair. "He wants proof," he said before barking more Russian toward the open doors.

Four men exited; guns present but lowered. Was that all of them? Four fucking men? I could practically feel the weighted gazes of the fifty, trained soldiers loaded and ready by the dock. I'd—Jesus—If I'd thrown it all away over four men, I wouldn't blame them if they called a vote to replace me. Maybe Reggie could lead them. He was good at guessing the goddamn future. He'd called this disaster the minute he saw me with her.

"My brother Victor." Sergio motioned to the oldest of the four. "My cousin Anton." A middle-aged man with jet black hair and a hard scowl pulled out a chair and took a seat. "My brother's grandsons, Michael," he motioned to the older of the two, who looked to be in his thirties, "and Dimitri." Dimitri had the face of an infant, only adding to the magnitude of my failure.

"How many more you got inside?" I asked.

"I already told you. Is wrong question." He grinned. "Come, I give you official pirate tour." He spoke again in Russian, prompting his men to lead the way down the pier.

* * *

I wished he'd shut the fuck up. He acted as if we'd bought tickets. Fun facts. Bullshit history. I didn't give a shit about how old the bed in the captain's quarters was. I cared about functionality. It could float, and the main deck alone was big enough to fit the men and the bears with room to stretch out.

But Sergio's voice boomed as he regaled the story behind each piece of antique furniture, it's age and who had used it. I ground my teeth and listened as Fern marveled over everything. Her fear faded as interest took its place. She even got a little smile over one of the fucker's jokes. I tracked her interest, the massive cherrywood bed, the ornately woven drapery. A massive desk—equipped with a plexiglass covered map and encased ink jar and quill. Each room was lit up as we entered by the many flashlights he'd had waiting onboard. His men each held one, and they maneuvered the glow as if they'd been trained to do so. Spotlights shifted in perfect time with his explanations, centering on him whenever the history got particularly dark.

Four more private cabins lined the main deck, all with similar yet simpler furnishings. But the real gold wasn't buried under an X on some far away island. It was below deck, in the barracks. Hammocks lined the massive room from wall to wall. Enough for an army. We could fit the men, the bears, and the whole of Savannah on this ship. We could finally hit the other sites, start taking back cities, states, countries.

He kept going. A full kitchen. Two storage rooms. Gesturing wildly as he put on his performance. But the act disintegrated when we reached the dark and dank area that had once been used to store livestock.

"Is last room," he said. "Is where we decide purpose for ship." He whistled like a bird, and each beam of light moved to the mounds of hay lining the walls.

Piles shifted as hands emerged, followed by arms, tangled heads, and knobby shoulders. They appeared as if they'd been six feet deep. Corpses reaching for lives already spent. By the time they were done, I counted two men, three women, and three children. All rail thin. All filthy. Tattered clothes and wide, watchful eyes.

I narrowed my gaze on Sergio's gut. This was helping? Keeping them like stray dogs, rescued only to be neglected. Like livestock. My teeth hurt beneath the pressure of my jaw. I focused on the closest; one of the women. She clutched a small boy with both arms, body bowed over his, shaking like she'd been kicked one too many times.

"They are Free Soldiers," Sergio boomed. "Is good."

Whispers broke out, lifting into words as Pop's name escaped the hush. The same woman straightened a bit.

"These people deserve better," I ground out. My vision blurred, skin tightened, and I reached for a cigar only to find an empty pocket. Fern's scent rushed forward, urging me to calm. But while I could respect his right to try and stop us from taking his shit, I couldn't respect a man that would keep people, let alone women and children, in this sorry-fucking-excuse for sanctuary.

Sergio tilted his head. "They arrived just after dark. Is reason we saw you coming so easily. We move people twice a week. Like relay race. We are one small part of long journey to Canada." He turned back to the wisps of people and added. "We can make your journey, or we can use ship for Free Soldiers' war."

More murmurs. One of the men stepped forward. He was the thinnest among them, pale and gaunt. Hair cropped short atop a head that seemed too large for his body. "We're too weak to fight, and we have children."

"So do we," I said. "And they damn sure don't look like that."

His mouth shut, and he locked eyes with one of the women. The two other children stood hidden behind her legs. A family? Intact? It would have to be a miracle.

It would have been easier to show them. If they could all see what we'd accomplished, I had no doubt they'd jump at the chance to join the group. It was better than this. Better than living like rats, hiding in shadows, hoping for crumbs. "We don't expect people to fight if they don't want to. We have food. We have supplies. We have the means to get more, and what else is there to do? The house is on fire. It's been on fire. Hiding in the bathroom isn't going to save you."

"I agree," Sergio said. "I feel it is best plan."

Fern's sweet voice echoed from across the room. "You do?"

Sergio's eyes drifted to her, and his smile was less taunting than the ones he gave me. "I want to see army. Maybe we will fight. Maybe we will come back. Ship is out of season. I have until spring to decide."