“He took Hope to the woods. I think they’re doing some more training.”
Connor shook his head in amazement. Pike was still the same surly bastard he’d always been, but when it came to that wolf… Christ, he was a different person. An endless well of patience, and more affectionate than Connor had ever seen him.
“Yeah, radio him,” he answered. “But not to come along. I want him to stick close to camp while we’re gone. Kade too.”
As Xander disappeared into the lodge, Connor headed to the garage to fill up the gas tanks for the trip, hoping to hell that it wouldn’t be a waste of fuel. All the Enforcers he’d questioned at storage facilities had refused to reveal the location of their compound before he’d killed them. But depending on what had made him flee, this deserter might be the exception to that rule.
Twenty minutes later, they drove away from camp, Connor and Hudson on the Harley while Rylan rode the beat-up Ducati he’d finally gotten around to fixing. Their tires ate up the long stretch of road, following the river toward the industrial area that had lain abandoned for decades. Textiles warehouses and run-down mills came into view, the chain-link fences that had once served as security now sagging in some places and fully collapsed in others.
Connor slowed down when they reached the old lumber mill, where rusted machinery and rotting logs were scattered around, forgotten in the chaos that had destroyed the world. Colorado was one of the few states that had been almost untouched by the war, which was why so many outlaws had ended up there. Too many for Connor’s liking, because the growing outlaw population in the area was like a magnet for the Enforcers.
He and Hudson slid off the bike. Rylan came up beside them, drawing his gun from his waistband and checking the clip. There was another motorcycle parked on the dirt – Lennox’s ride, and the shiny black paint job was clearly the work of Beckett, who practically lived in the mechanic shop in Foxworth.
Lennox strode out of the building, a rifle propped on his shoulder. “You got here fast,” he remarked.
“Had nothing else to do,” Connor drawled.
Lennox saw through the relaxed front. “I’m sure.” He raked a hand through his messy hair, the tattoos on his forearms flexing with the movement. “Dude’s not saying a word, by the way. I didn’t rough him up for answers, because, well, honestly, I don’t give a fuck. It makes no difference to me where their headquarters are.”
Connor headed for the door. “Yeah, well, it makes a difference to me.”
He felt Rylan on his tail, but Hudson had stayed put, and he glanced over his shoulder with a frown. “You coming?”
“I think I’ll stay out here.”
Connor suddenly understood why her face looked ashen. She’d escaped the city because of men like the one beyond that door. Of course she wouldn’t want to be around any Enforcers, not when one of the most dangerous Enforcers was determined to make her his bride.
The thought made Connor’s blood boil. No fucking way was he letting Knox get his hands on Hudson.
“Don’t worry. I’ll keep your girl company,” Lennox said, mistaking Connor’s anger for concern.
Then Lennox suggestively wiggled his eyebrows at Hudson, and Connor promptly leveled a glare in his direction. Also known as touch her and say good-bye to your balls.
“Message received,” Lennox said with a grin.
The smell of sawdust and wood rot hit Connor’s nostrils the second he entered the building. Exposed beams and piping made up the main room, and for all his bullshitting about how he didn’t care, Lennox had taken the time to tie his hostage to one of the wooden beams.
Brown eyes widened in fear when the young man spotted the newcomers. His features strained as he fought the knots binding his hands to the beam behind his back.
“Relax, kid. We’re not going to hurt you,” Connor said. “We’re just here to talk.”
He stuck his gun in his waistband and stepped closer. The deserter still wore part of his Enforcer uniform – black tactical pants with red stripes down the sides and a lightweight zip-up jacket. But he’d stripped the Enforcer logo off his breast pocket, leaving a gaping hole in its place. As if any outlaw would be stupid enough to see him and not immediately know him for what he was, with or without the logo.
“Then you’re wasting your time.” The deserter spoke with a surprising amount of bravado for someone in his position. He also couldn’t have been older than nineteen, which only made his arrogant tone seem even more out of place. “I already told your friend I’m not saying a word.”
With a faint smile, Rylan cocked his weapon. “You sure about that?”