Chasing The Wild (Crimson Ridge Book 1)
Chasing The Wild: Chapter 4

FIVE MONTHS LATER

“Your resume looks great, Layla. It would be a pleasure to have you join us at Shipton Stables for the rest of the winter.”

I close my eyes and mouth a silent thank you toward the roof of my car while clutching the phone against my ear.

“Are you sure starting at this time of year isn’t a problem for you? Many people your age are still on holiday this side of the new year, and we really can’t hold the position if there are any delays. We need to fill it urgently.” The lady on the other end of the phone is firm, but kind.

I get it, I really do.

They have a business to run, and replaceing apprentice veterinary students to work the winter season must get frustrating at the best of times, with part-time contracts starting and ending every few months. Not to mention, we’ve just emerged from the usual fuckery of Christmas and New Year and all the crap that comes with people picking up casual shifts over the holiday season. There are plenty of assholes out there who love to call in sick or never show up for their rostered hours—I know all about having to cover late notice for those kinds of dickheads.

She’s very, very politely asking me not to fuck her around.

“No, I’m absolutely sure. You can count on me to be there.” Nothing says eager and broke like already being packed before I even got confirmation this job would accept me. The few belongings I’ve been carting around since last summer are neatly crammed in the trunk of my car, ready to roll out of this shitty little motel parking lot.

Basically, I was waiting on this call. What she doesn’t need to know is that the job I had been promised fell through right before Christmas, leaving me well and truly in the lurch over the holidays.

I’ve had to chew into my meager savings just to scrape through the past few weeks until I could secure a job—any vet placement would do—on extremely late notice and at the height of the festive season, no less. So when Shipton Stables put out an urgent ‘help-wanted’ request online, I couldn’t care less about the three hour drive to get there. I just needed them to give me the green light that they’d be happy to take me on.

“Great. Well, in that case, we’ll have paperwork ready for you to fill out when you arrive, and the first shift we’ll roster you for starts at eight a.m. the day after tomorrow.”

We chat a little more, going over some basics about my orientation before hanging up. Tucking my phone against my chest, I flop back in the driver’s seat with relief.

Thank you Shipton Stables and the kind receptionist lady whose name I have already forgotten.

I. Have. A. Job.

While I’ve been sitting out here taking the call, icy crystals have already started to form on my windshield. I quickly turn the ignition and wait for the warmth to start pouring in. Wiggling my fingers in front of the air vent, the chill bites more than a little painfully.

New gloves are going to be one of my first purchases.

First, I have one more week to get through before my paycheck from Shipton arrives, and that should tide over the payments for Evaline. I swipe open my emails on my phone and hit reply to the conversation I’ve been having over the past few weeks with the administration office. They’d been kind enough to give me an extension on December’s payments, but that means January is going to need to be repaid at double the usual amount.

I tap out a quick one-liner explaining that my new job is confirmed and that I’ll be able to cover the overdue fees within the coming week. Then, I email my course supervisor to let him know that I’ve secured my next veterinary placement, along with forwarding him their business details, website, and other administrative information they need to register in my file.

One step closer to being graduated come August, fully qualified, and securing a permanent position somewhere.

While there’s no requirement for me to complete my work placements within a set period of time, there is a minimum of twelve months of on-the-job apprenticeship training required before I can become fully certified. As of this winter, I’m in a race against my own life to become a graduated, qualified veterinarian. And with that comes the security of being able to finally land a job with a full-time salary, guaranteed hours, insurance, and medical. I simply don’t have the luxury of taking my time while surviving on part-time wages and picking up as many bar shifts to supplement my income as possible, like other students my age.

The financial weight of supporting not only myself, but taking care of the woman who was a better mother to me than my own, is drowning me slowly day by day. The home Evaline is in has been the only place able to meet her needs, but it comes with a price.

I need this job, and just need to survive these next seven months until the earliest possible moment I can graduate.

As I sit here waiting for my fingertips to thaw, my phone buzzes in my lap. Without looking at the screen, I answer the call—expecting it to be Shipton Stables ringing back about some other detail for my impending arrival.

“Hello.”

“Am I speaking with Miss Birch?” A clipped voice appears on the other end of the line.

My stomach sinks. This isn’t the woman I was speaking to moments before.

“Yes, I’m Layla Birch.” As I reply, I angle the phone so I can see the number on the screen.

Restricted caller ID.

Fucking brilliant. I mentally chide myself for picking up. Calls like this terrify me, and I usually send them straight to my voicemail graveyard. These people only ever call for one reason, and it’s almost always to do with owing money.

“This is Bonnie Wilton from Gratitude Finance.” My nose wrinkles like I’ve just stepped in pig shit. Even the name of the company sounds slimy. Gratitude for what? Being scammed out of money by promises of instant loans and insanely high interest rates. Ugh, these people are vultures.

Good news is, I’ve never heard of them before, and certainly would never take out finance with a company like that, so they must have the wrong person.

“I’m sorry. I think you must have the wrong number.” I can’t be fucked being polite. I’m freezing and want to get on the road to my new job, ASAP.

“Is your last known address 3488 Devil’s Peak Road, Miss Birch?”

Why does that sound familiar?

“In the town of Crimson Ridge?” The woman persists.

My stomach hits the floor.

“Uhh. No.” My insides flop like a fish on dry land as I picture Kayce and the ranch and him sitting on the porch with a beer when I last saw him over the summer.

“Well, the information I have on file here says you have an outstanding amount of two thousand, five hundred and eighty with us. And you’ve missed your last three repayments.” She thinks I’m lying. I can hear it in her tone.

“That’s not me. I haven’t taken out any finance, I promise.”

“Can you provide me with proof of your permanent address?” She taps at a keyboard in the background.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Unfortunately, I can’t, you see I’ve been—”

“We would need copies of utility bills covering the past six months, or something to indicate where you have been residing to prove that isn’t your address.” The woman on the other end of the phone sounds bored. Like she’s heard it all before and doesn’t give me a chance to even finish speaking.

My hands are trembling. Did she say two thousand dollars?

“Without being able to provide us with that proof, we need to settle the amount in full, otherwise our team will have to move to the next stage of enforcement action.”

I think I’m going to be sick.

Kayce Wilder is a dead man.

“Can I ask how long ago this finance was taken out?” I mumble. There’s no way I can pay that, and I shouldn’t have to, but these assholes don’t care about who or what or where. They’ll come for me and every dollar I’ve worked so hard for and take everything plus the sky-high interest they believe they’re owed.

The woman is silent, but I can hear the clack of her keyboard as she looks up the information.

“You’ve been a client of ours since May last year.”

I quickly do the math. That was about a month before Kayce and I officially ended things. He’d been sponging off me, staying in my apartment for almost six weeks by that point, if I remember rightly.

What a piece of shit.

“And how long do I have to make the full payment?” I think I’ve gone numb. At this point, I’m just going through the motions.

“Because you are already three weeks behind in your repayments, you have passed our leniency period when we might consider extensions or requests for other alternative payment structures.” She drones into the speaker. “We tried to contact you at your primary listed number multiple times, Miss Birch, but you have been unresponsive.”

Hot tears prick the back of my throat.

“Fine. Just tell me the due date, please.”

Another round of clacking, and I’m pretty sure I hear a heavy sigh on the other end of the line. To this woman, I’m just another number in a computer system. One who they now get to come after like a bully in the locker room with threats of enforcement and legal action.

I swallow down the tears.

None of this is my fault, nor should this loan even have been allowed to be registered in my name. What would something like this do for my future? I’m twenty-five and work every goddamn hour of my life just to make ends meet, for fuck’s sake. I don’t have a life, I don’t go out, and this is the shit that gets tossed my way?

Bitterness starts to churn somewhere deep in my gut.

“You must repay the amount in full by January tenth at the latest. We accept bank transfers and deposits, no credit.”

Barely one week to come up with over two thousand five hundred dollars? “Fine.”

“I’ve sent a text to this number I’m speaking to you on with my details and you can contact me on my extension if you need to discuss your case further.” True to her word, I feel the vibration of her incoming message.

“Ok.”

My mind is reeling.

“Happy holidays, Miss Birch.” The woman deadpans into the phone, then the line goes dead.

Meanwhile, I’m left sitting in an icy parking lot, feeling like an elephant is sitting on my chest.

My fingers wrap around the steering wheel like a vise as I imagine it being Kayce’s pretty boy neck.

“I want to punch him in his smug fucking face and knee him in the balls. Actually, scratch that, I want to string him up by his balls and castrate him like a bull.”

I yell into the unhinged voicemail I’m leaving my best friend, Sage. Letting her know where I’m going, so at least one person in this world knows where to look for me.

“That douchebag took out a loan in my name without asking, and then forgot to meet his payments. And, fucking typical, his number is going straight to nowhere. He is the worst. THE WORST.”

Of course, the line was dead when I tried calling him earlier. Because he’s living up a mountain in the middle of nowhere, avoiding life and every goddamn adult responsibility that comes with it.

“No wonder he couldn’t replace himself a sponsor and had to drop off the rodeo circuit. Useless dick.” I thump the steering wheel with my palm.

“So in case you have to look for my body, instead of being on my way to my new job, I gotta detour back to Crimson Ridge… it’s a fucking tiny place, in the depths of goddamn winter, because hell will freeze over before I let him get away with this shit. You will be pleased to know I’m channeling my inner Sage Maloney and will absolutely claw his eyes out of his motherfucking skull.”

My best friend is feisty, loud, and would shred Kayce to pieces on my behalf given half the chance. She’s my ride-or-die, and we grew up as close as sisters, with her family living next door to Evaline. For as long as I’ve known that girl, she’s called her Aunt Evie, and we spent our childhood and teenage years roaming between the two houses like wild creatures. I was welcomed with open arms, living with utter freedom while we giggled our way through endless sleepovers and homework dates, bouncing between her family home and my aunt’s place.

My only option is to march onto that ranch and demand every dollar is paid while I watch him do it.

Thank god I was more or less having to drive in this direction to reach Shipton Stables. It’s not exactly enroute, but close enough that a minor detour into the mountains won’t set me back too much.

Get in, get this shit sorted, and get out.

Maybe after I pluck his eyeballs, I’ll leave my handprint across Kayce’s jaw while I’m there for good measure. Or run him over.

“Ok. Bye. I’ll text you when I’m done, but I’ll probably be out of service when you pick this message up. Wish me luck, Sergeant. Love you. If I get taken in for grievous bodily harm please front my bail for me, we both know I just can’t pull off orange with my hair color.” I stab the red button to end the call and let out a frustrated exhale.

As I drive through the wide boulevard of the town I last visited in the height of late summer, I can see that the winter season has certainly taken a firm hold. Lights are on in all the storefronts open at this time of year, and even though it is currently midday, the sky feels somber and dark, like someone forgot to remind the sun to get out of bed.

The trees that hung lush with green leaves five months ago are now bare. Thousands of spindly fingers form twisted patterns against the ominous-looking sky. Hardly any vehicles line the streets, and there are certainly no cute girls lounging in the park working on their tans. Only piles of grit lie mounded up on either side of the road, and an eerie quiet hangs over the place.

My phone has the address pulled up on screen, but I remember the drive towards Devil’s Peak like it was yesterday.

I also remember the last time I was here as if it were yesterday, too.

Colton Wilder.

Over the course of the past five months, I’ve replayed our conversation at the gas station a hundred times. In quiet moments, especially while lying in bed, always oh-so-fucking-alone, my mind can’t help but keep returning to that day and raking over every detail with a fine-tooth comb. Did I completely misread his signals?

Maybe. Possibly. Ugh.

Why is it so hard to get that man out of my mind? Usually, by the time I’m done overthinking everything, I’ve convinced myself that I threw myself at the poor guy, demanded his money, and then came onto him so strong that he took off speeding down the main street to escape my assault.

Oh, and I then proceeded to follow him to his home, like a stalker.

Yup. That would absolutely account for his ice-king demeanor and death glare when I knocked on the door.

I should count myself lucky he didn’t march me off his property with a shotgun between my shoulder blades.

But then again, when I’m not being so hard on myself, I remember the warmth of his hazel eyes as they held mine. I can still hear the rumble in his voice when we joked together. Can clearly picture the veins on his hands as he raked his fingers through his hair, right before putting his sexy-as-hell cowboy hat back on.

My heart does a little flutter when I recall the way he told me not to hang around the wrong type of men, and asked if I was free for an evening.

Quickly followed by the cold indifference he showed me as he blocked me from entering his house.

My nose wrinkles at the memory of how uncomfortable that felt.

Prick.

As the road winds its way like a snake up the incline, I can see thick drifts of snow coating the embankments, and the temperature outside plummets the higher I climb. The drive up the mountain is vastly more treacherous this time around.

My little car isn’t made for these conditions, nor are the tires I currently have, but I am a woman possessed.

When I finally make it to the entrance to Devil’s Peak Ranch, I feel like I can exhale again. Thick purple clouds billow on the horizon and the peak is painted in a solid lacquer of white. Most of the trees up this high are covered in a sugary dusting of snow, but the house and yard are clear. For now, at least. Judging by the clouds, it looks like there’s more snow heading this way.

Hurling myself out of the vehicle, I slam the door, feeling fired up and ready to serve both barrels to my asshole ex. Those last few miles were filled with giving myself a pep talk about all the creative techniques I intend on using while skinning Kayce alive.

Only, I’m crossing the yard, and it feels a lot emptier than before. Last time I was here, there were a couple of vehicles, and now there is only the sight of the big stallion of a truck that presumably belongs to Colton Wilder.

What if Kayce isn’t even here? My shoulders deflate a little and I immediately start debating whether to turn around with my tail between my legs.

“You lost or something?” A gruff voice shouts from over by the entrance to the barn, and I’m halfway toward the steps leading up to the front door when a familiar figure strides in my direction.

My ex-boyfriend’s father is kitted out in a rugged weatherproof jacket, with a faded ball cap on backward. His hands and side of his face are smeared in blood, and those hazel eyes of his are burning. But that’s not what makes my heart stop in my throat. It’s the sight of the bloodied carcass slung across his shoulders.

A headless deer is slit open right along where the creature’s stomach should have been, and the smell of copper burns straight up my nose.

Behind him, a bloody trail carves through the snow where it drips onto the ground.

In my line of work, I’m no stranger to the reality of ranch life. Death is an ever-present part of vet work and managing livestock and rural living. But the gruesome sight of him carrying a freshly killed animal feels more confronting than I was prepared for.

The man before me heaves the body onto the flatbed of his truck and turns to look at me. He’s coated in crimson, and the smell is even more overwhelming up close. There’s hot, thick, pooling blood collecting on the ground from where the head has been severed.

His sharp gaze flicks between me and my shitty little car, and recognition colors his features.

“Is Kayce here?” My stomach churns.

“Thought you two were broken up.” He tosses a giant knife down beside the gutted animal. The blade glistens, slick with red as it clatters against the metal. I replace myself unable to look away from the slaughtered beast laid out right before me.

“We are.” I can’t get into this with him right now. My skin feels prickly as all hell. I just need this money disaster sorted and can’t wait to get out of here before that ominous-looking weather rolls in. You don’t need to live on a mountain to know things are always more extreme, more likely to flip on a dime, at altitude. “I just… I need to talk to him is all.”

“He knock you up?”

Jesus. What the fuck?

Speechless doesn’t even begin to describe how I’m feeling right now. Who the hell does this asshole think he is?

I don’t know if this man thinks my silence is agreement or what, but he strides right up to me and crosses his arms. Giving me the all too familiar ice-glare from months ago as he looms large and macabre-looking with the evidence of his kill coating his skin.

“Kayce isn’t here. Try one of the bars in town.” With that, he stomps past me up the steps and kicks off his boots at the door.

Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable.

A snowflake lands on the back of my hand, and that cold kiss against my skin seems to galvanize me into action.

“Whatever,” I mutter and turn back for my car. My teeth are gritted so tight there’s every chance I’m going to crack a molar, and I yank the door open with far more force than necessary.

The giant dickhead watches me from just outside his front door, as if he’s standing guard to make sure I leave his property.

Gladly. Asshole.

I shove the key in the ignition and chuck the car in reverse, not bothering to look behind me before I tear out of the yard. Blinding rage sweeps right down the back of my neck beneath my sweater.

Rounding the first bend, I see the clumps of snow start to drift faster and harder in my rearview mirror as the ominous outline of Devil’s Peak disappears behind a cluster of pine trees.

Good fucking riddance. Now, I’ve just got to get back into town and ransack every inch of Crimson Ridge until I chase down my good-for-nothing ex.

I’m still smarting from the way that man just spoke to me. The scathing tone of his voice and immediate assumption about my circumstances has my hands shaking.

God, I wish that I could have come back with something smart in response. Instead of standing there gaping at him with nothing to say.

The gravel road curves up ahead, as I make my way deeper into the forest. Except, when I continue following the path back down the mountain the car starts to shudder beneath me. My heart is in my throat as it fishtails a little and I’m suddenly seeing just how steep the drop off on the side of the road is, plummeting into the darkness of the ravine below.

The jolting gets worse, and my car gives a groan as I apply the brake and pull over to the side. With an awful demonic sound, it lurches to a halt with a relentless knocking. Steam proceeds to billow from under the hood. There’s a grinding of metal against metal and a heavy clank that absolutely doesn’t sound good, before everything dies. All the lights on my dash pop on at the same time.

“No. No. No. Come on, come onnnn.” Praying to whatever patron saint of motor vehicles exists out there, I try the key in the ignition, but it doesn’t even turn over. Nothing flickers. I’m greeted by stubborn silence and the stench of burnt oil. My Honda sits there as lifeless as the corpse I just witnessed being dumped in the back of Colton Wilder’s truck.

All the while, thick clumps of snow settle on my windshield so fast, that within seconds I can’t see the hood of my car any longer.

I’m so fucked.