John looks at Fletcher for the first time, his sneer laced with malice. “How could you?”
“John, listen to me. I didn’t have a choice.” Haggard and edgy, Fletcher inches to the closest chair and lowers Mary onto it. “He broke Mary’s arm and would’ve hurt her more if I didn’t cooperate. If it was Julep, you would’ve made the same decision.”
John grits his teeth and yanks Raina off the couch, with the barrel wedged against her ribs. “So what happens now? Are we all going to shoot each other?”
No one will shoot Raina.
I touch her with my gaze, wishing it was my arms.
The door opens behind me, and I swing my pistol from Fletcher to John, confident the tread of Jake’s approaching boots means his weapon is pointed at the sheriff.
“How’s Conor?” John looks at his son without a hint of surprise or concern.
Jake doesn’t answer, following the plan. We’re here to lead the questioning and control the end result.
I loosen my rigid fingers on the pistol and seek the comfort of Raina’s proximity.
Held at gunpoint, she stands strong and noble. There’s no withering. No waterworks. It’s not that she’s fearless. Given the shaking of her fists at her sides, she’s fighting an avalanche of emotions and holding herself together through sheer willpower. It’s fucking awe-inspiring.
Christ, I love her. I love her magnificence, her fortitude, and her spirituality. Her presence weaves through the bloodlust in my veins, pacifying me and keeping me focused.
“You booted me off the ranch for eight years.” I meet John’s dark eyes, burning to stab the life from them. “But you couldn’t boot me out of the family. In the end, you’re the one who lost it all—your job, your sons, your wife, and your fucking soul.”
“It’s not over, boy.” John stiffens, his finger twitching against the trigger.
I mark the aim of every gun in the room, the trajectory of every possible bullet, and draw a map in my head of where Raina should and shouldn’t be when everything goes south.
“You killed my mother.” Jake stands at my side, gun aimed at Fletcher, eyes on his father. “And Ava O’Conor.”
The air coils, the tension locked and loaded.
I feel it inside me, like icy, liquid metal sliding through my veins. My legs twitch, fighting the impulse to run for Raina, my throat thick with the need to roar.
I reach for her through eye contact, and she reaches back with a soft unblinking gaze.
We’re going to get through this.
“Julep wasn’t supposed to be in that car.” John brings Raina tighter against him, an arm around her back and his thumb intimately stroking her upper arm.
Get your hands off her.
My nerves rampage, my heightened senses prickling and stretching me beyond my physical limits. I can’t watch Fletcher, John’s trigger finger, and his wandering hand all at once.
I focus on Raina, on the strength in her eyes, and check my rage before shifting back to John. “You killed my mother for the land.”
“Of course, it was for the fucking land. Ava was dead set against drilling on her precious inheritance. It was irrational fucking bullshit. That oil would’ve made us rich.”
“So you killed her and lost your wife in the process. Then you discovered Conor and I own the land, not my mother.”
He could’ve murdered us when we were small, but he wasn’t as evil then. He’s always been greedy. Always wanting more, more, more. But he wasn’t desperate enough to kill innocent children for it. That didn’t become an option until he ran the cattle operation into the ground and found himself owning bad people a lot of money.
“Julep’s death will always be my biggest regret.” John says remorsefully, as if he isn’t holding a gun to Raina’s heart. “I hope someday my sons will forgive me.”
How different things would’ve been if Julep hadn’t climbed into the car with my mother. From what I know about her, she would’ve kept John and Dalton on the right path. The four of us kids would’ve been raised by a mother.
I doubt John’s words move Jake in any way, but he reacts as if they do.
“Go to hell, you selfish prick. You took our mothers from us, because you wanted more money, more power, more possessions and bullshit. You will never be forgiven. Not for the heinous crimes you committed over the past twenty years. And not for the atrocities you’ve done and are currently doing to Raina.”
A furious tide of anger rises up John’s neck. “She’s mine, and I’ll do whatever—”
“Shut the fuck up.” I concentrate on his trigger finger, holding mine steady with the pistol’s sights lined up on his chest so very close to Raina’s head.
My teeth saw against the inside of my cheek, and the copper taste of blood fills my mouth.
Any second, someone’s going to shoot. It could be me. From this distance, maybe I can land a kill shot. Or maybe I’d miss and hit Raina. Either way, John will react and pull his trigger. I can’t take that risk.