Page 116 of Branded Betrayal

“Did you not hear me before, Hartman?” he asks. “This is my show, not yours.”

A bullet cracks, the sound reverberating between my ears.

“Blaze,” Savannah cries out.

I whip around to see Wilkerson collapse onto all fours, his hand blown apart by a bullet.

Colt lowers his rifle, smoke curling from the barrel.

Police sirens ring out. The last two guys dart out the door. Nash lunges for Wilkerson, his fists flying at his face, his throat, his gut. Six years of rage and anguish unleashed on the man responsible for ruining more lives than I care to count.

Colt and I stand back, letting him finally get closure. Savannah covers her face with her trembling hands, sobs racking her body as Nash transforms Wilkerson into a bloody pulp. He barely moves once Nash is finished with him. With one final kick to Wilkerson’s head, Nash finally runs over to Savvie. She hugs him close, and he falls against her, whimpering.

“I wanted to kill him,” he says.

“The cops are here now. They’ll take care of it.” Colt claps Nash on the back. “You did good for a farm boy.”

Nash glares at him over his shoulder. “Like you’re one to talk. Today’s the first time you shot a gun, yeah?”

“Nash, you need to get to a hospital,” Savannah says. “You were shot.”

“Eh, bullet just winged me. No big deal.”

I kneel down next to Savannah and reach for her hand. She pulls it away, and it’s like a kick to the gut.

“Drop your weapons,” the officer calls out as he enters, a gun in his outstretched hand. “Hands up where we can see ’em.”

The guys and I struggle to our feet, hands in the air.

EMTs run in. One treats Nash, and one heads straight for Savannah. He wraps a blanket around her shoulders, asks a few questions, and guides her out of the warehouse.

After we give our statement, the cops lead us outside. Wilkerson, bruised, bloodied, and hunched over, still manages to fire off a white-hot glare in my direction. “You haven’t won, Hartman. This isn’t over.”

I nod. “Actually, it is. For me, it really is finally over. And you’re gonna rot in prison, exactly where you belong.”

When we get outside, Dad is being treated for a minor bullet wound. I guess he got grazed in the cross fire. He’s also in handcuffs. A cop stands nearby, reading him his rights.

“We’ve been building a case against Wilkerson for years,” the detective says to me. “When we got the call about shots fired, we knew it was our chance. Your father’s been on our radar too. Financial records show he’s been laundering money for Wilkerson’s operation.” He nods at Dad. “He’s going down too.”

I watch as they load my father into another police car.

He tries to catch my eye. I turn away.

Fuck him.

I was tangled in Wilkerson’s web for six years, to protect my family. To protect him.

And all along, he was the one I really needed protection from. He used me as a fucking human shield while he lined his pockets with dirty money.

Let the bastard rot.

“We’re going to need you to come by the station later to give a full report,” the detective says, nodding at my blood-soaked shirt. “You up to that after you get patched up?”

“Yeah. I’ll be there.”

I start walking toward Colt’s truck when I hear my father’s voice.

“This is all your fault, you know,” he calls out from the back of the police car.