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“Please…”
“Please what? You need to tell me the truth. Did. You. Order. The. Fire?”
“Yes,” he hissed. “I did. And I’d do it again.”
I took a purposeful step away, shoving my hands into my pockets and taking a deep breath. “Do you know what you did to me and to my family? Do you know?” My voice had raised to the point I was almost yelling. The bastard simply stared at me. “Who did you hire?”
He stumbled backwards, fisting his hands. Oh, I wanted the bastard to take a swing.
“Who?”
“You know the expression, Montgomery.” He took his time, every word dripping with venom. “Everyone has a price. Loyalty means nothing. Nothing.”
As I allowed his words to sink in, a sudden calm washed over me. He’d given me exactly what I needed to finally find peace. “You’re going to rot in hell, Prescott. There is no need for me to get dirty in the process.” I walked out, satisfied with the outcome.
When I moved through the front door, I took a satisfied deep breath, yanking off the watch I’d been given as I approached one of the five cars that had rolled into the driveway. I stared at Agent Thomas, handing him the watch. “I think you should have everything you need.”
“Things started to get messy,” he said as he stared at the house.
I shifted my gaze, giving him a smile before grabbing my sunglasses. “Not messy enough.” As I walked toward the car, Bryce stopped me.
“You did good in there. Shame that you couldn’t get him to tell you who the actual arsonist is,” Bryce said quietly.
“I know who it is. Trust me, I know. Get ready to send a cleanup crew. Time to take out the trash.”
“What the hell?”
“Just be prepared. I’d send a couple of your deputies to the other side of the estate to wait. You’ll know the right time.”
While I was seething inside, at least I had everything I needed. Sadly, the information fit everything that had occurred.
Except for the reason why. While every person might have a price to sell their soul, to do so in such a blatant manner indicated a worthless man. If only I could handle the asshole’s punishment my way.
However, that wouldn’t bring back what I’d lost in the battle.
After sliding into my truck, I called Jackson before starting the engine. “We have what we need.”
I could tell by my brother’s reaction that he was as shocked at the news as I was. This was going to take significant time to get over.
But I would.
After all, I was a Wolfe, a member of the Cheyenne nation. I would survive. No, I would thrive.
A quiet level of peace kept me from doing anything rash as I drove through the estate. For the first time in so long I enjoyed the sights around me. The vineyards, the production facilities, and the incredible dining and wine-tasting building. Maybe I could add some additional space, including enlarging the deck in order to hold weddings. That would be lovely.
I had enough additional land that with Jackson’s help, we could turn the place into a vacation destination while keeping the land pristine, the environment clean. That sounded like a good plan.
If only…
When I pulled down the long gravel driveway, I eased my hand under my seat, pulling the weapon I’d owned for years into my fingers. A part of me hoped it would be necessary to use it. Hissing, I stopped the truck, Jackson pulling in seconds behind me.
We both climbed out and he flanked my side, remaining quiet for a few seconds. I slipped the gun into the front waistband of my jeans, prompting Jackson to open his eyes wide.
“Are you certain about this?” he asked.
“Do you remember when we were little that Pops used to share various Cheyenne sayings with us about nature and love, trust and family?”
“Yeah, then he stopped talking about our heritage altogether,” Jackson answered. “That always bothered me.”
