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It’s eerily quiet. My eyes snap open after God knows how long and I look around. There’s no sign of them. Just furious, angry chaos left in uneven snow. Plus the uneven footprints that may be stained with blood or rust.
I can’t tell.
I really don’t want to.
Oh, but the movement in the rear view mirror brings new questions. They’re behind the truck now, next to the building, moving inside. Both men are still fighting. Still trying to kill each other.
Panting, my brother staggers backwards, disappearing through the broken doorway. Marshal follows, his face bloodied, a thousand curses engraved on his busted lips.
Then they’re gone. I can’t see anything.
A terrible memory from high school science class snatches at my brain. Remember the experiment with the cat in the box that might be living or dead, but not until it’s opened and seen?
I’m living it right now. Just like I’m living every soft breath of the tiny little girl in my arms, every slow beat of my heart, and every prayer.
Please don’t let him die. Not when he just came back. Not when we were going to make this right.
This isn’t fair. There are so many things I haven’t had a chance to say.
I haven’t even mentioned the secret growing inside me! Marshal deserves a chance to be a father again, this time with a family, like he always wanted. My eyes open, drifting toward the quiet sky.
Please.
We deserve a second chance.
Hell, we deserve a first.
We’ve fought too hard to be whole just to see it all burn down in front of me.
Please don’t let it do this. Please just let him come back to me.
Please!
14
Common Ground (Marshal)
I’m battered, exhausted, pushed to my limit. I haven’t been physically torn up this bad since the day the fuckwit hunched on the ground in front of me killed my boys.
Emotionally, I’ve never been this alive. Adam, Erik, Zane, their ghosts give me strength. They breathe a fury in my fists and a will to murder in my blood, guiding every blow to this asshole’s body whenever I have the chance.
If I weren’t distracted by something else, I think he’d be dead by now. This should be my moment of triumph, watching him with his broken ribs, backed into a corner, ready to mount his last desperate defense before I end him.
But there’s nothing. No endorphin rush. No triumph. No satisfaction.
No desire to do anything except walk the fuck away, climb in my truck, and drive my family far, far away from here.
“You…you had a clear shot to grab my gun, you fuck,” Jackson growls, speech slurred on his swollen tongue. “Why didn’t you? You want to fucking torture me?”
I stop in front of him, a couple feet between us, narrowing my eyes. “Why didn’t you? You had a clean shot at my chest. Hell, I offered. You fucked yourself.”
“Don’t you get it?! I’m not like you, Castoff. Not a fucking coward. I couldn’t shoot an unarmed man. Don’t have to prey on little girls who ought to know better not to get mixed up with psychos.” I take a step forward and he jumps, almost falling over. “Go ahead and finish it, asshole. I couldn’t protect her. Couldn’t talk Sadie out of it.”
He’s leaving me no choice. Why does it even matter?
Finish this, idiot.
I reach deep inside myself, find my inner killer again. Then I rush him, grab his wrist, twist it to near breaking. It’s the last shock his body needs. Knowing he’s disabled, I power slam him into the old brick wall, snarling in his face, listening as something hard and metal scuffs the floor.
He barely fights as I reach down, searching, wrapping my fingers around lethal weight. It’s heavy. Solid. A handle broke off a tool they used for rail work in the old days, probably.
It’s more than enough to split his skull open, if I choose.
“Don’t make me do this, prick. Sadie’s the only reason I’m not finishing what I started with your brakes. Hell, what really started that day you got my men killed.”
“That’s what this is about? Vigilante justice? Fuck, you’re pathetic.” He stops talking and shakes. Something warm and slippery hits my face.
The asshole just spat on me.
Enough.
I bring the steel rod down like a hammer on his shoulder. It’s worse than I intended, knocking him to the floor, nearly out cold. He’s on his hands and knees, looking up like the demon he is, his eyes small black pools of hate begging me to send him home to hell.
“Last chance, you piece of shit. End it. Do it now. I couldn’t turn you in. Couldn’t keep you away from her. Couldn’t stop you from telling everybody the awful fucking truth.”
“Truth? What truth?” Every syllable hurts. I’m sure a few of my bones are splintered. Wiping his spit from my face, I stare into the eyes of the man I have to murder.
