Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 97369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Bang!
“FUCK!” He trips, hugging his hand to his chest, minus the fingers I just shot off it.
“She wouldn’t consent to one fucking finger of yours on her.”
“I s-said she was w-willing to—”
Bang!
“Ahh!” He collapses to his side, now with a bullet in his knee. Panting and grimacing, he looks up at me. “You’d b-better plan on killing me…” his face contorts while his good hand covers the hole in his leg “…cuz if not—”
Whack!
My boot lands in his mouth.
He loses consciousness and two teeth while thick pools of crimson ooze down his neck.
Bang!
Right between his eyes.
“It’s always been the plan.”
Is every person crossing this ranch's gates destined to become an awful human being?
“If you had to choose … who would it be?”
A man doesn’t kill his own daughter. It’s what I tell myself, stalking toward the main house. But Fletcher’s no longer a man. He’s a monster without moral boundaries. And his voracious appetite for revenge can no longer be satisfied with anything less than total domination of everyone around him.
He’s not in his office. I follow the cigar smoke to the kitchen, but he’s not there. Light seeps beneath his bedroom door as I approach it from the dark hallway. The floor creaks beneath my boots.
“That was quick. Did you make him bleed?” Fletcher asks before I open the door.
When I inch it open, he glances up from his bed, the back lifted to a forty-five-degree angle. Drink in one hand, TV remote in his other hand.
I see a glimpse of fear in Fletcher Ellington’s eyes for the first time.
“Yeah, I made him bleed.”
With a shaky hand, Fletcher sets his drink on the nightstand and clears his throat as if it will give him a little composure and confidence.
“Where is she?” I ask, stopping at the foot of his bed.
“Who?” He smiles, but it’s feigned confidence at best. “Here we are, once again, facing that all-important question. Who do you save? Your sister? Or your mistress?”
“Both.”
Fletcher scoffs. “That’s just not possible.”
“Why not?”
“Because if I only have one act left on this earth, it’s going to be to make you pay. Make you suffer like you’ve made everyone else suffer.”
Jaw filled with tension, I swallow hard. “I was a child. A twelve-year-old child with a sick father who raped my sister, a mother too sick to notice anything outside of her own pain, and a brother too obsessed over making money with his best friend to acknowledge the ugly truth taking place in the house he left, the family he abandoned.”
“If you thought you were old enough to take your father’s gun, point it at someone, and pull the trigger, then you were old enough to be accountable for the consequences. You could have told the police it was you.”
“I didn’t shoot them—”
“But you shot Annie!” Fletcher’s voice booms, leaving a slight echo. Blowing a breath out of his nose, he rubs his temples. “You shot Annie. You started it. And you were twelve. You could have taken the blame for shooting all three. Given the nature of your father’s relationship with Annie, a jury would have granted you mercy. Instead, you let Archer take the fall, knowing no jury would look at him and show mercy.”
“Did you ever …” I stare at his legs for a moment before meeting his gaze. “Did you ever think maybe Archer felt guilty for not being there to protect Annie? Did you ever think he shot them and faced the consequences because he felt a need to make up for what he didn’t see happening? Why do you assume he did it all for me? Maybe he did it for Annie. Maybe he let our mom die without any more suffering. And perhaps he put our dad down like a rabid animal out of control.”
In a slow blink, I glance around the room at nothing in particular. “Maybe he felt undeserving of a good life … or any life at all. I know I felt that way. And I was only twelve. Fucking. Years. Old.”
Turning, I slip on my riding gloves and remove the picture of Ruthie from the wall. For a man who hates me so much, he’s given me most of his secrets. Six digits later, the safe pops open. I slide the cash aside and take out the gun he gave Ruthie for protection. I don’t think she ever touched it. Removing the cartridge of ammunition, I set it on one nightstand before walking to the other side to put the gun on the nightstand closest to Fletcher. Time, I’m buying myself time.
He eyes the gun and then me. I close up the safe and replace the photo, taking a few seconds to admire Ruthie’s kind smile. Her flawless beauty.
Of course, he loved her. Her only imperfection was that she wasn’t the mother of his child.