Chapter Ten The Dark Stallion #2
My body goes rigid at that. He could mean a lot of things by that, but somehow I think I know what he’s talking about. I’m proven right when he goes on to say, “Cooper called.”
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I knew it was a risk enlisting his help.
He’s got a big mouth and a very weak will.
But I needed someone with connections at the city court, and I didn’t have a lot of time to go searching for someone who is loyal to us but also isn’t a spineless fucking rat.
I guess I’m gonna have to make good on my promise to him and cut his throat in his sleep.
“What the fuck were you thinkin’, attacking him like that,” my brother snaps.
“He crossed a line,” I tell him, fisting and unfisting my fingers.
“And what line was that?”
“Disobeyin’ me.”
“You’re not a fuckin’ king,” he reminds me. “What you are is a felon out on parole.”
I clench my jaw at his reprimand. Sounds just like it did back when I was out and riling shit up at twenty.
“You know what that means, don’t you?” he keeps going. “You gotta keep your nose clean. Or you’re back in, serving your full ten-year sentence. And this time, even I won’t be able to help you.”
“Didn’t want your help last time; don’t need it now.”
“Christ,” Mars bites out. “You just keep diggin’ the hole for yourself. You’ve got no idea the lengths I had to go to, to get you that hearing after how you fucked it up last time.”
I did fuck it up last time.
In my defense, though, I stuck to the truth. They asked me if I regretted what I did, and I said no. I said if I got a do-over, I’d do things differently and instead of beating him bloody, I’d focus on choking the life out of him.
They didn’t like that.
So yeah, I was surprised when my brother called me about the second hearing. Apparently, the DA has a penchant for paying for sex with schoolgirls, and he’s up for reelection. But this time, I was determined to get out. Because this time, I had a purpose.
A plan.
The one my brother wouldn’t like, so I couldn’t clue him in.
“Especially when the Turners would do anything to keep you in,” he adds. “One chance, that’s all they need. One slipup and you’re back in.”
I’m aware.
The Turners would do anything to send me back in.
Like they did everything they could eight years ago to get me a harsher sentence.
Attempted murder in Montana gets you anywhere from ten years to life.
The only reason I got the minimum of ten was because of who I am, a Grayson, and because the Turners wouldn’t let it go down to five.
Now that I’m free without serving a full sentence, I know they would love to take me out.
But unfortunately for them, I’ve got a plan that’s going to end not only what they started eight years ago, but also this fucking feud, once and for all.
“There isn’t going to be a slipup,” I say.
He scoffs. “Yeah, that’s a little hard for me to believe when you’re stabbin’ cops in broad daylight a week into your parole.”
“Cooper’s fine. He’s gonna keep his mouth shut.”
“Yeah, how do you know that?”
“Because I told him to keep it shut.”
“That’s—”
“And because his son’s in the program, isn’t he?”
This time when Mars breathes out sharply, it’s because he knows I won.
“I’m sure he’s not gonna do anything to jeopardize that,” I finish.
Which is why I roped him in, in the first place. I knew he’d do anything to keep his loser son out of prison. And if anyone can make that happen, it’s my brother and his fucking program.
I don’t like to mention it, the little prison program my brother’s got going on the ranch. I never did, and after everything that happened eight years ago, I hate it even more. But again, I needed someone who was beholden to us, and Cooper fit the bill.
“Now, if you’ve got nothing else—”
“Tell me exactly what the fuck you were thinkin’ marryin’ the Turner girl.”
Something shifts in my chest, my gut, at this.
I don’t know how to describe it, but it feels like the ground opening up. The ground shaking under the galloping hooves of a thousand horses before the earth gives in and cracks down the middle, breaking apart. Fissures running everywhere.
It happened the night that changed the course of my life.
Something broke apart inside of me, and out came fire and anger. So much of it that it was hard to contain, and I had to do what I ended up doing. Beating a man within an inch of his life because he destroyed mine.
Over the years, whenever it happened and I broke apart on the inside, I’d just find a motherfucker to beat up. It wasn’t hard; I was in prison, and there are a lot of motherfuckers in there. I wish I could do the same tonight as well. Beat someone up.
But I’m out on parole, and despite what my brother thinks, I do realize I need to be careful. I can’t be caught beating someone up, especially where there are cameras and word could get back to the Turners.
So I don’t know how to glue the cracks. How to shove all the things back inside, the fire, the anger. Her voice.
Her musical fucking voice.
That snuck into my bloodstream and crept inside the very core of me, despite the fact I only heard it three days ago. And it’s the first thing I hear at my brother’s “the Turner girl.”
I couldn’t let you sit here, waiting for me, after everything… we’ve shared.
I breathe through my nose for a few seconds, trying to calm myself down. Then, “What I was thinkin’ is none of your fuckin’ business.”
A pause and then, in a growly voice, “Come again?”
I clutch the phone tighter. “You heard me.”
I’m about to break the heavy silence between us when he does it himself, his voice low and vibrating. “Proved me right.”
“What?”
“You,” he says. “You like to live wild. You like to live on the edge. ‘Watch out for him,’ Daddy always said. ‘He’s worse than those damn broncos he likes to ride. He’ll either end up dead or in prison’; and I fuckin’ prayed for prison.
I guess you should really be careful what you wish for, huh.
” He sighs. “I just didn’t know I’d have a hand in it. ”
My chest tightens at his regretful tone.
Once upon a time, I worshipped my big brother.
He was more like a father to me and our little brother, Axton.
Our parents died in a car crash, and the responsibility of the ranch fell on Mars.
He was twenty-two and was already working at the ranch, helping our dad with the business and whatever else needed doing.
Still, it was a big change for him that he shouldered well.
Not to mention, he got a twelve-year-old rebellious teenager and a one-year-old screaming toddler as a bonus.
He was strict and somewhat aloof, but I understood that he had to be that way.
He had to be authoritative because Rawhide depended on him.
I and our little brother depended on him.
He’s still my big brother, but we haven’t seen eye-to-eye in a long time. Despite all that, though, I still don’t like to hear that tone.
“There are days when I regret not namin’ you my foreman. If I had, you probably would’ve been too busy to go off the rails like you did. You—”
“I didn’t go off the rails,” I growl.
“You beat a man half to death with a hot branding iron,” he growls back.
“And not just some man; you beat up Hank Turner. The family we’ve been at war with for decades.
The family that took our land, the land that rightfully belongs to us, to our forefathers.
They’d do anything to destroy us. Anything to take us out.
But instead of using your goddamn head, you went in there, guns blazin’, and handed them the ammunition to use against us. And for what?”
“Don’t,” I warn.
He doesn’t heed it and keeps going: “I told you eight years ago and I’m tellin’ you now, a girl ain’t no reason to go stupid and turn your back on your family.”
The crack inside me becomes a chasm, wide and gaping, painful and hot.
Furious.
“A girl ain’t no reason to lose eight years of your life, to lose your ability to fuckin’ think and to be doin’ whatever it was you thought you were doin’ by marrying the Turner girl. I know you loved her but—”
“Fuck you,” I mutter, cutting him off. “Fuck. You.”
I hang up and switch off my phone.
Pocketing it, I get in the car and pull out of the parking lot.
All through the drive back to the motel, my body is tight and my fucking heart is pounding.
The chasm inside me gets wider and wider until it feels like I’ll never be able to seal it shut again.
I’ll never be able to bury all the things that crawled out from the underneath.
Bury her.
Where she’s safe, protected. Like I wanted her to be eight years ago. Like I promised.
By the time I reach my destination—the motel I’m staying at for the night—I’m shaking.
Tremors are running up and down my body.
The brand on my shoulder burns as hot and as brutal as it did the night I put it there.
With a shivering hand, I open the door to my room, but it all stops the moment I see her in there.
The Turner girl.
The girl I’ve been seeing in my dreams for the past six months. The smart, straight-A college girl who liked to be careful and safe. Until she made the mistake of writing to a felon in prison.
Back in my six-by-eight prison cell, there was no escape from her, her words, her thoughts.
I’d dream about the things she wrote, her desk, her room, the library she worked at.
Her favorite tree. Her favorite books. It would piss me off, and I’d end up in fights and then get thrown in solitary.
Where things would get even worse because there were no distractions except following the cracks on the cement floors and counting bricks on the wall.