CHAPTER 6 THE CABIN
Watch your back. I don’t trust this guy.
Dane’s last words to Gabe as he hugged him before Gabe got into the car with the deputy. He sat in the passenger seat, his senses sharpened as the deputy drove them through the city. The man’s face was mostly in shadow, his eyes fixed straight ahead, his hands lightly gripping the steering wheel.
“This is honorable of you,” the deputy said softly, breaking the heavy silence. “Trading yourself for your friends.”
“It’s not honorable,” Gabe mumbled. “It’s what anyone would do for the people they love.”
“Anyone?” Deputy Roland chuffed low, eyes on the street before them.
“What?”
“It just seems, as much as Henry… Cole… claims to love you; he would have been the one to trade himself.”
“He tried,” Gabe replied defensively. “But the psychopath wanted me , knowing it would hurt Cole more than taking him.” Gabe frowned. “You know this. Why are you casting shadows on Cole? I thought you were his friend?”
“I am,” the deputy murmured. “And I didn’t realize that he had tried to trade himself for your friends. I apologize.”
Gabe wasn’t sure whether to believe him.
His impression was that the deputy knew about the situation—that he was present when Cole told Dane and Devlin that the psycho wanted Gabe.
Maybe he was wrong about that, but he wasn’t mistaken about the warning tone in Dane’s voice or his own gut feeling.
Something about this guy made him uneasy.
Maybe because of Dane’s warning, but it felt like more than that…
something grinding in the pit of Gabe’s stomach, trying to tell him something his mind couldn’t quite grasp.
“What was it like for Cole as a kid?” Gabe asked quietly. “I mean, before his dad turned his life into a living hell.”
“He didn’t tell you anything about his past?”
“No.”
“How long have you been together?”
“We’ve known each other for almost five years,” Gabe said. “But we’ve only been married for about a year.”
“And he never told you anything about his past?”
“No.”
The deputy snorted. “That didn’t seem strange to you? Didn’t you ask?”
Gabe sighed. “Most of the people in our family come from traumatic backgrounds. No one asks questions unless the person offers details.” He shook his head.
“I didn’t care about his past. I loved him, and that’s all that mattered.
I had a shady past, too, and he didn’t press me about it, either. It’s called respect.”
“And now?”
“And now what?” Gabe looked at the man.
“Does it matter now?” Roland asked. “His past? Now that you know the blood of a serial killer—a serial rapist —runs through his veins? Doesn’t that give you pause for thought?” He chuffed. “Just saying.”
Gabe stared at him through narrowed eyes.
“No, it doesn’t. I know what kind of man Cole is—and isn’t.
I’ve seen him do some pretty fucking heroic things.
There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for the people he loves—or pretty much for anyone in need of help.
I don’t give a fuck about his bloodline, he’s a good man, a good guy, and he always will be. ”
Roland nodded. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to imply anything. I was just asking.”
Didn’t mean to imply anything— bullshit. “You may have known Cole as a child, but you know nothing about him now. And this fucking psychopath? He doesn’t know shit about Cole or his family. He may be a brutal bastard, but so are we when someone threatens us. Maybe he should be worried about us.”
Byrne swallowed the urge to laugh out loud.
The arrogant fucker had no idea who he was dealing with— what he was dealing with.
But he would soon; they all would. Then that puffed-up ego would shrivel like a cock in ice water, and they would understand, finally, that this was the end for them.
Their “heroics” weren’t enough to save them this time, not even with the big bad gangsters backing them up.
“Let’s hope he hasn’t already harmed your friends,” Byrne said, summoning a note of apprehension and sympathy.
“He better fucking not have touched them,” Gabe muttered.
“And what if he has?” Byrne asked as he struggled to suppress his amusement. “Touched them, I mean. What will you do?”
“I’ll fucking kill him.”
Byrne nodded. “How?”
“What?”
“How will you kill him? He has the upper hand, the leverage. What exactly will you do if he’s already harmed them?”
The man stared at him, eyes steely beneath a pinched brow. “I’ll find a way.”
Byrne breathed deeply, exhaling slowly, and nodded. “I believe you.” He didn’t. “I got the impression the boy, Abel, is pretty special to you and Cole.”
“Yeah,” Gabe whispered, a note of anguish in his voice.
He’s really fucking scared for the kid. Good.
“Why is that? Did something happen between the three of you?” Byrne had learned some details about Henry’s life and his friends, but not all of them. He only knew that Henry and his husband adored Abel and were possibly in love with him, but he didn’t know how that had happened.
Gabe sighed. “It’s… personal.”
“Of course. Didn’t mean to pry.” The details didn’t matter anyway. The main thing was that the kid meant everything to them—and taking him apart, piece by piece, in front of them would be incredibly satisfying.
His cock twitched in his shorts when he thought about the look on Henry’s face when the true horror finally struck him.
Back in the day, he’d hoped his dad would turn Henry over to him for an hour or so—maybe a day or two—before they butchered the little brat.
Rather than kill the boy, his dad had tried to train him, hoping for a better son than Byrne.
Even when the kid nearly killed him, he still wouldn’t admit that Byrne was his superior heir.
All these years, Byrne festered that rage; a fury that wouldn’t fade until Henry was dead.
Until his dad acknowledged that he wasn’t one of them.
He should never have been born, and wouldn’t have if his dad had kept his fucking promise and butchered that bitch the day he brought her home.
And Byrne had thought he’d done exactly that, until…
···
The cabin was small, with a single room and a loft.
There were no indoor toilets, just a nasty outhouse out back.
The cabin had running water from a natural flow spring, but no hot water as there was no electricity.
A tin, pot-belly stove sat in the center of the room, its rounded “belly” blackened.
The boy had seen stoves like that lit up red hot, as if the fires within would burn right through the tin sides.
The only furniture was a couple of wooden chairs and a small wooden table with knicks all over the top as if someone had used it for a chopping block to cut kindling or chop small pieces of firewood.
This was a hunting cabin, and this was the first time his dad had brought him there.
“Are we going hunting?” the boy asked hopefully. He’d killed animals before, but never hunted them. Or maybe it wasn’t animals they would be hunting. His heart beat faster, excitement surging through him. “Are we gonna hunt the whore?”
His dad grunted and walked over to the stove, squatting down. He opened the door and looked inside. “No,” he grumbled. “I already took care of her.”
“What?” The boy frowned. “But you said we could kill her together, when you were done with her.” His hands curled into fists as anger and disappointment burned inside him. “You promised.”
“You can help me with the next one.” The man picked up a stove shovel and scraped ashes from inside, into a small metal bucket. He stood up and used the shovel to smack the pipe. The sound of loosened debris rattled down the pipe.
“I wanted her,” the boy pouted.
His dad turned and looked at him dully. “You didn’t deserve her,” he said bluntly. “You’re too messy. When you learn to control your urges, maybe I’ll get you another nice, pretty one.”
The boy glared at his dad, then looked around the dingy cabin. “Why are we here?”
Backing away from the stove, his dad said, “This is where you’re going to learn to control yourself.”
“What?”
“You’re going to stay here and practice,” his dad said. “There’s plenty of wildlife to practice on. And if you show progress with that, maybe I’ll bring you a pretty girl.”
“Or a pretty boy? I like them, too.”
His dad gave him a dry look and shoved past him, exiting the cabin. The boy looked around the cabin again, then followed him outside.
“How long are we gonna stay here?”
“You,” his dad stated, “are going to stay for as long as it takes to get your shit together.”
“Me…?” The boy frowned. “You’re gonna leave me here… alone?” He wasn’t scared—nothing out in the woods was as scary and dangerous as him—but he didn’t understand why his dad would leave him.
“There will be someone here with you,” the man said. “A caretaker that I hired to look after the cabin. He’ll take care of your basic needs.”
“Who is he?”
“Nobody of importance.”
The boy just stared at him, thoughts churning in his head. Dark thoughts.
His dad narrowed his eyes. “Don’t kill him. Or you may just die up here.” There was little concern in his voice, as if he didn’t care either way.
“Aren’t you coming back?”
“From time to time. But the visits will be few and far between, so make sure the caretaker keeps breathing, or there will be no one to keep firewood in the cabin or to feed you.”
“Does he know why I’m here?”
“He thinks you’re here to learn to track and hunt. He’ll teach you that. He’ll be gone during the afternoons, so use that time to practice. And make sure you get rid of the evidence.”
“What if he finds out what I’m doing?”
His dad looked at him dully.
The boy smiled. “Do I get to kill him then?”
“Don’t let him find out.”
The boy’s smile held; was that a yes?
When the caretaker arrived, the boy took an instant dislike to him.
His bearded face and shaggy eyebrows concealed most of his face, except for his beady eyes that kept looking at the boy like he wanted to devour him.
The boy wasn’t afraid of him; he could defend himself.
But why would his dad leave him with someone like that?
After a brief conversation with the caretaker, his dad reached into his truck, grabbed the boy’s bag, and tossed it to him.
“Be good,” he stressed. “And listen to Bill, do what he says.” That was it, then he was gone.
No typical dad shit; no hugs, no I love you and no I’ll miss you.
The boy didn’t care about that, but when his dad left, it felt like this was goodbye. Like maybe he wasn’t coming back.
But why wouldn’t he come back? His dad needed him, needed his help.
Sometimes it seemed like his dad hated him—especially the times he whipped him raw.
It seemed to make him mad that the boy liked the whippings, so he whipped him harder, trying to make him cry.
The boy never cried. Once, he tied him to the pole in the barn and beat him with his fists until the boy’s face was a bloody mess and his body just one big bruise.
He still didn’t cry.
After the fist beating, he thought maybe his dad was proud of him for taking it so well, because he never beat him like that again. But his dad wasn’t proud.
“Why don’t we get on inside and get you settled in, boy?” caretaker Bill said, his voice rough on the ears like he had gravel in his throat.
The boy looked away from the dirt road where his dad’s truck had driven away, and turned cool eyes on the caretaker. “My name isn’t boy.”
The man—it was hard to tell how old he was, but at least as old as the boy’s dad—grunted a short laugh. “What name should I call you?”
Fuck off, that’s what. “Byrne.”
“Burn? Like how a fire burns?”
The boy’s face twitched. “No. B-y-r-n-e. Byrne.”
“All right then, Byrne,” the man drawled callously. “Let’s get you settled in.”
Byrne followed him back to the cabin, eyes scorching the man’s back.
That night, when the dirty bastard tried to fuck him, Byrne cut off his cock, shoved it down his throat, and proceeded to gut him. It was messy. His dad didn’t like his messes, but Byrne liked the mess. It made him feel warm inside… warm and excited.
Early the next morning, before the sun rose, Byrne hiked off the mountain, following the dirt road. It took him over a week to find his dad, and when he did, the man was living with the whore he’d said he killed. Not just living with her—married to her.
And expecting a child of their own.