KADE
20
As we pull up the gravel-lined drive, I notice the flickering of the porch light as it illuminates the lone figure perched on the old swing.
Fuck. I wasn’t expecting Grandma Jo to witness our arrival. What the hell is she doing up? In a few short hours, the sun’ll rise, and the last place she should be is on the front porch, ready to scold her adult grandsons for sneaking around as if we’re two ill-mannered teens who broke her damn rules.
Is that a… Jesus Christ. Most grannies would wield a wooden spoon, ours has a double-barreled shotgun by her side, and if I had to guess, it’s locked and loaded.
“Shit,” Rhett curses under his breath when he notices the head of our welcome-home committee. His gaze snaps to me. “How the hell are we supposed to explain this?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.” Josephine Rivers is quick on the uptake. She’ll have questions and demand answers. I can hardly say, Sorry, Grams. I’m pretty fucking sure my not-girlfriend, Sage, bludgeoned her dad in the head with a barrel-racing trophy. D’ya mind if she spends the night in my bed?
“You know as well as I do she won’t take avoidance as an answer, Kade.” Rhett states the obvious, doing fuck all to ease the newfound tension clinging to every fiber of this cab.
My gaze rests on Sage. She’s nestled against my chest, wild hair concealing her face as she uses me as a giant pillow. I’d avoided my brother’s stares when we left Lilac Meadows and pulled my wildflower across the bench seat and onto my lap. Within seconds, she was curling into me like a needy kitten, and then like fucking magic, it was lights-out. The fact that she’s comfortable enough to let her guard down when she’s in my arms does something to me I can’t explain. I’d do anything to protect this girl.
I’m not the warm and fuzzy kinda guy who spews declarations of love and lifetimes. I’m possessive, erratic, and pretty damn sure my morals are divided across two personas.
For her, I’d risk toeing the line between Kade and The Gambler. For her, and her alone, I’d happily allow the monster in me to wreak havoc, let him rattle the cage, then set him free so he can chase the ones who haunt her away for good .
I’ve already killed one man with my bare hands, and before morning arrives, I’ll have disposed of another. All. For. Her. Should that scare me? Probably. Does it? Absolutely fucking not.
Call me unhinged, say I’m deranged… it doesn’t matter. Because Sage Everett feels safe with me, and after watching her claw her way through a hell-ridden life, being the anchor that keeps her from drifting into the darkness is my new prophecy.
Rhett slows to a stop in front of our house and from the corner of my eye, I see our grandma rise from her perch. I draw in a breath before slowly exhaling. I’ve never brought a woman home, and the fact that this one isn’t conscious is questionable, even for me. “Open the door for me, would you?”
Rhett nods as he climbs out and rounds the hood of the truck. Shifting slightly, I gently maneuver Sage until I have a steady hold of her. The door clips open with a pop, and I slip from the passenger side, clinging to my wilted wildflower.
With the sudden movement, Sage stirs in my grip, semi-awake.
“Ssh.” I lower my mouth to her ear and whisper assurance. “We’re back at Black River. Go back to sleep, baby. I got you.”
Her response is a muffled Hm-hmm , eyes remaining closed while her arms latch around my neck as she snuggles closer.
Careful not to wake her further, I ascend the few porch steps that lead to the front door, ignoring the watchful glare from the woman who played a huge part in raising me. Right when I think she’s about to let us sweep past her, no questions asked, she strikes.
“Kade Nathaniel Rivers,” she scolds, gun swinging toward me, her tone edged with a warning that would have sent twelve-year-old Kade running across the fields. “Put that girl to bed, then get your butt back down here. You have some explaining to do.”
Rhett, the poor bastard, tries to escape her wrath by following close behind. “Rhett Jameson Rivers, where in the fresh hell are you going? Sit your puny ass down.”
His eyes widen, shooting me a hurry-the-fuck-back look. I nod, and scurry from the porch as if my boots were on fire.
Seconds later, I’m up the stairs and pushing into my bedroom. With a gentleness I don’t usually possess, I ease a sleeping Sage onto my bed and cover her up with my quilt. I stand there, watching as she sinks into my mattress and drags the covers up to her chin. Fuck, she’s beautiful. A delicate and dangerous angel.
What I’d give to climb in next to her and pull her into my arms, only that’s not a fucking option—not when there is a mess that needs to be cleaned up before anyone finds out what she did. I can’t risk leaving Ridge’s body rotting for long.
Bending at the waist, I lean across the bed and brush stray strands of hair from her face. “Sleep tight, Wildflower. The Gambler will make sure your nightmares can’t ever haunt you again.”
Placing a kiss on her forehead, I pull back until my gaze lands on the chip that resides on my nightstand. Before I can stop myself, I reach for it, a smile curling on my lips. Some days I’m a reaper, tonight I’m an undertaker.
As I make my way downstairs, I hear whispered voices coming from the open-plan kitchen. Following the muttered sounds, I find Rhett leaning against the sink with a cup of something, most likely coffee, in his hand while Grandma is propped on one of the island stools, gaze fixed on her eldest grandson. As I draw closer, the old wood floorboards creak, drawing their attention toward me.
“Glad you could finally join us, boy. Now would ya mind taking a seat and tellin’ me why that pretty little Everett is sleepin’ in your bed?”
Over her shoulder, Rhett shoots me a glance that says more than words ever could. Don’t lie, she’ll smell the deceit like a bloodhound does a hare. Omit, but don’t fucking lie.
Following his silent advice, I tell her a half-truth, leaving out all the gory details. “Sage has had a hard couple of weeks and needs a safe place to crash.”
Her right brow raises so high it almost tangles in her hairline. “I may have been born at night, kid, but it wasn’t last night. In case you’ve forgotten, my bedroom is off the living room… and I heard part of the phone call before you two rushed out the door, John Cena pact firmly in place.”
My face must mirror my thoughts because she continues, “Oh, don’t give me that look. Before your mama and daddy died, you still lived in my house, under my roof. These walls, they talk more than you know. Now”—her face turns more serious—“if you boys are gonna need an alibi, I’m gonna need the whole story. So, start at the beginning.”
Over the next fifteen minutes, we catch her up to speed, with no detail left out—at least the ones Rhett and I are aware of. Finally, when we get to the part about the lack of life left in Ridge’s body, she releases the disappointed breath she’d been holding.
“You know…” She pauses, bringing her coffee cup—which I am pretty damn sure is laced with whiskey—to her lips. Her eyes narrow, thoughts dancing in the wrinkles forming on her forehead. Rhett and I remain silent, waiting. Finally, her cup lands on the countertop with a clunk. “I never liked that rotten son of a bitch. They say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, but Ridge, he sprung from the poisonous branch—every ounce of his father, that one.” Her chest rises as she inhales. “I tried to warn your daddy about him all those years ago, but Lord rest his soul, he didn’t listen to me. I’m glad that girl up stairs is rid of him. One less devil creating hell on earth.”
Rhett shifts against the counter, his knuckles whitening around his coffee cup. “All right,” he exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “We know why it had to be done, but what the hell do we do now? Lucky for us, he’s due to be out of town for the week, but after that, his staff will notice his absence. We can’t just sit on this and hope nobody asks questions.”
Grandma Jo hums, the sound low and knowing. “You’re right. Thankfully, I’ve got an idea.”
Me too, Grams. Me too. But I doubt we’re the same level of deranged, Josephine.
She leans forward, resting her elbows on the counter, her sharp eyes scanning between the two of us. “First, you go back to Lilac Meadows. Clean up the house. Once you think it’s clean, clean it some more. You don’t want some nosy bastard sniffing around and finding anything that raises suspicion.”
Solid advice. The last thing we need is to leave any evidence behind, but from what I saw beyond the upheaval of Sage’s room was that she got one good, clean crack of that barrel-racing trophy against his temple, and Ridge Everett hit the floor.
Done. Curtain call. Dead as the hell he crawled back to.
Sage? She isn’t a cold-blooded killer. She didn’t do it for the hell of it. She did it because she had to. She did it because Ridge was never gonna stop coming for her, because if she hadn’t ended him, he sure as fuck would’ve been the end of her.
But the problem with a corpse is… Well. It’s a fucking corpse. And in this town, where everyone’s got their nose so far up everyone else’s ass crack, it won’t take long before someone starts asking where Ridge Everett is.
“And once that’s done?” I ask, forcing my mind back to the issue at hand.
Grandma Jo grins. A slow, creeping, I’ve-done-this-before kind of look that leaves me wondering how well I really know her. “Here’s what you’re gonna do. Take Ridge’s truck up near the river, by the waterfall where Lucy and Jonah died.”
Rhett stiffens beside me, his shoulders going tight. The place is haunted as shit, and we all know it. Not that I care. A ghost would have to be real fucking bold to haunt me.
“The anniversary of their deaths is in a few days,” she continues. “If anyone finds Ridge’s truck up there, they’re gonna assume he jumped. Everyone knows he was never the same after Jonah died. He’s been spiraling for years, and it wouldn’t shock a damn soul if they thought he finally gave in to the ghosts in his head.”
Goddamn. It’s like watching a master at work. Maybe I’m more like my grandma than I thought.
Rhett exhales. “That could actually work.”
“Yeah,” I say, lips twitching. “Real poetic justice.” And convenient as hell. If I were a more sentimental man, I might even call it fate. But let’s be real—fate didn’t put Ridge in the ground. My wildflower did.
Grandma Jo lifts a brow. “It won’t mean shit if someone stumbles over his body. Which brings me to my next question—what are you gonna do with him?”
Rhett grimaces. “We can’t just bury him here. This is a ranch, not a fucking graveyard.”
Debatable.
It’s not like Ridge would be the first man to get a one-way ticket to an unmarked plot of dirt on this property. The soil around these parts will fucking thrive now.
My gaze flickers to Rhett for a second, just long enough to catch the subtle clench of his jaw.
“You boys aren’t thinking big enough,” Grandma Jo continues, snapping me out of my little trip down murder memory lane. She waves a hand, taking a long sip of coffee. “People go missing on ranches all the time, kid. But you’re right, digging a hole isn’t always the best way to go about things.”
Something gleams in her gaze, something coolly calculating and ruthless, and I know I’m about to fall a little more in love with this psychotic old woman.
“No body, no crime,” she finishes.
Ohhh. Oh, I like where this is going. I tilt my head, feigning ignorance. “So what are you suggesting?”
She sets down her cup, straightening her shoulders. “ We put his body in the wood chipper, dump it into the compost pile, then take the spreader and spray it throughout the field. Potatoes go in this afternoon, so by the time someone comes sniffing around, Ridge will be part of next season’s harvest.”
It’s official… I fucking adore this woman.
Rhett lets out a strangled sound. “Jesus Christ. What is wrong with this fuckin’ family?”
“That’s… wow.” I exhale a low whistle. Effective. Efficient. Beautiful, even. If I weren’t already the one responsible for Toby’s eternal dirt nap, I’d almost feel jealous I didn’t come up with this plan myself.
Grandma Jo shrugs, completely unfazed by my admiration. “It’s practical.”
Rhett looks at me, waiting for a normal human reaction, but he should really know better by now. I’m already imagining the logistics. Wood chipper—easy. Compost pile—manageable. The spreader— in-fucking-spired .
Maybe this is what they mean when they say love makes you do crazy things.
“How do you even know how to do this?” Rhett asks, his voice an octave higher than usual, like he’s just realizing we were raised by a woman who absolutely has bodies in her past.
Grandma Jo smirks. “Boy, I’ve been around these back roads a time or two. And besides, you know how I love me a true crime documentary. ”
I choke on a laugh, covering it with a cough. I love her. I love her so goddamn much.
She waves a hand. “Now, I’ll take care of Sage while you two handle this.”
I straighten, instantly on edge at the mention of her name. “Make sure she knows she’s not alone.”
Something dangerous flickers in Grandma Jo’s eyes. “Don’t you worry about that.” She pats my cheek, firm and knowing, like she already understands how deep I’m in. “You boys go on and get this done. I’ll make sure that girl upstairs doesn’t have to worry about a damn thing.”
I exhale, letting her words settle before looking at Rhett.
This is it. No turning back.
He hesitates. Just for a second. Just long enough for me to smirk.
“Well?” I ask, already grabbing my coat. “You coming, or am I running the wood chipper alone?”
Rhett groans, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Fucking hell.” But he follows like the good boy that he is.
With a final nod to Grandma Jo, we head out the door.
Time to clean up. Time to make Sage’s daddy disappear. Time for Ridge Everett to pay The Gambler.
We make it back to the ranch as the sun is rising—the sky soft with pinks and oranges, the early morning light stretching long shadows across the land.
It would almost be peaceful—if not for the fact that we just spent the last several hours staging a fake suicide, scrubbing a crime scene until it gleamed, and hauling a dead man’s remains back here like a particularly unwanted delivery.
Rhett doesn’t say a word as he parks near the barn, and I don’t blame him. It’s been a long fucking night. His hands are locked so tight on the steering wheel that his knuckles are white, like if he lets go, he’ll lose whatever shred of sanity he’s clinging to.
I pop the truck door open and hop out, rolling my shoulders.
“This is where it gets fun,” I say, stretching my arms overhead like I’m about to do some light cardio instead of feeding a corpse through industrial machinery.
Rhett drags his hands down his face. He looks like shit. “Kade, there is something very wrong with you.”
I smirk. “That’s not breaking news, brother.”
His jaw twitches, but he doesn’t argue. Because we both know he’d be as guilty as I am if we get caught.
I move to the truck bed and lower the tailgate. The tarp-wrapped meat sack formerly known as Ridge Everett shifts slightly from the movement, his dead weight pressing toward the edge like he’s eager for his final ride.
I glance toward the barn. The wood chipper sits in wait, an open-mouthed beast, hungry for flesh and bone.
I look back at Rhett and grin. “Ready to play funeral assistant?”
He exhales, shaking his head. “Jesus.”
I slap the truck bed. “Nah, just Kade.”
Unwrapping Ridge is a process. The tarp peels back in sticky wet slurps, revealing the mess underneath. His skin has gone gray, tinged with hints of deep purple where the blood has settled. His skull, caved in from Sage’s trophy swing, has started to ooze, the wound looking more like a crushed fruit than a human head.
A long, drawn-out squelch fills the air as I roll him off the tarp and onto the dirt.
Rhett dry heaves, and I sigh. “For fuck’s sake, man up.”
He gags again, covering his mouth. “I think I just saw his brain move.”
I glance down. He’s not wrong. Ridge’s softened skull makes a grotesque little shift, like whatever’s left of his brain matter is sloshing around inside.
I whistle. “Damn. That ain’t normal.”
Rhett gives me a look. “None of this is fucking normal.”
“Perspective, brother. Somewhere, right now, a guy is chopping onions at the local diner for minimum wage at five in the morning.” I gesture at Ridge. “This? This is art. ”
Rhett stares at me like he’s trying to mentally detach from the conversation.
I grin and grab Ridge by the arms. “All right, let’s get to it.”
I drag him toward the open maw of the chipper. It’s a mean old machine—rusted in spots, missing most of its safety labels, and loud enough to wake the dead. Well… not Ridge dead.
“Kade…” Rhett looks at me, waiting for the go-ahead.
I shove Ridge forward, feet first. The chipper roars to life. What happens next is a goddamn symphony of horror.
The blades catch on Ridge’s boots first, chewing through the leather like a starved animal. Then?—
CRACK.
His ankles snap like fucking twigs.
Rhett makes a strangled sound.
I hum. “Now we’re cookin’.”
A wet, sloppy crunch follows as the chipper grinds up his calves, muscle and tendon being stripped apart in bloody ribbons. Thick, red mist sprays from the other end, painting the barn walls in a fresh coat of horror.
It smells like copper, sweat, and raw meat left out in the sun.
The machine growls, grinding through Ridge’s thighs. A chunk of flesh gets caught in the gears before the blades shear it clean off, sending a wet slap of flesh flying past Rhett’s face. He makes a garbled choking noise.
I grin. “Careful. That almost hit you.”
He doesn’t answer. He’s too busy staring in abject horror.
I return my attention to Ridge, or what’s left of him.
The machine is angry now. His spine resists—for half a second—before there’s a horrific snap and he’s dragged through, rib cage chewed up like it’s nothing but a pile of twigs.
His skull is the final challenge. It catches in the blades. Rattles. Then— BOOM. It explodes like a fucking water balloon, sending bits of brain, scalp, and bone shards across the barn floor.
An eyeball lands near Rhett’s boot with a soft, wet plop, and he stumbles back like it’s a live grenade. I wipe a smear of something that is definitely not water off my cheek.
I eye the green pallor of Rhett’s face before chuckling. “Well. That was dramatic.”
By the time we’re done, Ridge Everett is unrecognizable pulp.
The pile of gore steaming at the base of the compost heap looks like something that shouldn’t exist outside of a fucking nightmare.
I clap my hands together. “All right. Skid steer time.”
Rhett looks haunted, but he goes along with it. He trudges toward the loader—a hulking, hydraulic bastard used to transfer compost from one pile to another .
Only today, it’s being used for man mulch.
The machine hums to life, hoisting Ridge’s juiced-up carcass into the spreader. The tractor rumbles beneath me, and Ridge Everett becomes fertilizer for next season’s crop yield.
I steer the machine out onto the potato field, spraying his remains in a fine, nutrient-dense mist. His flesh, bones, and brain matter settle into the soil, sinking deep into the earth that will consume him.
Rhett watches from the headland in stunned silence as the last of Ridge Everett disappears.
Sweet dreams, motherfucker.