26. Colton
TWENTY-SIX
COLTON
I’ve always been a patient soul. It’s something my mama told me when I was real young, one of the only things I can remember her saying. I can still hear her soft voice, crisp and clear, in my mind. She was feeding Carsyn at the time and I’d really wanted her to read me a book.
Goodnight Moon.
It was our favorite.
I admit, I don’t think about my mama as much as I probably should. She’s been gone so many years, life keeps moving, that’s just kind of how life goes. I loved her so much, like every little boy loves their mama.
“Carsyn is so hungry tonight,” she’d said, stroking her fingers through my hair as I curled up into bed next to her.
“I’ll wait,” I told her quietly, not wanting to disrupt the soft moment.
She pressed her lips to my head and whispered, “Such a patient soul, my sweet boy.”
I think of those words now. I think of her.
She would be horrified if she knew my father took money from a man who trafficks women. Then again, had she lived, my father wouldn’t have surrendered to booze and whatever else. I roll onto my side in the dark cellar, the metal frame of the bed squeaking as my eyes adjust to the new darkness on this side of the room.
Maybe my father would still have become what he was, maybe nothing would be different. I’ll never know, but I understand my father’s grief more than ever, having spent a month in this room.
When Forrest forced himself on Kin in front of me, kicked her and took things from her no man should ever take from a woman—much less a father from a daughter—fear flashed through me. What if there was finality in his actions? What if he hurt her so badly that he killed her?
Despite the fact we’d been apart for years, the idea of Kinleigh being in a box in the ground threatened to break me. At just the idea of it, I couldn’t breathe.
My father had to raise two children amidst that kind of pain.
And then I left him, too.
I turn on the cot again, replaying all of my life choices as I anxiously await the low hum of the grandfather clock upstairs. At night, if I’m awake, I can nearly feel its heavy chime drifting through the floor. I reach under the pillow, fisting the bolt cutters and the syringes wrapped in a sock.
Adrenaline builds, stirring in my veins, ready to set me on my feet. I’m ready for this. I feel capable. It’s been over a week since I’ve been beaten with voracity, and I ate today, and more than any of that shit, Kinleigh’s readiness gives me more power than anything.
It feels like she’s been hopeless until my capture, and me being here is the first chance she sees to put an end to it all.
I can’t fail her.
With the demise of the sex trafficking operation, I can get my family property and land back in Carsyn’s hands.
Guilt knocks into me when I think of Carsyn and Nash, stuck at the house, wondering what the fuck happened to me . I failed her when I left, and I promised myself I’d fix this mess for her. It won’t repay the years she lived virtually alone since my father was never good company. But it could help.
I haven’t even thought of any of that in weeks. I’ve been so preoccupied with getting me and Kinleigh out of here, Beckett Farms took a back seat to captivity.
But it’s still on the list.
A growing list of problems, caused by Forrest Conway, left for me to solve.
Wanting to ready my mind for what’s in store, I turn onto my back once again and stare up at the ceiling. I run through the plan one more time.
After the clock chimes, I’ll slowly make my way up the cellar stairs, the bolt cutters in the front pocket of the coat I’m borrowing, the syringes in the opposite pocket. Kinleigh said the weapons and the cell phone are in the barn, and that Murphy is saddled and waiting. All I have to do is get across the pasture to the barn, and in less than two minutes, I should be riding toward those coordinates. Kinleigh believes them to be somewhere along the northern property line, where my father’s land meets his. I know that part of the land, and I know it well.
So does Kinney.
That was our first spot to ride out to after school and tie dandelions together. She’d loop them around my neck and put them behind my ears, and though I felt silly being covered in tiny yellow flowers, the smile she’d wear was all worth it.
“Those are dreams that have come true,” she whispered as she tied the final flower to the chain of them around my neck. “Dandelions are wishing flowers first, and once the wish is made, it grows into this yellow flower, and that’s how you know, someone’s dream came true.”
I knew that wasn’t true. But I loved the imagination and beauty she so clearly carried in her heart for all the tiny details in the world around her.
Once I’m out, if the shipping container is there, covered in broken camphor branches and brush, or if it’s buried, either way, I’ll let them know we’re going to save them, that everything will be okay. I’ll ride home, grab Carsyn and Nash, and ride back, with triple the weapons, and we’ll free them.
Then, as I promised, I’m coming back for Kinleigh.
Upstairs, the clock chimes.
Here we go.
The doorframe is likely imprinted on my palms by now, I’ve been standing in the threshold so damn long. Peering around the kitchen, I wait until my eyes and brain can process the darkness. I wait, and I listen.
From upstairs, even with his door shut, Forrest’s alcohol-induced sleep tears through the farmhouse walls. Loud, picture-shattering snores. I swear to fuck, I don’t know how Kinney ever sleeps in this house.
Then again, with everything he does to her, she likely never sleeps well. The thought of her has my boots moving, and before I know it, I’m slowly walking the length of the living room wall, adjacent to the hearth. Hooking my gloved finger in the curtains, I tug them back, and squint to peer into the vast pastures. The moon melts into the gauzy, purple sky, leaving an ethereal glow atop the long blades of grass far off near the stable.
Kinleigh would love the sky tonight.
Briefly, I consider running up, taking her, tossing her over my shoulder and promising her we’ll get away safely. Promising her I could get us to the barn and on Murphy and back to my house without anyone realizing.
But she’s right. It would be too much extra commotion and risk—and if this plan comes to fruition, I’ll be back for her before anyone realizes what’s happened. Carsyn and Nash are waiting for me, they must be, and everything else is ready.
With a quick glance up the stairs, where her closed bedroom door lies in darkness, I reach for where the promise ring should rest against my collarbone. For years it’s been there. It’s not there now, because I took it off and left it underneath my pillow for her.
I want her to have a piece of us to hang onto in the event that I don’t make it out.
My stomach hollows at the terrifying thought that I may get killed in this pursuit and disappoint Carsyn, let Kinleigh be abused by Forrest for the rest of her life—to fail everyone left who loves me.
There’s no sense in focusing on the risk. I know the goddamn risk. And I know that I have to be successful.
There is no choice but success.
From my periphery, there’s slight movement on the far side of the house, at the end of the wraparound porch. It’s old and creaks, but because I’m inside, I can’t hear much. Ducking, I move through the house until I’m in the mudroom, peering through the windows facing the porch.
Both of the guards are there, chatting.
My nostrils flare as I finger the sock of paralytics shoved into my coat pocket. A lot of good they’re doing protecting the back of the house if they’re both here. Forrest can’t even hire capable guards, how he’s kept a trafficking operation going this long, I don’t know.
Quickly, I reach into the sock and grab two of the four syringes and place one in each palm. I practice lifting my arms, seeing if I can stab two men at once. Though if I miss or if one gets turned against me, I’m done.
As if God is listening, the men disperse, the shorter of the two veering off to the back of the property. There’s a chair by the door, and the tall guard takes a seat, pulling a partially smoked cigar from his coat pocket. His head tips back as an orange flame flickers, leaving the end of the cigar alive with a small ember. He takes a few puffs, and I don’t wait any longer. I bite down on one syringe and place my hand on the door.
I have to move faster than I ever have.
One long breath in my nose and a small exhale out and I’m ready. Yanking open the door, he turns his head, ambling to his feet, his lit cigar toppling to the deck. He reaches for something at his waist. Our eyes meet just as I stab the syringe into his throat, filling him full of the paralytic in under fifteen seconds. There is no scuffle. He blinks, he croaks, and I help him into the chair, avoiding the distinct thud of an unconscious person hitting the ground.
Quietly, I move along the perimeter of the house, urgency searing my heels now that I’ve begun. Peering around the old siding, I see the smaller of the two guards, this one standing. He’s got his phone out, and from the light coming off the screen, I can see he’s got an earphone in, and a boxing match plays on the screen.
He’s engrossed, and I walk, slowly, knowing if he turns his head—nothing stands between us. He’ll have time to grab his gun. He’d have plenty of time to pull the trigger.
Yet, I get to him undetected, and only after the syringe is in his throat does he realize what’s happened. The boxing match pauses as the phone drops onto the deck, earphones scattering off the edge into the lawn. I take him by the elbow and lower him to the ground as his eyes fall closed.
They’d have killed me had they spotted me.
But I saw no need to kill them. And I’ll keep the final two syringes with me in case I need to use them when I come back. But, if all goes to plan, I should be back before the first dose wears off.
Quietly, slipping off the porch, I run. I run faster than I’ve run in years, remembering all the times Carsyn and I used to run through the pastures after school, all the times Kinleigh and I ran like crazy after one another as the sun set, a smile pasted on her face as I reached out and ran. So many good memories here a lifetime ago.
I push into the barn, focusing on the present. Murphy is saddled and ready, just the way Kin promised. Shrugging out of my stolen coat, I pull the holsters from the beams and put them on, redressing after. I power on the phone and open the map, realizing that it’s down to the last forty-three percent of battery. I climb onto Murphy and ride her out, taking a moment to pause behind the barn to check the coordinates.
Number after number, I enter them into the map app on the phone and wait until a distance generates. As I wait, I listen, peering around the side of the barn, back to the main house.
Lights are still off.
Two lumps still lie motionless on the deck.
I steady my breathing. Everything is okay so far. Everything is on track.
A moment later, the location, slow with cellular bar service, populates.
That sick son of a bitch.
The map shows a location on Beckett property. With a yank of the rein, I send Murphy across the land, the red arrow on the screen guiding us—but I don’t need a guide.
I know just where he’s put the container.
The night air stings the still-healing cuts on my face making my skin tight and uncomfortable. I whip the reins, giving Murphy a boost of speed, more eager than ever to free the women and get back to Kin.
I ride on, my mind already working up what I’m going to tell Carysn and Nash, how I’m going to explain what’s happened and all of the things I discovered—and do it all quickly, so we can get to the captive women.
Peering down at the phone, I swipe my thumb over the screen, bringing it to life. I’m close, less than a quarter of a mile away. I knew that before checking the gps, though. I can smell the leaves of the camphor tree, the stillness of night heightening most of my senses. An owl sounds off in the distance as Murphy’s hooves clatter beneath me, the lulling motion of riding comforting my nerves.
Finally, the phone tells me I have arrived. To the untrained eye, there’s nothing to be seen. A tree. A man-made body of water nearby, with hay everywhere. The trucks load up over here sometimes, so the mad scattering of loose hay is meaningless.
Doesn’t matter, even if I haven’t lived on this land in a decade; I’m a countryman through and through, and can recognize a trap when I see one. Sliding off of Murphy, getting to my feet, I pull a weak branch off the tree and use it along the ground. I can’t shine the phone light for fear of someone in the distance picking up the faint glimmer. Instead, I move over the space that looks unnatural to me, using the branch to prod at the ground where more than an acceptable amount of hay is scattered. Neatly scattered, I might add. Nothing on a farm is done neatly. I prod at the patch of hay, and what looks in the dark to be grass clippings, finding a small tunnel that looks more like a deep hole than anything else. I drop to my stomach and lower my hand into the hole, using the light on the phone now. The battery in the phone is low and the light is sparse, but it shows me just what I’d hoped and suspected to see.
A static wheel, one of which typically comes on storm shelter doors.
Or man-made hatches.
I don’t know if I’m able to crawl down and open it but it’s something I don’t waste time figuring out. My big legs are halfway down the hole when the storage container comes into view. Mud, hay and dirt are packed in around it.From this angle I realize there’s likely only a thin layer of earth covering the top of the structure. I suppose it’s hidden well enough. After all, Forrest has yet to be caught doing this.
I rap my knuckles on the exposed metal, noting that there is hardly any space cut out of the earth to allow the door to open. They must barely be able to come in and out.
There’s rustling but no speaking. With my gloved hands caked in mud, I bite the fingers, pulling them off, using my bare hands on the old frozen wheel. One hard pull and my muscles are burning from a dehydration-triggered cramp, but I don’t have time to fail. I pull again and again, grunting my efforts as my breathing intensifies, images of Kinleigh flashing behind my eyes.
Forrest tearing her out of the fetal position and forcing her onto her back.
Forrest entering her as she lay silent and motionless, tears wetting her cheeks and the floor beneath her.
The next pull is the last. Metallic grinding sheers the silence as the door swings open. I reach into my pocket where I’d temporarily stashed the phone, and shine the light inside.
There are four women.
And a little girl.
Vomit tears up my throat and stings the back of my nose, threatening to pour out of me at the heart-wrenching discovery.
They’re filthy; their faces, feet, clothes and hands all coated in a healthy layer of grime, the inside of the container much the same. There is an orange Home Improvement bucket in the corner with a cloth draped over. I’m familiar with the bucket.
One of the women, one who reminds me of Kin with long, golden hair worn in a braid, yanks the young girl to her, pressing her little face into the crook of her neck. My eyes gravitate to the way her hand cradles the child’s head protectively, and I know that not only is this her child, but she will give her life to save her daughter.
I lift my hands in surrender, and the light at the higher angle shows new atrocities in the container.
Another woman, one I hadn’t seen before, lies in a ball on the floor.
Unmoving.
Stay focused , I repeat in my head, knowing time is limited. Kinleigh said the paralytic lasts three hours, at best, and the sun begins to rise a hair after four. I don’t have much time.
“My name is Colton Beckett. I am here to get you out of here, okay?”
Though they have every reason to be skeptical, they aren’t. One woman, her hair long and stringy, greasy and full of dirt, closes the space between us, dropping to her knees at my feet.
“Please get us out, please,” she begs, desperation etched into every line, every curve of her face.
I reach into my vest and retrieve the two loaded guns from where they were quickly stashed. “Safety is two miles out, and I can’t take everyone with me.”
I extend my hands with the guns, grips faced out, and watch as the women at my feet clamber to stand, taking both guns from me right away. She passes one to another woman, whose face is harder to see because she’s standing in the back of the shipping container.
“I’m riding back for help, for more people and more horses. Until then, you guys keep the guns and keep the hatch door open. If Forrest or any of his men come down here, shoot. The two I’ll send will whistle before they approach so you know it’s them.”
I turn, eager to get the fuck back to Carsyn and Nash so we can get these women to safety. I was kept in a cellar like a prisoner, but these women? This little girl? This is so much worse. No light. Four goddamn holes, two in the ceiling with piping going to the outside, and two in the metal door. Food is probably once a day, if that. I shake my head.
“My sister Carsyn will be back with a man named Nash.” I step back, memorizing them. “I promise, this ends tonight.” I nod toward the blonde who is taking the guns from the other woman. “You know how to use it?”
Thankfully, she nods. “We both do.”
The blonde woman cradles the automatic pistol with two hands. “How far are we from a road? A town?” she asks, nostrils flaring eagerly, as I read the subtext.
“You won’t make it. Not in the weak state you’re in. It’s six miles to the main road at least, and once they find out I’m free–”
“You’re a captive?” she asks, a deep groove forming between her eyebrows.
I tip my head back toward the direction of the main house. “I was kept in their cellar for the last month or so,” I say, tugging my shirt down to expose both the coordinates that Kinleigh wrote on me but also the marred and raw skin from the cuffs. The woman with one of the guns eyes my wrists cautiously as her shoulders settle, like giving her a loaded gun wasn’t good enough. I get that. I get that these women have no reason to trust a man ever again.
But they can trust me. I grip the metal ladder and peer into the container one last time. “I’m sending help, or I’ll be back myself. But you’ll get us all killed if you run for it. Please. One more hour.”
I get back on my horse, eager to make it back to Beckett territory, and longing to have a weapon back on my person in the event I need one. I can make due without for now—those women needed them more.
The lights are on as I ride up, and I wonder if Carsyn and Nash have been staying up on my behalf. I slide off Murphy and lead her to the garage next to my truck. Animals aren’t normally brought in here, but I can’t risk Forrest spotting her and killing her.
I push into the house through the back door, and the sound of my sister's cries surround me instantly. “Colton, Colton, Colton!” she screeches, my heavy footfalls causing the walls to shudder as I move through the mudroom to the main living space.
Pausing in the doorway, we lock eyes, her across the room from me. Tears litter her cheeks as her smile grows. She leaps into my arms. I catch her, and despite the pounds lost and the many injuries I’ve sustained since I’ve been gone, it feels too damn good to have her in my arms. I suck in her comfortable scent as she thanks God for my arrival, our embrace more emotional and tender than either of us have ever been. Finally, I lower her to the ground as she swipes beneath her eyes. From behind her, a groggy Nash appears, wearing flannel pajama pants and a TEXAS A I left the void. When Kinleigh gave me back my ring–”
She hits me as she fishes her hand into winter riding gloves, her beanie already snuggly in place beneath her cowboy hat. “I didn’t know you gave her a ring! I thought she just dumped you before graduation.”
I volley my head. “I gave her a promise ring.” I can only spare a moment of reflection. “We were happy.” I think back to our breakup, and the way she kept looking back over her shoulder, as she retreated back into her house. Looking back, I realize so much was hiding in plain sight. “He made her do it, only I didn’t know it then.”
She whistles, and as I turn my focus to the new guy—Buffalo Trails’ only not crooked law enforcement agent.
“You must be Liam,” I say, extending my hand to him.
His shake is strong, with eye contact, which puts me at ease. He reaches into his coat and produces a badge.
“I’m a deputy at the sheriff’s department in town. I’m aware of Forrest Conway’s business and I want to help you guys.” He shrugs. “But I’m sure Carsyn told you that already.”
I nod. “Yeah, but it’s nice to hear it.” I shake his hand again. “We gotta get going.”
Briefly, while I re-bandage my wrist and drink a glass of water, Carsyn fills in Liam on my escape, the plan to free the victims in the storage unit and evacuate them, while I go on to the house to retrieve Kinleigh before the guards regain consciousness and alert Forrest to what’s happening.
If that happens before we get back, he will kill her.
That has me pushing past Liam, into the night, mounting my horse. “Let’s go. We don’t have time to waste.”
I’m dying to get to Kinleigh, but the lives in that container are dependent upon us right now, too. If the guards wake, they’ll tell Forrest what happened and move the captives.
Everyone will be dead.
Liam lingers in the doorway. “I’ll stay here and prepare medical supplies for the women you bring back,” he says, looking at Nash, then myself and Carsyn.
She nods.
“Good, we’ll be back as soon as we can.” Carsyn looks through the darkness, blinking at me. “How far are we from the spot?”
“Not far at all.” My ears burn and my jaw tightens. “On our property.”
She shakes her head. “That son of a bitch.”
With that, we ride off into the cool, dark night, a shared silent prayer drifting between the three of us.
Let us get there in time, please, God.