65. Showdown
Showdown
Silas
Shadow moves beneath me like a specter, his hooves barely touching the ground as we ride hard toward the eastern edge of the property. The wind whips against my face, but I barely feel it. My focus is razor-sharp.
This is the last time I will make this ride.
The thought settles deep in my chest, heavy like the hand of judgment.
I ride for Caroline. For Kiran. For Eli.
For the land that has bound me in life and in death.
Knowing he set that fire drives the darkest parts of my soul to finish him.
Our home is safe now, but there is one last thread to cut, one final piece that must be removed to be completely sure.
Bennett Everly.
It started a year after we passed. We had just returned from the Cattlemen’s convention in Cheyenne, still carrying the dust of the road on our boots, still settling back into the rhythm of home. That was when Marcel sat Eli and me down, his face carved from stone, his voice quiet but certain.
Everly wanted the land. And he would do whatever it took to get it.
The first time I took a life, it wasn’t supposed to be permanent.
I had meant only to send a warning—a message in blood and broken bones.
But when my rope tightened around Bennett’s youngest brother’s throat, when I felt his body thrash beneath my grip, saw the desperate, panicked light fade from his eyes, something inside me shifted.
My soul had been starved for justice, and in that moment, it was fed.
And when I witnessed the aftermath, the whispered speculation, the creeping fear that settled over their camp, a sick satisfaction set in and I knew what had to be done.
One by one, I hunted them down. One by one, I took their lives. And each time, I felt the land breathe easier, felt the grip of their greed and corruption loosen just a little more.
But Bennett Everly is still standing. And until he’s gone, my mission is not complete.
Tonight, I will finish what I started.
As we near the treeline, I tighten my grip on the reins and pull back, slowing Shadow to a near crawl.
The night air is thick with tension, the scent of damp earth and pine clinging to my skin.
I guide us through the brush, the whisper of leaves shifting under hooves the only sound as we emerge into the clearing behind Bennett’s house.
Every muscle in my body is on fire, ready. My eyes scan the yard, the darkened windows, searching for any sign of movement. Nothing.
I dismount, my boots landing soundlessly on the ground, and grip the coiled rope in my hand.
The rough fibers bite into my palm, grounding me.
With steady steps, I move toward the back door, sliding the pick from my pocket.
A flick of my wrist, a twist, and the lock gives way with a muted click.
I slip inside, the air heavy with silence.
No voices. No movement. Even the spirits are absent. They must be lingering in the bunkhouse, unwilling to bear witness to what comes next.
As in life, so in death, I suppose.
I step forward, my eyes locked on the staircase ahead when suddenly, a light floods the upstairs hallway.
“Who’s there?” Bennett’s steady voice cuts through the silence .
I freeze at the base of the stairs, fingers flexing around the rope.
Low and melodic, I murmur, “Death. Death is here.”
The sharp intake of breath from above is all the confirmation I need.
He heard me.
“Get the fuck out of my house!” His voice rises, but there’s a crack in it now, a thread of something he can’t quite hide.
I place my foot on the first step. “No one leaves here alive, Bennett.” My voice is gravel, ground down by the weight of vengeance.
His footsteps pound toward the landing, and another light flicks on, spilling down the staircase. He steps into view, his eyes wild, scanning the space, searching.
“You might have taken my brothers, my hands,” he growls, reaching behind his back. The glint of metal catches the light as he pulls his gun. “But your killing stops now. Come out, you coward.”
A slow smile curves on my lips as I whisper, the words dripping from my tongue like a curse.
“Death, Bennett. Death.”
Again.
And again.
A dark mantra, a drumbeat in the suffocating silence.
His gun wavers. His eyes dart wildly. I see the tremor in his fingers, the shallow hitch in his breath.
Fear.
I welcome it.
He moves cautiously as he descends the stairs, his eyes still cutting through me as if I don’t exist. I step back, slipping soundlessly into the shadows.
He passes so close, I could reach out and feel the heat of his body, the tension humming beneath his skin.
His gun remains poised as he sweeps the space, searching.
As he moves through the house, he flips on every light, illuminating the empty rooms, his breath coming faster with each hollow space. He doesn’t know I’m right behind him. A malevolent shadow at his back, moving in sync with his every step.
He pivots toward the back door.
Now.
I tighten my grip on the rope, stretching the cord taut between my hands as I step forward, arms poised to loop it over his unsuspecting head. My breath is steady. My hands do not shake.
Voices.
A flicker in the corner of my vision pulls my gaze to the window, where figures are moving through the night. My pulse slams against my throat at what I see.
Spirits. Crossing the yard.
Bennett reaches the door before I can react, stepping onto the porch.
Fuck.
I force air into my lungs, reining in my shaking resolve, and follow him outside. The cool night air does nothing to temper the heat thrumming beneath my skin.
Six figures stand by Shadow, their presence thick, tangible, like the intensity of an oncoming storm.
“Silas.”
Lee Everly steps forward, his gaze fixed on me.
Bennett is still blind and deaf to it all. With his gun raised, his eyes dart through the darkness, oblivious to the gathering souls around him.
“Lee,” I greet, voice flat.
“We know why you’re here.”
“Then you know I’m here to finish what I started.” My voice hardens, my fingers flexing around the rope. “You experienced death at my hands. So will your brother.”
The six move as one, a single, synchronized step closer. Lee at the front.
“We can’t let you do that, Silas.”
I don’t acknowledge his words. My focus remains locked on Bennett. My voice drops, cold and unforgiving .
“Death is here, Bennett. Death is here.”
A violent shudder rips through him. His gun clatters to the wooden porch. Hands fly to his head, fingers tangling in his hair as his body shakes.
“Who are you?” His voice is raw, breaking.
“I’m your punishment,” I whisper. “Your reckoning.”
Lee moves forward. I move toward Bennett.
I raise the rope once more.
Then, a piercing howl splits the night.
Another joins. Then another.
The symphony of crazed cries echoes through the trees, close. Too close.
We all freeze.
Bennett’s body trembles, a wet stain spreading down his leg.
Then the underbrush erupts. A flash of dark fur, glowing eyes, snapping teeth.
The breath stills in my lungs.
No one moves.
No one breathes.
A single shadow breaks from the trees, flanked by the wolves.
Caroline.