Chapter 25
Kade
Motherfucker.
There I was, looking into Joseph Lowry, trying to get a sense of whether he’s on the Bishop level when it comes to how far he’s willing to go to settle a score.
At least go back through my old research.
His father was in oil down in Texas, and Joseph Lowry used his inheritance to buy up a bunch of land and thousands of head of cattle.
A totally different beast. Ranching isn’t in his blood.
Normally, we would ignore someone like him.
A joke. Someone playing cowboy. But there’s no room for that, because he has money, and money means power and connections.
What will he do when his son doesn’t come home?
I need to know who I’m up against. Somewhere along the way, this became my problem. Allie’s problem. And who the hell am I without a fight on my hands?
Now, my internet research is over for the night.
I have some real-world shit to take care of.
I can barely see straight. I walk through the house and grab my coat from the closet by the door.
It’s still damp from the snow I only just escaped.
I was on my way to the kitchen to grab something to eat when Allie called. I can’t even choke down a bite now.
It had to be Lowry. There’s no fucking reason for anybody else to scare her like that. And it had to be a scare tactic. If they wanted to kill her, they would’ve done it. I doubt someone with Joseph Lowry’s money would hire amateurs.
So he does like to play dirty. He probably figures he can scare the shit out of a young girl, bully her, break her down. I have news for him: nobody breaks her down but me.
Once I’m outside, I climb into the truck and drive the route Allie would have taken to get home. I’m not sure why. It’s instinct, telling me this is my first step to understanding who I’m up against.
The snow has dropped off to nothing but a few random flurries, though it’s cold enough and the ground frozen enough for anything that fell earlier to stick. I drive carefully because I hit a few slick spots that make my tires slide.
What if she had hit one of them? What if she didn’t get lucky?
I could’ve been home on the computer, looking up information while she was dead in a crumpled car.
The idea and the bloody, grisly scene that comes with it make me sick.
How can I leave her alone when wolves are everywhere, waiting to pounce?
I’m a few miles from her house when I see it. Tire tracks veering off onto the shoulder. She kicked up a lot of snow and gravel that’s now scattered over the road.
Behind hers is another set of tracks. I get out of the truck to take a closer look—the wheels are wide enough that I would bet it was an SUV or truck. One of those obnoxious pieces of shit that are more for show and less for getting work done.
I’m not sure why I’m here. There’s nothing I can do, and no evidence I can use. Standing here, I can almost imagine myself in the moment. She must’ve been terrified. But instead of losing her shit and crashing the car, she fought her way back onto the road and made it home.
Pride warms the ice forming around my heart. My stubborn filly wouldn’t give up.
Yet somebody could have taken her away from me tonight. Sometimes it doesn’t matter how hard a person fights. Certain things can’t be survived.
I climb back into the truck and slam the door. I can’t remember the last time I was this ready to kill someone. I don’t give a fuck who they are or how many. No one touches what’s mine and lives.
The guy following her did a U-turn a few hundred yards past the point where Allie got back on the road a second time.
I do the same, following their tracks. They might not know it, but they made the choice to die tonight.
First, I’ll find out who put them up to it.
A grim smile starts to spread when I imagine how I’ll torture the information out of them.
I’ll torture them, even if they give up the name right away—just for the hell of it.
An unwelcome voice fills my head. She needs you.
What happened to all the thinking and planning?
What about protecting her? Being strategic?
Goddammit. She does need me, and that means staying out of jail, which means no starting shit because it’ll quiet the rage inside me.
All it takes is remembering how she broke down in a panic attack to loosen my jaw and cool my boiling blood.
Not all the way, but enough to think through my next steps.
I would be leaving her to the wolves if I went off half-cocked and lashed out. She can’t handle this on her own.
I need to be better for her sake. I’m fumbling in the dark right now.
The tracks follow a very familiar route, as it turns out.
The tracks eventually blend into others, but they all lead to one place.
Before I know it, I’m turning into the parking lot of The Rusty Nail.
There are dozens of vehicles out here, mostly trucks, but a handful of SUVs, too.
I have one thing on my mind when I get out, so my boots can crunch over the crust of snow: finding a scratched-up front bumper or fender.
I’m casual about it, walking slowly, a man without a care in the world.
“Son of a bitch.” Sure enough, there’s a silver truck propped up on wide tires, boxed between a pair of pickups. Except for the scratches on the front passenger side, it’s pristine. Montana plates. Could be a rental.
A tapestry of ugly, violent images plays in my head.
Like one of those horror films that’s more blood splatter than story.
I see myself waiting out here, watching for them, and following them out.
Seeing how they like being chased down. Blowing their fucking brains out once I finally catch up, leaving them for the wolves to scavenge.
I’ll slash their tires. Leave them stranded. Offer them a ride, like the nice guy I am, then drive to the middle of nowhere and carve them up.
I could walk into the bar and blow them away in front of dozens of witnesses.
No. There isn’t much I learned in Roman’s office that I want to take with me into the future, but there were a few pearls of wisdom worth carrying. He was always scheming, sometimes looking far ahead.
Instead of shedding blood tonight, I go inside. Rick looks up from the glasses he’s stacking when I take a seat at the polished brass rail and gets a wary look about him. “Don’t want no trouble tonight,” he warns.
“Wasn’t planning on getting into any trouble.” I jerk my chin toward the whiskey bottle behind him. “But you never know. Sometimes trouble finds me.”
“Yeah, some people are a magnet for it.” He can bitch and moan if he wants. I’ve spent a lot of good money in this place, and we both know it.
While he’s pouring my drink, I look around like I’m surveying the crowd.
The usual barflies are telling the same stories they’ve told a hundred times.
The couples dancing close to the jukebox, groping each other’s asses, are kissing sloppily.
Guys throw darts, making bets. The usual people looking to unwind after a long day.
Two guys look completely out of place. Maybe it’s their brand-new clothes. Most of the shirts around here are worn, including mine, worked in and washed a bunch of times until they’re a little faded. The same with the jeans.
These two could’ve just come from the store and changed into their new clothes at a rest stop. They might as well still have tags hanging from them. Their boots are brand new and unscuffed. They’re in their early thirties, maybe, both lean and well-groomed.
And they, like me, are watching. They’re sitting facing each other in a booth, but they’re not talking. Their eyes are moving over the room like a pair of hawks circling the sky. They’re listening hard, too. Listening for what? Information they can take back to their boss?
A loud, drunken voice drives its way into my awareness. “Yo, Bishop!”
Fuck me.
I vaguely recognize the asshole shouting at me from the opposite end of the bar, lifting a hand in case I can’t see him. “Is it true? Did Roman fuck Emma Porter to make you?”
I can honestly say I brought this on myself.
And now I have the newcomers’ attention.
All it took was hearing Emma’s name. I can feel their eyes boring through me, but they’re hardly the only ones.
It wouldn’t surprise me if some of the betting going on by the dartboard has to do with me now.
Seeing how much shit I can take before I explode.
“I guess his pullout game was weak,” I call out. There’s a lot of surprised laughter after that, and I shrug, laughing along with them. So that’s what it’s like to defuse the situation instead of breaking a beer bottle over some loudmouth’s head. Interesting.
I go back to my drink, staring into the glass, when somebody in a very new flannel shirt steps up to the bar a few stools down. A ripple of anticipation runs through me, sharpening my senses. What’s he going to do?
“Another two pints,” he tells Rick. I hope he doesn’t do private investigating for a living, because he sucks ass at it.
There is nothing casual about the way he’s standing there, sizing me up, glancing at me like he wants to say something.
I can almost taste his hesitation over the smooth whiskey sliding down my throat.
Our eyes meet in the mirror spanning the length of the bar. I lift my chin. He does the same. Will he say something, or is he content to admire me?
I don’t get an answer before Rick brings him the pints and he pays, then takes the glasses back to his table. “I’ll take another when you get a chance,” I murmur, sliding the glass to Rick, watching in the mirror. “You know those two guys?”
He shakes his head. “Never saw them before tonight, but you always get guys like that. Just passing through.”
I’m sure they are. My instincts are screaming. “Did they tell you anything about themselves?”
I don’t like the way he looks at me. Like he’s trying to figure out if he should tell me or not. Dickface. “Maybe they did, maybe they didn’t.”
Jesus fucking Christ, I’m going to impale him on one of the tap pulls if this keeps up. “And if they did?” This is not the night to fuck with me. It’s never a good night to fuck with me, but especially not tonight.
“From out of town. Utah.” He’s still giving me that wary stare as he pours another whiskey. “What’s it to you?”
“Nothing. They stick out, that’s all.”
“Well, they’re leaving now.” He sounds relieved. I guess he’s afraid I’ll bring law enforcement to his door once again. The chance is now dwindling.
Sure enough, I watch in the mirror as they get up, even though both of their glasses are only a quarter empty.
Did they figure they have something to report to their boss?
Or have they given up for the night because there isn’t a terrified girl around here for them to fuck with?
How loud would they scream once I got my hands on them?
I need to play it smart. See what they’re really in town to do. If they disappear, Lowry will know something is up, and next time he’ll send a small army to do the dirty work he doesn’t have the stomach for.
I’m smirking as I sip my fresh whiskey. Sawyer would be so proud of me, thinking before I act for once.
I catch another eye in the mirror, someone who looks familiar... Buck, the man who used to work at the Porter ranch. Didn’t I see him in town talking to Allie after everything with Jackson, too?
I give him a nod and sip my whiskey. He only stares back a moment, then turns away.
Fucking weird. I shake my head and chuckle to myself. There’s been nothing but weird lately.
Though really, there’s nothing funny about this. Allie’s safety is on the line. She’s probably scared as hell, and I have to make sure it never happens again.
I’ve already made up my mind by the time I finish my drink and go outside.
The silver truck is gone, but I’m sure it’ll be around.
In the meantime, I pull out the burner phone to call Allie.
The sound of her voice unlocks the tension in my shoulders and slows my heart rate. That’s what she does to me.
“You doing okay, little filly?” I ask, crossing the lot.
This is just as much for me as it is for her.
I let her voice soothe the edges of my anger as I climb into the truck.
It’s a quick call. Enough to relax both of us. Enough to allow me to focus more on the situation at hand and what I need to do next.
I almost hope I have the chance to prove to Joseph Lowry once and for all that no one touches what’s mine.