Chapter Thirty-Two
James dismounted in one fluid motion, the reins slipping from his hands as his boots hit the ground with a dull thud.
His eyes never left Silas, who stood a few yards away with Angela held tightly in front of him, the knife pressed against her throat.
“Let her go,” James said, his voice low but unyielding. He drew his revolver in a single motion, leveling it at Silas with unwavering precision. “Now.”
Silas’s laugh was sharp and bitter, echoing in the stillness of the prairie.
“You think you can scare me with that?” he sneered, his lips curling into a mocking smile. “You take one shot, Whitaker, and she’s dead before the bullet reaches me.”
James’s jaw tightened, his grip steady on the gun despite the tension coiled in his chest.
His eyes flicked to Angela’s for a split second. She was trembling, her wide eyes filled with tears, but she stayed still, her body rigid under Silas’s grip.
“Silas,” James said again, his tone firm but measured. “This doesn’t have to go this way.”
“Oh, I think it does,” Silas said, his voice venomous. “You should’ve thought about that before you cast me out, before you humiliated me in front of everyone. You think you’re better than me? That you can just play judge and jury?”
James didn’t rise to the bait. His mind was racing, calculating every possible outcome, every potential move. But the knife at Angela’s throat left no room for error.
“You don’t want to do this,” James said, taking a slow step forward.
“Don’t come any closer!” Silas barked, the knife pressing harder against Angela’s skin. She winced, a faint whimper escaping her lips.
James stopped, his chest tightening. His voice softened, his tone coaxing. “Silas, she’s not worth it. She’s just a stowaway, a nobody. Let her go.”
Silas’s eyes narrowed, his hollow smile returning. “You think I don’t see through that? You think I didn’t notice how you look at her?”
James didn’t respond, keeping his expression blank, but his stomach clenched.
“I saw you, Whitaker,” Silas said, his voice dripping with malice. “Back at camp, always watching her, always protecting her. Jumping into the river to save her, risking your own life. Don’t tell me she’s just a stowaway. She’s the one thing you care about.”
James’s throat tightened, but he didn’t let his aim waver. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, but I do,” Silas said, his grin widening. “That’s why she’s valuable. That’s why I took her. I knew you’d come after her, that I could draw you away from the rest of the group. And I was right.”
James’s teeth clenched. His grip on the revolver was steady, but inside, he was fighting a rising tide of panic. Silas wasn’t wrong. Angela was the reason he was here, the reason he’d left the camp to venture into the darkness.
And now, because of that, she was in danger.
Angela’s voice broke through the tense silence, small but trembling.
“Silas, please…” she said, her tears glinting in the moonlight.
“Quiet!” Silas snapped, shaking her slightly. The knife glinted as it caught the faint light, its edge pressing dangerously close to her throat.
James’s pulse thundered in his ears, his mind racing. If he fired, he had to be sure—sure that the bullet would reach Silas before he could react, sure that Angela wouldn’t get hurt.
James tightened his grip on the revolver, keeping it trained on Silas.
“You’ve got me here,” he said. “Now let her go.”
Silas let out a bitter laugh, his eyes flashing with anger. “No,” he said. “I don’t think I will.”
“Please, Silas,” James said, his voice softening. “Please.”
“Ah, the great James Whitaker,” Silas said smugly. “Who knew you had the ability to beg?”
James stayed silent for a moment, his focus unwavering as Silas’s voice rose, his words coming fast and sharp.
“Just let Angela go and this can end,” James said. “You can go on your way, I won’t stop you.”
Silas smiled, shaking his head. “You don’t get it, do you? After everything I did to survive, everything I went through, you looked at me like I wasn’t even human. You and all those self-righteous fools back there, pretending to be so good, so Christian.”
James’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond.
Silas’s grip on Angela shifted, and she whimpered softly as the knife pressed harder against her throat.
“I’ve been treated like rubbish my whole life,” Silas went on, his voice shaking with rage and bitterness.
“Do you know what it’s like, Whitaker? To be thrown away?
To have no one? My own parents didn’t want me.
My brother—he was supposed to look out for me, and one day, he just left.
Just up and left me to fend for myself. And you—”
His voice cracked, and his chest heaved as he tried to steady himself. “You did the same thing. You think you’re better than the rest of them, but you’re just like them. You didn’t care. You never cared.”
James’s throat tightened. For a moment, he felt the smallest flicker of sympathy for the man before him—a boy abandoned, a man shaped by rejection and bitterness.
But it was fleeting.
James’s voice was firm when he replied. “You made your own bed, Silas. You stole from us. You lied. You brought this on yourself.”
He saw the shift in Silas’s expression before the man even moved, a dark glimmer in his eyes as his grip tightened on the knife.
Wrong thing to say.
“Shut up!” Silas snarled, his voice cracking as his hand shook. Angela whimpered again, her wide eyes filling with tears as the blade bit closer.
James’s pulse thundered in his ears. “Silas,” he said quickly, softening his tone, “let her go, and we’ll figure this out. You want something? I’ll give it to you. Whatever it is, just let her go.”
Silas’s lips curled into a sneer. “Whatever I want, huh?” His voice dripped with mockery. “What do you think you can give me, Whitaker? Respect? Dignity? My life back?”
“I’ll do what I can,” James said evenly, though his heart raced.
Silas barked out a hollow laugh, his grip tightening further on Angela. “Life’s never given me my due,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Always taking, taking, taking. My family, my chance to make something of myself. Nothing but scraps, while men like you get everything handed to them.”
“I didn’t—” James began, but Silas cut him off with a sharp glare.
“Shut up!” Silas shouted, his voice raw with rage. “I’m not done. You think you can stand there, smug as always, and fix this with a few words? You can’t fix it, Whitaker. You can’t fix me!”
James could see it in his eyes—the chaos, the pain, the bitterness that had festered for years. But there was no reasoning with it, no breaking through.
Lord, he prayed silently, his heart pounding, I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know how to reach him. But You do. Help me protect her. Help him see the light, even if it’s not through me. Just… be with us. Please.
The horses shifted behind them, their nervous whinnies cutting through the tense air. The sound seemed to echo the fear gripping Angela as she trembled in Silas’s hold, her tears glistening in the moonlight.
James’s voice dropped, steady and calm. “Silas, please.”
But Silas’s grip on the knife didn’t loosen. If anything, it grew tighter.
And then it happened.
A gunshot cracked through the stillness of the night, sharp and deafening.
Silas flinched, his head snapping toward the source of the sound. His grip faltered, the knife lowering just a fraction as he searched the darkness with wild, panicked eyes.
James didn’t hesitate.
He moved in a blur, lunging forward and knocking Silas to the ground. The knife fell from Silas’s hand as they hit the dirt, the impact knocking the wind out of both men.
Angela stumbled backward, clutching her throat as she gasped for air, her wide eyes darting between the two men.
James pinned Silas to the ground, his knee pressing into the man’s chest as he wrestled for control. Silas thrashed beneath him, his hands clawing at James’s arms, his face twisted with rage.
“You don’t get to win!” Silas snarled, his voice cracking.
James’s jaw clenched as he tightened his grip on Silas’s wrists, holding him down with everything he had. “This isn’t about winning,” he ground out, his voice low and furious. “This is about keeping everyone else safe from you.”
Silas’s struggles weakened, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. James could feel his heart pounding, the adrenaline coursing through him as he forced himself to focus.
The sound of hooves approached rapidly, and James glanced up to see Toby riding toward them, his rifle in hand.
“James!” Toby called, his voice sharp. “You all right?”
James nodded, his grip on Silas never wavering. “Get something to tie him up,” he said, his voice cold. “We’re taking him back to camp.”
Silas let out a guttural growl, thrashing beneath James as Toby dismounted and jogged over with a length of rope.
“Hold him still,” Toby grunted, kneeling beside them.
James dug his knee harder into Silas’s chest, his hands gripping the man’s wrists like iron. “Quit struggling,” he hissed, his voice low and sharp.
“You think this is over?” Silas spat, his breath ragged as his eyes darted wildly between the two men. “You think tying me up will change anything? You’re all fools, every last one of you.”
“Shut up,” Toby muttered, looping the rope tightly around Silas’s wrists with practiced efficiency. “Or I’ll gag you too.”
James stood slowly, his legs aching from the tension as Toby hauled Silas to his feet. Silas stumbled, swearing under his breath as Toby shoved him forward.
“Get moving,” Toby said, his voice rough.
Angela was standing nearby, clutching her shawl tightly around her shoulders. Her face was pale, her tear-streaked cheeks glistening faintly in the moonlight. James’s chest tightened as he approached her, reaching out to steady her.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice low and urgent.
She shook her head, but her trembling hands betrayed her. “I’m fine,” she whispered, though her voice wavered.
James frowned, his eyes scanning her for injuries. “You’re not fine. Come on.”