Chapter 18 #2
Kit looked up at the sudden change in her voice. “What’s wrong?”
She didn’t answer, holding up her bandaged hand and Kit became aware of the all-encompassing silence in the woods. He listened intently but there was nothing, no wind, no rustling, not even a bird.
Lucinda’s entire posture changed and Kit saw her not as a tired old woman, battered down by life, but as an operative, on the hunt for a dangerous predator. She flicked her eyes sideways.
At the same time a voice came from the trees.
"Kit."
Everything stopped. Fear wrapped its icy coils around Kit’s heart. He knew that voice.
“Tony.”
His brother stepped out from the dense patch of trees, his rifle aimed at Kit.
Kit's first reaction wasn't fear. It was relief. For one stupid second, he was relieved his brother was alive. Then he focused on the gun. “Why are you here? How did you get here?”
“Little Pete drove me. He knew where you were.”
They thought they were being followed.
And now Kit understood what Lucinda meant. It was the betrayal from people who knew you that hurt the most. Little Pete had sat with Kit every night as he cried himself to sleep after his parents were killed. Kit had counted Little Pete as family.
“I thought you were in custody.”
Tony shrugged. “I was at CDR. You’re not the only one who knows how to escape.”
“You’re here to kill me.”
It wasn’t a question.
"You weren’t supposed to get hurt. It was CDR’s fault. They weren’t meant to get the intel so quickly."
Backed into a corner, blaming everyone else, Tony was desperate. So now he was thinking on his feet. Kit couldn’t trust anything that came out of his mouth.
“That’s a lie. You torched the clubhouse. You expected me to be in it.”
“It would have been quick. You wouldn’t have suffered.”
Kit just stared at him. Was that supposed to make him feel better? “So you do intend to kill me. You want my money.”
Tony smiled at him as if he’d said something clever. “Yes. It makes sense. You’re just wasting your life. and I can use the money to start over. Your death will be quick. It won’t hurt. I promise you.”
Kit knew that, fully aware how good Tony was with the rifle. There were family secrets he’d take to the grave.
“Do you really think you’ll walk out of here after killing me and you’ll claim all my estate?”
“Little Pete will back me up. He’ll say it was you who planned this.”
“You told them you did.”
“I was coerced by CDR. Everyone knows their reputation. I’ll be the poor brother destroyed by your betrayal.”
Kit’s breath caught in his throat. He realized Tony had really come here to kill him.
All the threats. He’d woven them all to end up sacrificing Kit. Every lie pointed directly to him. Tony kept the gun trained on him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lucinda subtly shift her position. Kit wasn’t sure what she was doing but Tony noticed.
“Don’t move, bitch.”
“Hey, mind your fucking manners,” Kit snarled at Tony. “She’s a lady.”
There was a snort. He swore it came from Lucinda.
Tony frowned, clearly not happy at Kit swearing at him, but didn’t move the gun from its aim at Kit’s head, so he obviously didn’t think she was a threat. Kit had a feeling he’d regret underestimating her. But what could she do with hands bandaged like that?
Then he heard another voice behind him, and his heart leaped in his chest. Cold. Controlled. And totally terrifying. But not to Kit. To Kit he felt like home. But he didn’t move in case Tony shot him. The rifle was waving around but it was still trained on him.
“Put the gun down, Tony," Red said, his voice low and deadly. "Or I'll end this right now.”
Tony's eyes narrowed, then he forced a wide, almost manic grin—making Kit's skin crawl. “Come on, Red. It’s me—Tony. I’m your president, your friend. We’re family. We’re supposed to look out for each other, right?” He glanced between them, searching for any sympathy he could use.
Red shook his head, eyes never leaving Tony. “No, Tony. Not anymore. You lost any claim to my loyalty when you decided your own brother was expendable. Your rifle's still pointed at him.”
Tony’s lip curled in contempt. He kept the rifle steady. “So you screwed him, even after I told you not to? I expected more, Red. Thought you were supposed to be a professional. Guess he always was a man-whore.”
Kit scoffed softly, the sting of Tony's words hitting harder than expected. “Thanks,” he muttered under his breath. Family, he thought. So much for brotherly love.
“I’m a Daddy,” Red said, voice strong, “and Kit’s my boy. I’ll protect him, especially now that his brother has turned on him.”
Kit tried not to let hope bloom inside him. Red was just negotiating—he couldn’t believe anyone would truly pick him over Tony, not when family meant so little here.
“Why kill me?” Kit demanded, desperate. “You could have just asked me for the money, any time.”
Tony’s expression turned cold, gun unwavering. “You don't have enough. But with your life insurance—and the claim on the clubhouse—I could disappear somewhere warm, somewhere sweet.” His voice dropped to a final, chilling note. “Sorry, Kit. This is it.”
Kit heard a branch snap behind him—a sharp crunch in the snow.
He barely had time to turn before a bullet zipped past, grazing his cheek and searing his skin.
Pain flared and he crashed to the ground, ears ringing as gunfire echoed through the trees.
Another shot rang out, followed by Tony’s scream.
Kit found himself face down in the snow, Red’s body shielding him, heavy and warm, his heartbeat pounding so loud he could barely hear anything else.
Blood trickled down Kit’s cheek, hot against the cold.
For a moment, he couldn’t move—couldn’t think.
Was he really safe? Or was this just another moment before everything changed?
Hadn’t they already been through a nightmare like this before? Kit’s mind spun, repeating the question as fear and relief warred inside him.
“Stay still,” Red whispered, breath warm against Kit’s ear.
Lucinda spoke, her voice calm and cold and utterly devoid of emotion. “You and your boy can get up, Mr. Baxter. Monroe isn’t going anywhere.”
Red lifted himself off Kit, careful and steady. Kit sucked in a shaky breath and raised his head. Tony was sprawled on the ground, clutching his knee, face twisted in agony. Lucinda stood over him, holding Tony’s rifle and aiming it down at him, her eyes fierce.
“Call 9-1-1!” Tony screamed, his voice ragged. “She blew out my kneecap!”
Red shot Lucinda a look, one eyebrow raised. “You did that?”
Lucinda’s mouth twisted. “I was aiming for his head,” she said, voice flat. She lifted her bandaged hands. “Can’t shoot straight anymore.”
“You tried to kill me!” Tony croaked, fury and fear mixing in his voice. “You took my rifle and shot me.”
Lucinda rolled her eyes. “Do shut up, Monroe. I’ve been in the business for forty years and criminals still don’t know when to keep their mouths shut.”
Kit clung to Red, shaking, as Red wrapped his arms around him, grounding him. Kit wanted to melt into that warmth, to forget everything else. His heart felt like it might burst from gratitude and terror all at once.
“I’ve got you, sweetheart. I won’t ever let you go.” Red whispered, and Kit believed him—for just a moment, he let himself believe.