Chapter 9
Rebel
Owen parks his four-wheeler a few feet away from what remains of the body of his prized pet. It’s exactly where West said it would be.
He takes his hat off and clutches it to his chest. Walking over to what’s left of the animal, he waits for the rest of us. “What the heck am I supposed to tell Ernie? He loved this damn goat.”
I grip his shoulder hard and leave my hand there in an act of solidarity. “I’m sorry about Stains.”
“I’d say you should be.” He narrows his gaze at me, his words intended in a serious manner. “But you aren’t to blame, are you? You certainly didn’t stab my goat. Did you?”
I let my hand fall to my side. “No. But this was done by someone who seems to have a vendetta against one of my family members. Whether that’s Summer or one of the others, I’m partially responsible.”
“How do you figure?”
“The wedding is happening here because I suggested it as a way to get Summer home. If I’d known it was going to be such a clusterfuck I wouldn’t have.”
“If you hadn’t Summer wouldn’t have come home. So I’m going to forgive you for any role you think you played in some deranged asshole killing the goat,” he says. “Let’s see if the badge can come up with anything.”
Riot wrinkles his nose at the remains. “That’s gruesome.”
“Nature ain’t always pretty,” Owen agrees, while we watch the ants crawl all over the muddy leftovers after the scavengers got to it overnight. It’s been torn apart quite badly.
Agent Lane takes a pair of gloves out of his pocket before he crouches down to examine the remains. He uses a tool that looks a bit like a pen to poke at one of the wounds that is mostly intact.
Arms crossed over his chest, Riot is pale. He leans in to watch the agent work. “Can you tell if it’s related to New York?”
“There’s not enough to make any kind of judgement call.”
“But if you had to guess,” I say.
Agent Lane finishes his examination and straightens to his feet. He removes his gloves and tucks them into a ball which he shoves in his pocket. “The marks on the bird were minimal and precise. There was a message left. This doesn’t appear to be related.”
“So not my stalker then.” Riot clasps his hands on his head and stretches his back like the burden he was under has been lifted. “That’s good.”
“We still don’t know who it is,” I remind him.
“You should continue to be wary.” Agent Lane’s serious tone cuts through Riot’s premature cheer. I can see it when the realization that he’s not the target registers for him.
“Because what I can tell you is that the way the throat was cut… precise and with no hesitation… they knew what they were doing.”
Dizzy? It’s not like she hasn’t proven herself adept with a knife. She killed Jackson in a very similar manner when he kidnapped Ivy. But that’s why West thinks they’re trying to make it look like she’s behind this. Because we already know she’s capable.
Maybe he’s wrong and she did do this.
“What are you thinking?” Owen’s eyebrows furrow.
Nothing concrete enough to tell.
Riot is also staring at me like he’s pretending he has the ability to read my mind the way Rogue does.
We need more answers than we’ve got. The knife I’m carrying in the rucksack I borrowed from Owen before we left the house might hold some. “Could you tell what weapon was used if you saw it?”
“It’s a bit more technical than that,” Agent Lane says. “I can tell you the blade would be long and have a serrated edge.”
“Like the knives we use when we go hunting?” Owen says grimly, pulling out his phone and loading a photo on the screen that he shows to us.
“Yes. Something like that,” Agent Lane says.
Or exactly that.
“I need to show you this.” Sliding the rucksack from my shoulder, I unzip it and pull out the bagged knife.
Riot’s eyes widen and he takes a step back. “Where did you get that?”
“I didn’t. West found it.”
“When?” Riot asks while I hand it to Agent Lane. “Where?”
“That’s one of our hunting knives.” Owen’s expression grows darker and darker. “Someone slaughtered my fucking goat with my own damn gear.”
“We’re going to find them,” I tell him.
“I need a minute.” Owen stomps off into the overgrowth.
“Should one of us go with him?” Riot asks. “The pit being dangerous and all.”
“I’m sure he’s got it handled,” I say. He hasn’t seemed particularly cautious either time we’ve been out here. He probably knows every inch of solid ground.
Rhythmic thumping starts somewhere nearby. The foliage far above our heads rustles and rumbles. Branches shriek. Birds take flight.
“Christ. Sounds like he could take out a tree with his bare fists.” Riot winces.
“Is it the weapon, Agent?” I turn our attention back to the blade.
He examines it through the plastic. “Did you touch it?”
“Only to put it in the bag.” I didn’t have gloves like West. That he carries around everywhere he goes, apparently. “I handled it as little as possible.”
“And your brother?”
“He didn’t touch it.” He’d been prepared. Even here on the ranch where we all should have been able to relax and celebrate in safety; he was ready for the worst.
“Hmm.” Agent Lane crouches down next to the goat once more. He considers the possibility. “It could be the weapon. Hard to tell for certain without further analysis. “Where’d your brother say he found it?”
“He didn’t.” If I say he found it in his cabin he comes under suspicion and so does Dizzy. I’m not ready to hand that information over to Agent Lane. At least not until we know for sure whether Dizzy is involved.
“I would like to meet this other brother of yours.” The agent straightens.
West seemed to have no interest in meeting the agent earlier. I’m not sure how he’ll react to being questioned, but the quicker we get through this the more likely we get Rogue and Ivy back in time for the ceremony.
Agent Lane tucks the bag into an inside pocket of his jacket. “I’ll see if we can pull any prints off it that aren’t yours.”
“Or one of the Hearts.” It’s Owen’s knife, and it’s doubtful the other brothers haven’t used it at some point.
“Right,” the agent says. “We should head back.”
“You go back. Introduce him to West. I’m going to wait for Owen,” I tell Riot who climbs on his quad bike. They take it cautiously until they hit the tree line and then the motors scream and fade out of range.
I head in the direction the thumping came from until I spot Owen. He’s leaning heavily against a thick trunk. His hat has been tossed aside and sweat darkens the back of his shirt.
“Doing okay?”
He shakes his head but then pushes away from the tree. His knuckles are bloodied. He collects his hat and pulls it down over his hair. “There are very few things important in this life, Hollywood. Children. A good woman.”
“Family,” I add.
“Legacy. Memories. I feel like I lost something that I can never get back.” He starts the trek back to where we left the quad bikes. “It probably seems like I’m overreacting to the death of a goat.”
“It’s a terrible way to lose a pet.” I would be devastated and angry if it was Dog.
“It’s more than that. Stains belonged to Ernie’s mom.
” He falls silent for a bit before he adds, “She left around the same time all the shit with Duke and the other bastards happened. Just up and left me with the kid, the goat and a head full of rage. Not a single see ya later. Or I’ll be back to see my kid.
No reason given. She just fucking packed her shit and left. ”
“That sucks, man,” I say.
“It doesn’t bother me none now. Only that goat is the only thing Ernie’s mom left him,” he says, the quad bikes coming into view. “I’ll tell him the truth when the wedding is over, and everyone clears out. Let him process his emotions without so many people around.”
Climbing onto his quad bike, he starts it and the hum of the motor fills the space under the trees. “When we find out who did it, I’m going to make them pay for what they’ve taken from my kid. Eye for an eye, Hollywood.”
Owen’s going to kill the asshole, isn’t he?