Chapter 4 #2
I turn onto a one-lane dirt road, continue over the rise to the small cabin hidden at the end, and park beside the truck in the clearing before turning off the engine. I sit and let the silence settle over me as I study the area.
The rocking chair on the front wraparound porch slows to a stop, but whether it is from my host’s previous occupation or the wind, I’ll never know.
When the curtains remain undisturbed and all seems well, I leave my duffel in the passenger seat, place my keys on my dashboard, and slip out of the car.
I shut my door with normal force, letting the thud echo through the mountains, and stride onto the porch on silent feet.
After avoiding the creaky board at the edge of the mat, I pull open the screen door slow enough so it doesn’t squeak, then shove the wood door just hard enough for it to stop before it hits the wall.
When a visual check suggests no one is in the open-concept living and kitchen area, I step over the trip line stretched across the threshold and smile at the new camera hidden in the plant under the front window before ducking into each bedroom.
Expecting an ambush at any time, I keep my footsteps light and my senses sharp as I walk the entire house.
Still alone, I exit onto the back porch, scan the tree line, and skirt around the far side of the cabin.
The hairs on my nape stand on end. I jump off the porch and roll behind the water drums, but pain streaks across my shins.
A volley of pebbles thud against the full containers.
Grumbling under my breath about sneaky old men and slingshots, I grab the trowel and cultivator sticking out of the potting soil bag and run hunched over between the wooden tables to the shed.
Instead of darting inside or hiding behind it, I use the table and hop onto the roof.
My footsteps pound like thunder on the metal, but I clear the distance and lunge into the open air.
His truck dips as I land in the bed.
A black-clad figure rises from underneath near the back tire. The sun glints off his aluminum baseball bat as he swings at me. I curse, dodge, then launch myself on top of him.
We hit the ground in a tangle of limbs. Sweat pours down my body as we grapple for control over the gardening tools. When he almost steals the cultivator from my grip, I smack it with the trowel and send both skipping over the gravel and under the truck to the far side.
Plastic crinkles in his pocket as I straddle him from behind and almost—almost—capture him in a headlock.
The wily old bastard breaks away and lands a clean shot to my stomach, but I knee him in the thigh before he can rise, tangle my feet with his, and roll.
He twists mid-fall and lands on top of me instead of the ground. Gravel digs into my back as his weight knocks the wind out of me. I buck and roll until the back tire of my car stops me then scramble upright and square my shoulders with his.
Several tense seconds pass before he relaxes his stance and wipes his sleeve over his bloody mouth. I drop my arms to my sides and shake out my fists.
“Your grappling needs more work,” he growls. “So does your speed. And your—”
“I drew first blood. You lost, Uncle Ronan,” I say.
He quirks a brow, and even though our family resemblance—the bridge of our noses and angular jawline—is faint, I recognize the origins of my favorite mode of silent communication.
I follow his pointed glance down my body and curse.
With my pants holey from projectile pebbles, my shirt shredded from gravel, and grass stains covering almost every other inch of my clothes, I took more damage.
Which means he won.
The game of revenge isn’t about how many times you strike your opponent.
It’s about watching your enemies tear themselves apart trying to save face.
My ear stings. I worry my earring caught on something and ripped free but nod toward my uncle’s crinkly pocket.
“The gum and teriyaki are from me. Uncle Levi insisted on the hot and spicy,” I say.
He chuckles and starts toward the porch.
“Sounds like I’m overdue for a visit. How’s his gym?”
With his attention elsewhere, I rub my ear and release a silent breath of relief when I find my earring like normal.
“It’s changing,” I answer.
Uncle Ronan stops with his hand on the screen door and looks over his shoulder at me. Despite the demand for more information shining from his light brown orbs, I squat, retrieve the gardening tools, and rise before I answer.
“Not renovations, per se, but several of the self-defense ladies have new husbands who insist on throwing their money around,” I say.
“And Carter accepted?”
The incredulity in his voice tugs my lips upward in amusement.
“Begrudgingly,” I say.
My uncle grunts and disappears into the house.
I respect him and consider him more of a father figure than the peacock I shook hands with in the glittering ballroom two days ago, so after putting the trowel and cultivator away, I retrace my steps and fix the things in the driveway affected by our tussling and from my mad dash around the yard before joining him in the kitchen.
After a quick shower and change, I grab a cup of coffee, join him on the back porch swing, and share a few pieces of jerky as I fill him in on what happened since I visited him last week.
As the sun reaches its peak, I finish my retelling and sit in relative peace as I wait for his response.
“Does the girl know yet?” he asks.
I nearly choke on my coffee at the unexpected question. He doesn’t agree with me stringing Hilary along, but he also understands she serves a vital role and is safer the closer she is to me, at least for now.
“She knows more than she did last week,” I hedge.
He crosses his arms over his chest.
“The game is dangerous enough already. Watch yourself, nephew,” he warns.
“Always,” I answer.
He nods and leans his head back on the swing.
I accept his dismissal and wash my mug before tossing my duffel into my car and snatching my keys off the dash.
The old man would have snuck into my car whether it was locked or unlocked. I left the keys in plain sight as a truce in hopes he wouldn’t destroy the jammers I have hidden throughout the vehicle.
Morality may have grey areas, but respect does not. My uncle may have taught me the most despicable ways to decimate my enemies, but he also taught me a specific code of conduct.
After over a decade in special forces—I’m still not sure which branch despite being with him since I was eight years old—he and Uncle Levi, who served in the same unit for a time, have skills not for the faint of heart.
It’s because of them I’m the man I am today. Hilary saved me, but they built me from a sniveling, weak little boy to the unstoppable force I am now.
I bury my musings and focus my attention on plans and contingency plans on my drive back into the city.
I owe Hilary everything, but I can’t disrespect my uncles by letting all their efforts go to waste. I will have my revenge.
Without Hilary, I wouldn’t still be alive, but even though I’ve built more wealth than any one person could ever spend in an entire lifetime, it’s not enough.
I’m not worth a single cent if I can’t annihilate the monsters in power. Without first avenging my mother, I’ll never be the man Hilary deserves.
I will decimate the Koch family with the skills my uncles taught me—and with her by my side.