Chapter 17 #3
Hartley lays out the pitch. He's gone independent.
Spun off from the firm. Building his own contract operation.
Wants me to come run operations with him.
"The firm's a paycheck. What I'm building is an empire.
Ten times what insurance fraud audits and ranch work pay you, Rogue.
You keep the ranch. You keep the woman. You keep the boy.
The work doesn't have to take all of you.
Just the parts that are still good at it. "
He talks for two minutes.
I'm reading the room while he talks. The north operator's stance, the south operator's stance, the distance from me to Hartley.
The line of fire from Hartley to Nash. The stacked pallets at the back of the dock where Bullseye and Longhorn are positioned.
The southwest door. The roll-up door behind me.
When he's done, I let the silence sit a moment.
Then I look at him.
"You shot Marlena Lyle in the chest, Hartley. You shot Thunder and Banshee. You hit my woman in the head with a pistol. You took my boy, and shot his dog."
Hartley's smile holds but the warmth is leaking out of it. "Marlena's in surgery, isn't she? Thunder too. They're going to live. I made sure of that. I shoot to wound when it suits me. The boy is right there, untouched. I'm a professional, Rogue. I don't kill what I don't need to."
I take half a step toward him. "That isn't the work, Hartley. That's the disease. The men who go independent like you've gone don't stay good. They start killin' because they like it. You're already there. You just don't know it yet."
Hartley's jaw flexes once. "That's the retired-asset speech."
"It's also the truth."
His smile shifts. Less warm now. "Are you taking the offer or aren't you?"
I let the silence sit one more moment, then I turn my head toward Nash. "Partner. I need you to do somethin' for me."
Nash, small. "Okay, Rogue."
"There's a big black truck parked out on the street right out there. You walk out of this buildin' right now. Get in the passenger seat. Buckle in. Close your eyes. Cover your ears with your hands. Hard. Squeeze 'em tight. I'll come get you when it's ready."
Nash looks at Hartley.
Hartley looks at me.
My eyes don't leave Hartley. "Now, partner. Go."
Nash slides off the chair.
He walks across the loading dock floor with his small steps and his small face. He doesn't run. He walks.
He's a kid who has been at the ranch long enough to know what my tone means. Just like when his mother gets a stern tone. He knows there's no room for argument.
He passes me without touching me. Without reaching for me.
He walks out through the roll-up door. The boy is clear.
Hartley watches him go. Then turns back to me.
The smile is gone.
Just a man looking at another man across a loading dock floor.
"Oh, so it's going to be like that."
My hand moves to rest on the grip of my sidearm. "There was no other option, Hartley. There never was."
He breathes out slowly. "You were never going to take the offer."
I shake my head once. "I wasn't."
"You came in with backup."
I don't answer.
He laughs once. Dry. Like a man recognizing a move he taught somebody. "Of course you did. I'd have done the same."
His hand starts to move toward his sidearm.
Two shots from the back of the loading dock.
Bullseye drops the north operator. Longhorn drops the south. Two suppressed rounds and two bodies hitting the concrete dock floor.
Hartley standing in the middle of the loading dock with his pistol still in his hand at his side.
He didn't raise it.
My pistol on him. His hand on his pistol but not raising it.
He smiles one last time. The professional one. "Should've stayed retired, Silas."
My finger settles against the trigger. The man across from me taught me how to make this exact shot in 2015. "You should've left my family alone."
His pistol comes up.
Mine is already up.
I fire first.
Two rounds, center mass. Hartley's pistol arm drops. He looks down at his chest and then back up at me.
He breathes out once. His eyes lose focus.
I fire once more. A direct hit to the forehead.
Hartley drops.
The warehouse is quiet.
My ears ring. The smell of cordite is sharp under the column of afternoon sun. The pistol in my hand is heavier than it was a moment ago.
Bullseye comes out from the pallets, walks across the dock floor.
He looks at Hartley on the concrete. "Clean kill, brother."
Longhorn comes up from the other side. Hand on my shoulder. "You good, Rogue?"
"I'm good."
Bullseye holsters his sidearm and looks past me toward the roll-up door. "Get your boy. We'll clean this up. The firm and anyone else won't find anything when we're done."
I holster my pistol, walk out the roll-up door and head to my truck.
* * *
Nash is in the passenger seat.
Eyes still closed. Hands still over his ears.
I get in the driver's seat and close the door quietly. Don't start the engine yet.
I put my hand on his small shoulder. Squeeze once. "Partner. You can open your eyes."
His eyes open. His hands come down off his ears slowly.
He looks at me.
He looks at my face. Looks at the cut on my shoulders. Looks at the place on my belt where the pistol is.
His face is older than it was this morning.
The thing in his eyes that used to be six years old is sitting back in there somewhere and a different thing is in the front of them now.
He doesn't flinch when he looks at the pistol. "Are we goin' home?"
I keep my hand on his shoulder. "Yeah, partner. We're goin' home. To your mama."
He nods once. He puts his head against the window.
Within a mile, he's asleep.
I call Hadley from the burner.
She picks up on the first ring. "Silas?"
The sound of her voice undoes something in my chest. "Baby."
"You got him?"
I look over at Nash asleep against the passenger window. "I got him. He's asleep next to me. We're a couple of hours out. Where are you?"
The rustle of hospital sheets on her end. "Hospital. Mild concussion. They're keepin' me overnight."
My jaw locks against what I want to say about that. "Marlena?"
A pause that means she's looking at someone or something near her. "Out of surgery. She's gonna make it. Thunder too. Banshee's stable. Diesel's at Grace's clinic. Grace stayed with him."
I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding. "I'm comin' to you, baby. Just a couple of hours."
Her voice goes thick. "Silas. Bring Nash to me first. Before anything else."
My hand finds his small leg again on the seat beside me. "I am, baby."
I end the call. I put the phone on the dash.
I drive home with my hand on my boy's leg the whole way.
Eight hours ago I asked her to marry me in our kitchen.
Soon enough, I'll walk into a hospital room with our boy in my arms and put him in his mama's bed beside her.
I came out of my old life one time.
I just went back into it for the last time.
The man pulling into a hospital parking lot is the only version of me that comes home from here on out.