Page 110 of Tempting God

I nod.

“Go, and I’ll meet you there once I find Walt and Grant.”

“Hurry,” I beg. “I think he’s going to kill Grant and?—”

I can’t finish the rest of my sentence. He’s going to kill Grant and I don’t know if I can survive losing another man that I love.

25

Charles

My heart pounds as I pull out of Greer’s driveway. Pushing a button on the touchscreen on my dashboard, I call Walt Ryans. He answers right away.

“Blanc. What a surprise.”

“Cut the bullshit, Ryans. Where are you?”

“Me, why I’m headed to the mansion owned by the Brotherhood. I’d suggest meeting me there if you want a chance to say your goodbyes to Mr. Carter.”

Fuck!

“Let me speak to Grant.”

“And let you give him some kind of Brotherhood coded message? I think not.”

Brotherhood coded message? What in the fuck is this man on about?

I say, “I’ll meet you at the mansion.”

I end the call before he can reply.

Walt Ryans isn’t the smartest man, which means he likely didn’t plan this out. I mean, why else would he bring Grant to the mansion owned by the Brotherhood? A property both Grant and I know like the backs of our hands.

I press another button on the screen on my dash, calling Jim Jones.

“It’s late, Blanc,” Jim says, his words slurring together.

“Grant Carter is in danger.”

“And that’s my problem because?”

“Because the Brotherhood will have something to say when they find out you were supposed to help me get rid of Walt Ryans and didn’t,” I snap. “Ryans is bringing Grant Carter to the mansion outside of town. He plans to kill Grant there.”

Jones laughs. “I told you from day one that man was an idiot.”

“He’s still unpredictable, and that makes him dangerous. Are you coming or not?”

“Yes, I’m coming.”

I pause. “Thank you.”

Jones doesn’t answer and ends the call.

I press the gas pedal, accelerating. I’ve fucked up a lot in my life, but tonight I have the chance to right a wrong. So, that’s what I’m going to do.

The drive to the mansion feels like it takes forever, when, in reality, it only takes thirty minutes. But Ryans is unpredictable, so thirty minutes might be too late. As I drive through the gates leading to the mansion, I turn off my headlights and veer off the driveway. There are tire marks in the grass that look fresh, which means Jim is here. Slowly, I maneuver my car in front of an old barn at the edge of the property.

Jim is waiting by his SUV. He tosses me a black ski mask when I get out of the car.

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