Page 71 of Not This Place

"Let's talk," Rachel said, her voice a clear command, devoid of any tremor that might suggest fear.

Joseph White Cloud’s hair was shorn close to the scalp, revealing more skin than stubble, a canvas that drew the eye to the ink that crawled over his skull. The giant arrowhead tattoo started at the crown and tapered down to his nape, its edges sharp and unforgiving, a stark black against the pallor of his prison complexion.

"Your badge," he sneered, "might as well be a target."

His accusation hung in the air, heavy with blame. He leaned forward, the muscles in his arms bulging against the restraints. With each word, the arrowhead seemed to pulse as if it were alive with Joseph's rage.

"Because of you, my brother is dead."

Rachel remained still, unflinching. Her gaze did not waver from the hate-filled eyes that bore into hers.

"Your brother made his choice," Rachel said. "Just like you did."

Joseph's lips curled back, a snarl suppressed behind bared teeth. His hands clenched, the chains rattled—a caged animal's frustration.

Joseph's jaw clenched. His nostrils flared. "When I get out, Ranger," he growled, the title spat out like venom, "you'll regret ever crossing me."

"Get in line," Rachel's voice was an iron bar, cold and hard. "Threats don't phase me."

She wasn’t here for his threats.

She needed answers.

Her voice was low, every syllable deliberate. "Why my aunt?"

Joseph's eyes flitted away for a fraction of a second before they locked onto hers again. His lips curled into a sneer. "Almost got her, too," he said, his tone laced with a twisted pride.

"Almost," Rachel echoed.

"Close enough to watch her bleed," Joseph added, a glint of something dark and cruel in his eyes.

Rachel's fingers curled into fists at her sides. She took a measured breath, keeping control. "Why her?" she pressed, each word a demand for the truth that seemed to slide like oil over Joseph's skin, never penetrating.

He leaned forward; the chains around his wrists clinked, a sound that echoed off the walls. "Because we could," he said, voice as cold and hard as the concrete beneath their feet.

"Could isn't why."

"Isn't it?" He leaned back, the grin never leaving his face.

"Tell me."

But Joseph just shook his head, that smirk still plastered across his face, as if sharing a private joke with the grimy prison walls.

"Give me a reason," she demanded. "Why go after her?"

Joseph shrugged an indifferent gesture that belied the gravity of the conversation. He glanced around the room, his eyes briefly studying the grey walls before settling back on her. "Your aunt," he said, his voice flat, "she messed up everything."

"Everything like what?" Rachel pushed, feeling the weight of unspoken history pressing down on them.

He just shrugged.

“You killed my parents,” she said simply. It wasn’t a question.

She watched closely, gauging his reaction.

But he just snorted, shaking his head.

"Like I said, law lady," he replied, contempt dripping from his words. "Your aunt got in the way."

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