Page 161 of Westin

My hands are numb when we pause at the bottom of the cliff on the other side of the woods. I slow Rocky, letting him cool. His sides are lathered. He huffs under his breath as I slide down and sling the reins back over his neck.

We climb, quickly and quietly. About halfway up, I tell Rocky to wait, and he does. His ears prick forward, his glossy eyes following me as I walk away. I know he doesn’t like that we’re parting.

For his safety, he needs to stay back.

In the dark, I move on, one foot in front of the other, until I’m deep in the woods, retracing my footsteps from early this morning.

I find the rope and follow it.

Hand over hand.

Step over step.

The woods are so quiet. I see the single wire thread running through the trees, barely visible in the moonlight, like a spider’s web.

My heart slows. Overhead, a nightbird cries. The further I follow the rope towards the cliff’s edge, the less isolated I am. In the distance, the trees start to open up, and I catch the low rumble of voices.

I crouch down. The trigger point is a foot before me.

A metal lever glints. All I have to do is pull, and the tension will release. The panel of fencing made of wire rope will throw David’s body into the ravine, into the river, where the hungry current will take the parts far away.

No reasonable trace left.

I rise to a standing position. Through the gap, I see Deacon and Jensen are making sure to stand on either side of the danger zone. David stands in it, but a little too far to the left for comfort.

I need him to shift.

I need to do this right. No chance David doesn’t fall.

I clench my jaw, waiting. There’s no poetic justice to this. No, this is pure, messy vengeance. I want him gone in the messiest, darkest way I can get. Thomas got his punishment; now it’s time for David to have his so I can let go of this burning rage.

Hetook the woman I love and forced her into misery. He’s so fucking small, and he’s about to be smaller still.

Little pieces for the water to wash away, just like I told him.

My mouth goes dry as an eerie but familiar sensation settles over me. I’m not alone anymore. My father prickles my spine with his presence—a ghost I just can’t kick. It’s so strong, I have to turn around to make sure it’s just my mind playing tricks on me.

Swear to God, it feels like he’s breathing down my neck.

Every word he spoke to me echoes in my ears.

For the first time, they don’t disturb me. My father was a softly broken man—not cruel, just in pieces all the time on the floor of his iron fortress. Maybe someday, I’ll know why he was the way he was. Maybe I spent too long knocking on his door to care why he kept it closed.

I had to be a scourge to give Diane the life she deserves. In his hardness, his coldness, my father made me the gunslinger. He pushed me to be relentless, to be what he thought a man should be.

A man who shoots. Who takes. Who kills.

That was the only gift he passed on, and now, it has given me everything. In her darkest hour, the gunslinger was who she needed.

That era is over; that pain stops with me. Tonight, I put the warring sides of my heart to rest. I’m already molded, but I don’t want my son to be a killer, finally finding love after decades of hard existence.

I am my father’s son, but my son will be so much more.

I lift my eyes. My father’s ghost is quiet.

Up ahead, David steps back. I take a beat, and my vision narrows, putting him at the center of everything. My mind goes back to what Diane told me, that he stood there and watched while Thomas used the steel toe of his boot on her ribs.

Anger pours through my veins. My hand closes around the level, and I pull it down.

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