Page 60 of Burning for You

And what have I done to help him?

Nothing.

Like he said, I was even against him. But he wasn’t right, either.

“Jesse,” I murmur.

“Don’t you fall for her, Jeans,” he mumbles.

I wipe his face with my palm. I want him to feel me, because I want him to know I care.

Despite being a dead weight, I lift my brother up and tuck him back in bed. I love him—he’s the only family I have left. I just need to save this ranch first, and then save Jesse’s soul.

I press his hair back, caressing the bruises on his cheek, courtesy of my fists. I kiss his forehead, whispering, “I’ll sort this out. I promise.”

Unexpectedly, I see a figure looming behind me. And a gun cocks. Carolyn has picked up my gun! I must’ve left it lying on the floor here somewhere when I tried to help Jesse.

“Carolyn,” I say, “put the gun down.”

“I will help you. Let’s talk about this like adults, just you and me. Leave your brother out of it. I won’t come out alive if he has his way.”

“Look at him, Carolyn. He’s out. He won’t harm you.”

“Tie him up.” She throws me a length of rope.

“Let me clean up first.”

“Tie him up!”

“No. He’s my brother,” I say, approaching her. “You don’t even know how to—”

But she shoots.

“Oh, I know how to shoot,” she says.

The bullet hits the side of Jesse’s bed. And now my brother is awake.

“Fuck you, bitch!” he says, getting up like a zombie. I stop him with just a mere hold on his hand.

“Tie him up, or I’ll blow his head off,” Carolyn insists.

“Fuck you!” Jesse screams, fighting me. But he’s somewhere else, and I get him to lie flat like he’s just a bed sheet. I tie him up as Carolyn ordered me to. It’s probably good for him, for now.

“You traitor!” Jesse slurs as Carolyn uses the gun to usher me out of the room.

Her hands grip the gun so hard that they tremble. I can almost hear her heartbeat. I think she herself was surprised she’d actually fired the damn thing.

I obey her, stalking toward my room with my hands up.

A couple of steps away from the door, I pivot on my foot and grab her hand, pushing it up high—anticipating she might fire again. But she doesn’t, and not giving her a chance, I pounce at her hard. I left my intention to be easy on her in Jesse’s room. I twist her arms behind her back, and without any meaningful resistance, I take control of my gun.

“Get into bed,” I order her. Feeling the barrel pressed against her nape, she clenches her jaws, annoyed.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“You did it to yourself.”

“I just didn’t want your brother to interfere. Clearly, that pothead wants me dead.”

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