Page 29 of Burned & Bound

“You failed him,” I snapped, feeling that familiar rage bubbling to the surface. “You can say and do whatever the hell you want now, but don’t you think for a minute you’re doing it for him. You’re doing it for you because you feel bad. You should’ve stepped up when he fucking needed you.

“No, y’all decided to bury your fucking heads in the sand, and for what?” I gestured around me. “For some fucking land? For fucking cows? You failed him—all of you—when you decided his worth wasn’t more than this stupid fucking business. Than a stupid fucking job!”

“Now, it ain’t like that—”

“It is like that!” I interrupted.How could none of them understand that?I was sure my dad probably thought the same shit. That keeping West busy here and there was enough. It wasn’t. “I would’ve burned the whole fucking place to the ground before I let him run away afraid for his life.”

“Jackson—”

“You can say whatever the hell you want, Mick,” I continued over him. I was on a roll. I didn’t fucking care. “It don’t change a damn thing about what y’all didn’t do when he needed you. Y’all let Harrison terrorize a boy without protecting him and that’s just the fucking start of it. It’s no wonder he don’t want to be here. Nowhere is fucking safe. This place is full of bad memories and people who didn’t protect him.”

I stormed away before I kept going and fired Mickey because I was real damn close to doing just that.

Every now and then I did stupid shit. Most would say bull riding was the stupidest shit I could do. But this? This right here? This was going to top it, and I didn’t give a flying fuck.

I couldn’t get rid of the memories that haunted West, but I sure as hell could burn the reminders to the fucking ground. Which was why I drove right to the old McNamara house in the middle of the night. I backed my truck up to the front steps, running over the old bushes with no fucking remorse.

Hopping out of the truck, I rounded the back and lowered the tailgate. I grabbed the crowbar and one of the six containers of gasoline I had in the bed of the truck.

Harrison’s lawyer had locked up the house after he died, but that didn’t stop me from kicking down the goddamn door. My boots echoed in the empty house as I stomped up the stairs.

I broke out windows and smashed holes in the walls.

I dumped gasoline on every fucking surface until I stormed through puddles.

Second floor.

First floor.

Basement.

Fuck, I even wrecked the goddamn porches.

Everything had to fucking go until this awful goddamn house was nothing more than smoke on the horizon and a pile of ashes.

When every inch of that godforsaken house was drenched in gasoline, I tossed the last can in the back of my truck along with the crowbar. My boots were soaked, and I reeked, but I didn’t give a fuck as I took a pack of cigarettes out of my pocket. I set one between my lips while I stared up at that old house. I hadn’t smoked in fucking years, but I wanted one.

“I hope you rot in hell, Harrison,” I murmured, wandering close to the front steps. Rotting in hell was too good for him, but it’d have to do.

Lighting a match, I held it to my cigarette until the end ignited before dropping the match onto the porch. The gasoline burst to life and ran with the flame. It’d probably be enough, but I walked the perimeter for good measure, tossing lit matches through broken windows as I went. Flames erupted violently and raced through the house at an impressive rate.

When I was certain the house needed nothing else to burn to the ground, I returned to my truck. I leaned against the tailgate and crossed my arms. Taking a long drag from my cigarette, I watched the house burn with a wicked kind of satisfaction. Black smoke billowed into the night sky while the orange glow lit up the dark field.

Only when I was certain there was no saving the goddamn place did I put a call in to the Sheriff.

“Keating,” I said when he answered.

“What do you need, Jackson?” the Sheriff demanded, grumpy and annoyed with me bothering him. “This better be damn good. It’s late.”

“I need you to give Carter a call and get him out to the ranch. Tell him I have a…” I faltered briefly, staring at the fire for the right words, “controlled burn I need his help on.”

The momentary silence that followed was so damn telling.

“What the hell are you setting fire to now?”

“The McNamara house.”

“Fuck.” He sighed and the silence lingered. “Fine. I’ll give Carter a call. He’ll want to know what happened. You know that.”

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