Page 40 of Winter's End

Before I could be on the receiving end of what was sure to be a witty comeback, I pulled onto a nondescript dirt road that should lead to the coordinates Kellan had texted.

My poor geriatric baby wasn’t made for rutted roads; we couldn’t hear anything above the squeaks of the struts and the rumble of the engine as it struggled to make its way up the mountain trail.

Note to self: next time borrow Shane’s truck.

When we got to the top, Kellan was already waiting—by himself this time, or so it appeared. I looked around warily through my now muddy windshield, but there wasn’t another human in sight.

Cam looked at me meaningfully before shifting his considerable size out of the tight space of my car. A blast of cool air hit me as I did the same. It was a beautiful May day, but the mountain breeze was chilly out here.

“Welcome.”

Kellan moved to shake both of our hands; the act surprised me, but I shook it all the same. I guess we were now on more common ground than simple FBI versus small town twenty-somethings.

He motioned for us to follow him inside the small wooden building to our right. When we entered, my eyes widened at the open display of rifles, handguns, and shotguns.

“We’re going to have a shooting lesson today.” Kellan waved his hand over the arsenal of weapons. “Choose your weapon, and we’ll go out back to teach you how to use it. Have either of you shot a gun before?”

I shook my head ‘no’ and swallowed roughly. The gun I carried was solely under the direction of Georgio, not because I ever wanted or needed the feel of a gun on me for protection. I could point and shoot well enough, but I’d been fortunate enough to have never needed to actually use it.

“No,” Cam said simply. “My fists are weapon enough.”

Kellan’s expression darkened at Cam’s casual delivery. “You may need this skill now more than ever. Grab a gun and follow me.”

I grabbed a handgun that looked similar to the one I carried, and Cam grabbed a larger one off the end of the table as we followed behind Kellan to the rear outdoor practice field; targets had been set up at various distances.

“Before we shoot, I’m going to teach you how to properly load, unload, and clean a gun, and I want to hear your stories from the beginning.”

He stopped at a table set up in front of the perimeter fence. A variety of unfamiliar tools had been meticulously laid out across its surface. Turning to face us, he folded his arms across his barrel chest and eyed us with the recognizable face of Carlos’ intensity.

“I only know who you are on paper. I need to know your backstories and how Georgio came into contact with you. We need to know the whole picture if we can use your family connection to help bring him down.”

He nodded in my direction. “Travis, you start.”

A million emotions flooded through me as I considered which part of my story to tell. Dad? Mom? Devon?

I blew out a breath and decided on all of it. Our fates were now intertwined; we might as well all be on the same page.

I told him about our childhood; how we’d never been rich exactly, but we’d had enough to live in a small three-bedroom on the other side of Sheldonville. Dad was an alcoholic and drug user, but he’d never laid a hand on any of us; he’d storm out in blind drunk rages and drive off, leaving Mom sobbing on the kitchen floor. I admitted Dad wasn’t a particularly involved father, but he’d been around enough that we had a void in our lives when he walked out on us when I was twelve.

Mom had been devastated and deteriorated quickly, and we moved into a trailer shortly after it became clear Dad wasn’t coming back. Mom had been diagnosed three years later, when I was fifteen, and I became the primary breadwinner for our family within the year. Then Georgio had found me at another club where I had been working doubles almost every day as a bartender and offered me a job as head bartender at Bourbon & Blues. I wasn’t even legal at the time, but my fake ID served me well. I’d worked the bar scene since I was seventeen.

I was twenty the first time Devon overdosed and I asked Georgio for a loan to pay for the first rehab stint. I’d been twenty-one when he’d put a gun and a bag of money in my hand, telling me the way to pay him back was to work off the hours in another ‘branch’ of his business. Angelo had then threatened Mom’s life when I initially refused.

I recounted my life story as emotionlessly as possible, fighting back the rising golf ball in my throat as my shitty circumstances and shame threatened to choke me.

All the while, Kellan wordlessly showed how to take apart the individual pieces of the gun I’d chosen and the tools used to clean them. I was grateful the visual distraction allowed my sentences to flow.

When the words dried up, along with the tears at the back of my eyelids threatening to spill over, Kellan’s booming voice broke through my stagnant silence.

“Matteo left so that our father wouldn’t find out about you two. He’d been infiltrating another rival crime organization and working through their ranks for many years—Antonio is nothing if not a patient man. I suspect he got involved with your mother in that time, and didn’t tell her his real identity. Maybe he did—we’ll never know.”

His brows pinched as he searched the depths of my green eyes before delivering the final blow. “Matteo died over a year ago in an FBI shootout that isn’t public knowledge. I saw the body myself.”

A burst of agonizing pain tore through my heart, but then dissipated into a slow burn across my chest. Matthew Balcom—Matteo Banderas—hadn’t been a father to me in over a decade. His leaving—whether or not an action of mercy—had brought chaos and serious pain to our lives. He hadn’t sent money or made sure we had food to eat; he’d done nothing to protect us from the raw suffering of life. Instead, he’d chosen to leave two little boys and a kind, but sheltered, woman to fend for themselves in an unforgiving world.

I wouldn’t mourn the man who’d left us to rot to save his own skin.

“Thank you for letting me know,” I croaked out, and the burn soothed to a soft tingle. “That’s one loose end tied up.”

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