Page 8 of Butcher's Honor

"Good. Get it out. Just having it might be enough to scare him off until I get there."

The door frame splinters further. Derek's face appears in the gap he's created, twisted with rage.

"I see you in there, you worthless cunt! Running to your new boyfriend already? I'll kill him too!"

"Joey..." My voice breaks as I pull the gun free from its tape. It's smaller than I expected but feels impossibly heavy in my hand.

"I hear him. Three minutes out."

"I don’t know what to do..."

"If Derek gets through before I arrive, and if he comes at you..." Joey's voice turns deadly serious. "You shoot him. Center mass. Don't hesitate."

The door frame gives way with a final crack. Derek stumbles through, wielding what looks like a tire iron. His eyes are wild, pupils blown—he's high on something. The Derek I first met would never touch drugs. This person in front of me is a stranger.

"Found yourself a new man already?" he snarls, advancing slowly. "Some old biker who probably can't even get it up anymore?"

I back away, keeping the counter between us. The gun remains hidden behind my back.

"Leave now, Derek. Please. Don't make this worse."

He laughs, an ugly sound. "Worse? You destroyed my life! Left me for no reason, took up with criminal trash—"

"You hit me," I say, finding strength in my anger. "You terrorized my son. You're the only trash here."

"Shut up!" He lunges forward, tire iron raised.

I bring up the gun, clicking off the safety just like Dad taught me. "Stop right there."

Derek freezes, his eyes going wide. "You wouldn't."

"Try me." My voice steadies, my hands stop shaking. "I have nothing left to lose when it comes to you."

A motorcycle's roar grows closer, and Derek's head snaps toward the sound. Fear flashes across his face.

"Fucking bitch," he spits, but he's backing away now. "This isn't over."

"Yes, it is."

Joey's voice comes from behind Derek, and I've never been so happy to see anyone in my life. He fills the doorway, leather cut bearing traces of what looks like smoke, face promising violence.

Derek spins around, tire iron still raised, but he doesn't even get to swing. Joey's fist connects with his jaw with a sickening crack, sending him sprawling across my kitchen floor.

"I thought I made myself clear yesterday," Joey says, his voice terrifyingly calm as he advances on Derek's prone form. "About what would happen if you came back."

Derek tries to scramble away, blood dripping from his mouth.

"I'm sorry! I wasn't thinking—"

"No, you weren't." Joey kicks the tire iron away, then places his boot on Derek's throat. "And now you never will again."

"Joey," I say softly, still holding the gun. "Tommy's in the house."

Something flickers in Joey's eyes—a war between violence and restraint. Finally, he eases his boot off Derek's throat.

"You've got two options," he tells Derek. "Option one: you leave town tonight. Never come back. Never contact Ruby or Tommy again. Forget they exist. Option two..." He smiles, and it's the scariest thing I've ever seen. "Well, let's just say the police are really bad at finding bodies in this county."

Derek's face goes pale. "I'll leave! I swear!"

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