Page 115 of Things Left Unsaid

Moving to the front of the farm, off the patch of land where their tires have previously drawn rivets into the soil, I wait for the vehicles—a Harley and a white van—to come to a stop.

The cut and patch have me cursing.

My fervent hope for a stoner hippie drifts away on the wind because this is clearly the endeavor of an MC.

And they’re not like the ones we work with in the US who transport victims to the Canadian border. No, it’s the goddamn Rabid Wolves.

I remember them from when I was attending university.

They held up a series of gas stations and killed some of the attendants.

At least I know what I’m dealing with…

“This is my fucking land.” I punctuate the declaration by shooting the ground a few feet away from the bike. “You want to explain to me why weed is being cultivated on it? In fact, no. I don’t give a shit. You get off my property and we can forget any of this ever happened.”

The biker just tucks a cigarette between his lips and flicks a lighter. “You think you and your shotgun are enough to?—”

Taking aim, I shoot out his front tire.

“Fuck, man! I didn’t sign up for this shit!” the van driver yelps.

“You didn’t sign up for dick,” the biker growls, standing straight as he climbs off his bike. “Look what you did to my?—”

I don’t let him finish the sentence.

Shifting to the side so I’m not facing straight on, I shoot out the engine next.

“You fucker!” the guy curses as I reload.

“You’re going to get off my property, asshole, and you’re not coming back.”

He drags out a handgun from his cut as I cock the shotgun and aim at him. “You can shoot me, but I can shoot you too. And double-aught buckshot will fuck you up faster than anything you have in that peashooter.”

“This is no peashooter. It’s a?—”

“Do I look like I give a fuck? You can get off my landnowor I’ll shoot to kill. So be smart, use that peanut you have for a brain, and get. Off. My. Land.”

I can feel the veins in my forehead and throat bulge as I yell the warning at him.

It’s the guy in the van who screams, “Come on, Vinnie. It’s not worth it! Get in. Please. Fuck, I don’t want to die for some weed.”

“You’ll regret this,” Vinnie snarls as he backs off, running around the van’s fender. I shoot at his feet as he jumps into the passenger side. “You’re fucking crazy, man!”

As the driver reverses, Vinnie’s eyes are locked on mine. It’s only when they pull away, wheels smoking as they turn hard and fast onto the road, that I shoot again. The rear window shatters, and the van jerks to the left before, brakes shrieking and engine groaning, they fly down the highway.

“That was so cool!”

Jolting, I see the triplets. “What are you doing here? You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you!”

“Oh, my God, I thought that asshole was gonna piss his pants,” Carson crows and mimics, “‘Use that peanut you have for a brain and get. Off. My. Land.’BOOM.”

Colby presses, “Please tell me you’re going to teach us how to use a shotgun.”

That clears the adrenaline from my brain. “You mean you don’t know how to already?”

In tandem, their cheeks flush, but it’s Carson who mumbles, “No one would teach us.”

I scrape a hand over my head, but they don’t give me the chance to answer because Calder’s cocking his arms like I did the shotgun and shouting, “This is my fucking land.BOOM.”

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