Page 61 of Bound By Ruin

Was I not calculated enough?

Fast enough?

Did I let Ruin walk away from me too quickly, or was I too focused on getting the girl to safety to realize what my brother was planning?

Have I been too blinded by beauty to recognize its cost, or did I think that, no matter the sacrifice, it would be worth a taste of her lips?

I clench my fists as I watch an old, beat-up, red pickup truck tumble down a dirt road that spirals up the mountainside, one of the truck’s taillights flickering as the bulb threatens to blow. Ruin is in that truck—but so is our father.

The bastardhasto die tonight.

I slide into the driver’s seat of Rage’s SUV and turn the key, revving the engine and hitting the gas to follow the truck. It turns on another dirt road, this one cutting a straight path across the mountain. We aren’t going to the snow-capped ski cliffs like most people do.

We’re heading for the half dozen natural springs dotting the hills, each one hosting a simple log cabin built decades ago to increase tourism to the area. Local college kids rent them out for orgies and hazings, but otherwise, they’re in decline, the beach scene in the summer and the ski lodge in the winter stealing nearly all of Harlin Heights’ tourism.

Our father must have known that the cabins lay empty most of the year. He also must have known that dropping bodies in back alleys and behind sand dunes on the beach would keep our attention inside city limits, rather than have us explore the outskirts in search of him.

For a man who pisses alcohol and wets the bed, he’s been strategic ever since he returned to the city.

Which means that in order to beat him, we have to be twice as smart.

I keep my headlights off as their vehicle pulls up to one of the cabins, the police tape blocking the driveway having been broken long before our arrival. Somehow, it both drags in the mud and flaps in the icy breeze, a testament to how little the city’s police force cares about its citizens’ safety. I doubt they properly cleared the scene if my father has been holing up here for weeks.

My father drives right past the broken caution tape, clearly not intimidated in the slightest by the police’s potential presence in the area, and parks around back, out of sight.

Pulling my phone from my pocket, I pin my location for my brothers to find, turn off the SUV, and step into the cold night air. Snow gently falls overhead, dusting the trees in white powder. It melts as it hits the ground, but it hovers over the spring’s glassy surface, tricking the naked eye into thinking that it’s solid.

I move on, not caring for the cold or the snow, determined to meet my father where he stands. I could pull out my gun and shoot him in the head, but we all agreed that Ruin would claim the kill.

If Ruinwantedto kill him, however, he would have already done so. What is he waiting for? An invitation?

The front door of the cabin is unlocked when I turn the handle, and I let myself inside. It’s dark, the living room eerily quiet. I pull my handgun from my waistband and carefully clear the room, moving methodically through the space in search of my father or brother. When I reach the back of the house, I realize that they aren’t inside—they’re in the underground basement, the outdoor hatch left wide open so that dull, orange light beams into the night sky.

It’s clearly a trap, but what choice do I have?

My brother is only in danger because of my failures. I can’t hesitate any longer. Playing judgeandexecutioner hasn’t yielded any tangible results. It’s time to end this for good.

Slowly, I drop down into the musty, damp pit, the wooden steps creaking as I descend. A pungent, rotten stench fills my nose the deeper I go, and I hold my breath as I reach the landing.

My brother is sitting in a metal folding chair in the middle of the room, unbound and unarmed, his favorite hunting knife missing from his hip. He stares unflinchingly ahead as our father flicks a Zippo lighter behind Ruin’s back, the flame snapping on and off with each jerk of his wrist.

“Thanatos,” my father greets, a sinister smile curving across his lips. “Here to say goodbye to your brother?”

I was expecting to find the same man I’ve been watching deteriorate for the past few years, but my father looksgood—healthy, even. His hair isn’t greasy or unkempt; he’s styled it and combed it away from his face. Clean-shaven and wearing a crisp white t-shirt and faded blue jeans that make him look ten years younger. He fiddles with a poker chip in his left hand, the only nervous tic I can find. A hunting jacket lay discarded on the back of a second folding chair, with a double-barrel shotgun resting on the table in front of it. Along the side wall, a cork board covered in dirty instruments catches my eye, each of the tools rusted over.

A whiff of copper fills my nose as I mistakenly take a breath, and only then do I notice the reddish stains coating the board, the rust having long since dried into a fine powder. Except, some of the stains are fresh, having dripped onto the worn workbench sitting below…

I clench my jaw and steady the unease churning in my gut, because that’s notrust.

My father’s gaze snaps to mine, the man unflinchingly confident as he takes in my appearance. “You didn’t happen to bring a pretty brunette with you? No?” He clicks his tongue against his teeth. “I was telling Yuri how much I wanted to see her again. She’s quite a beauty, isn’t she? Your girl.” The last bit he says to Ruin, but my brother doesn’t respond.

It’s like he’s gone mute after talking nonstop on the drive over, his social battery run dry.

“You know,” our father continues, placing his hands on Ruin’s shoulders, “I really am disappointed in you boys. All that fucking, and you still couldn’t knock her up.” His smile glints in the orange light. “I bet I could get her pregnant. My swimmers arestrong.I have four sons as proof of that.” He pulls something out from behind his back, and the flash of silver makes my stomach drop.

Ruin’s hunting knife isn’t missing—it’s stolen.

Holding the knife to Ruin’s throat, my father’s face twitches into the one I recognize—the unhinged maniac finally coming out to play. He cracks his neck with a quick jerk of his head, then exhales. “Well, I have three sons and onemistake.” A tiny line of red appears on Ruin’s skin, the knife having made a new incision on top of the one that Celia left earlier this evening. He bends to whisper into Ruin’s ear. “But all mistakes can be corrected.”

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