Page 53 of Hell and Gone
He kept his pistol fixed on Lawrence as he kicked Everett in his shot shoulder, sending him sprawling on his back in front of the fireplace. Everett roared, his vision splitting, the world splintering. He heaved, bile crawling up his throat, and he choked on vomit facedown in the carpet.
On the couch, Connor screamed. Everett tried to push himself up. His arm collapsed, and he fell to his face. Still, he watched with one eye as Braddock kneeled on Connor, twisted his one good arm back. Watched him press his knee into Connor’s throat.
“No…” Everett grunted. He tried to crawl forward, a broken man. “No!”
“Look at you,” Braddock drawled. “Big bad Army boy comin’ in to save the day. You’re not so big and bad now, huh, son? Don’t know everythin’ now, do you?”
Everett hauled himself forward another inch. Collapsed.
“I kinda liked you, you know? You wasn’t so bad. But you couldn’t just follow what you was given. I laid it out for you, son. All you had to do was help me take out Law. You coulda lived if you’d just followed what I laid out for ya. But now…”
“Fuck you,” Everett croaked. His vision split, went triple. He was nearly blind with pain, with the ravaging agony burning from his shoulder, radiating through his body.
“You musta thought I was some dumb hick when you called this in, huh? All this happenin’ in my county and I don’t know a damn thing. You think I didn’t know ‘bout it all? These are my mountains! I knew the whole time!”
“You’re working with them!” Lawrence growled. He was frozen by the kitchen, pinned by Braddock’s gun. “You, Jim Burke, and the rustlers!”
Down the hallway, the front door opened. Boots hit the hardwood. Two pairs. Everett grabbed the carpet with his fingernails and dragged himself forward.
Lawrence’s eyes burned holes in the side of his face. He flashed him a look, a quick glance. Then he flicked his gaze to the fire. And back.Understand me, damn it. Understand.
Lawrence stared back at him, his fire-bright eyes melting his sorrows.
Two pairs of boots strode down the hall. Two men walked into the living room. Jim Burke, Endless Sky’s gray and sun-weathered foreman, tall and broad and holding a hunting rifle fixed with a scope. His watery blue eyes fixed on Everett, drifted to the hole in his shoulder. The corner of his lip curled up.
And behind him, Dan Howell came forward, tall and lean and mean in his cowboy hat and Endless Sky vest. He stood next to Braddock, his hands on his hips, and he sighed, shaking his head down at Connor and Everett. “These the last loose ends?”
“That they are. They been fuckin’ stubborn loose ends, too.” Beneath Braddock’s knee, Connor gurgled, struggling to breathe. His legs kicked wildly, trapped in the blanket.
“Not anymore.” Howell shook his head. He looked around the ranch, his cold gaze assessing, taking everything in. “We’ll shoot them all and let the place burn. You can take care of the death investigations.”
“Such a tragedy, three young men burnin’ to death in an accident.” Braddock pulled the hammer back, the pistol pointed at Lawrence’s forehead.
No, not again. Not like this.It couldn’t happen to a man twice. Here he was, tasting dust and blood again. And betrayal.
It wasn’t going to end the same way. Fire rose in his soul, so fast, so fierce Everett gasped. Since that day, since two years, eight months and fifteen days ago, he’d covered his fury with silence, with a stranglehold on his soul. He’d murdered his own heart somewhere along the line.
Once, Everett had unleashed his wrath, and it frightened him after, staring down at his blood soaked hands, his blood soaked clothes, and looking at what was left of the man who had killed his lover. Now, he felt that berserker fury sparking again.
He was capable of unspeakable things.
Something inside of him broke.
Roaring, his voice ripped raw with anguish and fury, he lunged at Braddock, dragging his good arm through the fire and grabbing the end of a burning log. He swung, swinging for the fences, for a record-breaking home run, and slammed the fiery log into Braddock’s ribs.
Braddock went down, shouting, falling off Connor to the carpet. Flames crawled up his jacket. He rolled, bellowing at Howell and Burke.
Burke raised his rifle, aiming at Everett. Everett faced him, holding his flaming log and breathing hard.
A shotgun blast burst behind Burke’s head. Wood splintered, the log wall shattering. Shrapnel flew at Burke’s face, sliced open his cheek and jaw and slammed into his neck and shoulder. He dropped to his knee, hissing in pain.
Lawrence marched to Everett’s side, the shotgun he’d propped by the kitchen table up at his shoulder. He pumped the slide, readied the next round. Aimed at Burke’s head.
Logs had tumbled free from the fireplace with Everett’s mad grab. Flames danced across the carpet and climbed the chairs in front of the hearth. Smoke rose, choking the air.
“Look out!” Connor gasped, his voice nearly broken. “Ev—”
Braddock grabbed Everett’s legs and pulled him down. He collapsed to his face and Braddock was on his back in a moment, hands around his neck.
