Page 55 of Hell and Gone
Braddock bellowed. His hand opened, and the knife fell.
Everett spun him, shoved him over the kitchen counter and pulled Braddock’s arm back, twisting until he screamed. “You don’t know me,” Everett hissed in Braddock’s ear. “You don’t know how I feel about men who betray.”
Braddock spat curses and kicked at Everett. Everett slammed his boot into the backs of Braddock’s knees, one after the other. Howling, Braddock sagged against the counter. He reached for the butcher block again, this time with the hand that had covered his empty eye. Everett let him. He watched Braddock struggle, watched his fingers slip over the handle. Watched him draw out the boning knife, clench it in trembling fingers.
“If you try it, you’ll die,” Everett warned.
“Fuck you!” Braddock lunged, aiming the knife at Everett’s face.
Everett grabbed the knife. His hand closed over Braddock’s, and he twisted, slowly. Turned Braddock’s wrist and jerked his hand toward Braddock’s own neck.
Blade slipped through flesh, severing the center of Braddock’s throat.
Warm blood flowed over Everett’s hand, down his arm, pooled down Braddock’s body and slid between them, drenching him, once again, with the blood of a betrayer.
He staggered backward, staring at his red right hand. The murderer’s hand.
It’s all happening again. I can never, ever escape. Not from myself.
Smoke filled the ranch house, his nose, his throat. The roar of the flames surrounded him on all sides.
He tipped his head back and closed his eyes.
* * *
Lawrence rode Triggeras hard as he ever had, chasing down Howell and Burke. They were fleeing across his pasture and heading for the tree line. Burke fired wild shots over his shoulder as they rode. One zinged close enough to Lawrence to whistle.
Trigger snorted as he galloped up the hill. Ahead, there was a flat plane, a smooth stretch of grass. Lawrence rose, sitting high on Trigger’s back. If he’d saddled Trigger, he could stand in the stirrups, but this would have to do. Breathing in once, twice, he hefted himself up and brought the shotgun to his shoulder.
He took aim. Exhaled. Squeezed the trigger.
Howell’s arms flew up, and he nearly tumbled from his horse. Burke weaved close, grabbed Howell’s sleeve and hauled him back into the saddle. Lawrence saw Howell lean forward and grab his horse’s mane with one hand.
“Go!” Burke’s voice carried on the still night. “I’ve got this.” He wheeled his horse around as Howell rode on, his silhouette outlined in the moonlight filling the meadow, his shadow reaching for the trees.
Burke turned his horse and faced Lawrence across the pasture. His horse stamped, sidestepped. Stilled. Burke raised his rifle.
“Shit.” Lawrence pulled Trigger hard to the right, circling into the shadows cast by the woods. He had to get Trigger off the meadow, get him out of sight. In the moonlight-drenched field, Trigger would be easy prey.
Burke’s rifle split the night, a thunderclap that bounced off Crazy Peak and rolled down the slopes. He jerked Trigger left, pure instinct, pure desperation. The shadow of a cottonwood swallowed them both.
The bullet whistled on their right, sliding between branches. It slammed into the trunk ahead of them, splintering wood into toothpicks and sparks.
Trigger screamed. Lawrence ducked over his neck, holding tight to his mane.
He wove Trigger through aspen and ash before he slipped off his back. “Hide, boy,” he whispered. “Stay out of sight.” Trigger snorted. He nuzzled at Lawrence’s hand, rubbed his face against his chest. “Get gone!” He slapped Trigger’s ass, and his stallion darted through the trees.
It took some time to creep back to the meadow. Burke waited, patient and still in the center of the pasture dappled in starlight. His hat cast shadows over his face, and his clothes were drenched by the moon. He looked like Death riding for Lawrence. Waiting for him.
“I know you’re there, Law,” Burke called. In the stillness, he didn’t need to shout.
Down the hill, the ranch house burned, flames licking the sky and casting a crimson glow across the field. Sparks shot upward as the roof collapsed, and timbers split like the earth was cleaving in two.Everett.
“You come out that tree line, I’m goin’ to put a bullet in you. You used your last shot.”
He stayed low, hidden behind a fallen log. “It was you, wasn’t it?” he hollered. “You killed Carson!”
“It was supposed to be both of you hung!” Burke chuckled once. It was a humorless laugh, like dry leaves catching fire. “He was supposed to bring you up there. He’d figured out some Endless Sky boys were doing the rustlin’, and he wanted to talk it through before going to the sheriff. I told him to bring you up and we’d clean out the bad seeds together, then get our stock back. Course, he figured out the truth of the matter when that rope went ‘round his neck.”
