Page 4 of Sugar
But my attention’s focused on that gap in the ramshackle building’s dilapidated sliding doors, on another brother I know is inside and in danger.
The sound of a loud crash reverberates through the air, and I whisper out a sharp “Fuck” before hurling myself faster for the barn. I hear a woman scream.
“What do we do?” Wells asks at my heels. I don’t know how to respond because I don’tknowwhat the fuck to do, so I just keep moving. The Rustler family has always been reckless—even more than ours—but their illegal card games don’t typically include screaming, which means whatever’s going on in there is much worse than I thought.
Reaching the open doorway, I pause for two full breaths to steel myself before twisting around the outer edge of the doorframe, scanning the god-awful scene inside. Rhett’s sprawled out beside an overturned table, Colt Rustler only feet away in a similar position. Both of them are gaping up at a man looming over them on the other side of the table, brandishing a pistol that glints beneath the bald light above.
A gunshot slices through the night, and a man I don’t recognize falls to the ground, clutching his neck. There’s another scream—Wylie, hiding behind Ellis, is covering her mouth with her hands. My gaze drops again to Rhett, finding him wild-eyed with fear. Playing cards are scattered all around the floor. Another shot cracks, and the man next to Maverick drops.
Maverick shouts, aiming his pistol to shoot the other man again. This time the shot’s fatal, and the man goes still. Maverick turns his focus to a second man I don’t recognize and shoots him without thought. Then he turns to Ellis. “Was all this worth it?” he asks, voice low and deadly. “Dead cops and all this money gone when I walk out of here with it—was it worth it, Ellis Rustler?”
Holy shit.Dead cops?This isbadbad.
I know in an instant Maverick won’t let anyone out of here alive, not after we’ve all witnessed him kill two officers. There’s enough of us to stop him, but that gun in his hand will no doubt keep firing, and I’m not about to let it anywhere near my fucking brothers.
My mind goes utterly black as I squeeze the shotgun’s trigger. The deafening boom nearly knocks me sideways, my eyes closing shut on instinct. I open them to find Maverick’s hateful, cold glare changing, growing fearful as a spot of blood swells across the front of his shirt, painting his chest a shade of red so dark it almost looks black.
But Maverick’s grip on his gun only tightens. The hole torn through his chest is somehow not enough to deter him, and the fear in those strange dark eyes dissipates as his mouth curls into a dangerous grin. “You really thought you could stop me?” he asks, voice dripping with venom.
“Rhett, run!” I shout.
But Rhett doesn’t have a chance. Maverick aims his gun right at him, and before another sound can leave my throat, he’s pulling the trigger. Another loud crack whips through the air, and Rhett is pushed backward from the force of the shot hitting him in the shoulder. Maverick pulls the trigger again and a second shot hits Rhett in the stomach.
Terror floods through my body as I watch my brother, one of the best friends I’ve ever had, slump forward. His gaze moves to where I stand as Wells screams behind me.
“I’m sorry,” Rhett says, blood spilling from his mouth. It runs down his neck. Stains the collar of his shirt dark crimson.
“NO!” I yell with everything I have.
My eyes fly open to a white ceiling, darkened by the night. Cold sweat beads along my brow as I gasp for air, my heart slamming against my ribs inside a too-tight chest. Turning to my side, I curl into a ball and heave for a solid breath, but I can’t for the life of me catch one. There’s a part of my mind still separate from the panic that knows this will eventually pass, just like it does every morning. But it’s not enough to ease the bone-deep fear that rockets through me that my brother might actually be dead on the ground of some dirty fucking barn.
I’m home, I tell myself.I’m home in my bed. I’m not there. Rhett’s not there.
It’s been almost three weeks since Wells and I pulled Rhett out of that terrible situation.
Three weeks since I took someone’s life.
Mean-Eyed Maverick is not exactly the kind of man the world’s gonna miss, but it gnaws at me that he’s just . . .gone. That his existence was snuffed out of this world because ofme. I don’t regret pulling that trigger—not when I saw the rage in his eyes and knew what he would do to Rhett and the others if given the chance. Still, the anxiety compounds every day as I wait for law enforcement to break down my door and drag me away in handcuffs.
Ellis promised to take the heat should it come to that, but Ellis has been a fucking piss-poor friend for years, far more interested in all the ways he can make a buck than he is in loyalty or human decency. I’d be glad to never see that sad-sack of shit ever again. Maybe this stupid relationship between the Bennetts and the Rustlers can finally die—my brothers have been sucked into their bullshit far too many times.
I hope like hell what happened in that barn was enough to scare Rhett straight. He may have thought he had good reasons to put himself in danger like that, but at the end of the day this ranch and our name isn’t worth his life. The possibility of losing everything our family has worked so hard for over generations cuts deep, I get it. I’m going to fight like hell to make sure Uncle Huck has a hard time taking it all from us. But if we fail, if we lose this place, Iknowwe’ll be okay.
If we were to loseRhett. . .
This family has suffered enough.
It takes several long minutes, but the panic from my nightmare eventually begins to recede. I suck down a deep breath through my nose, filling my lungs with air, and hold it for as long as I can before pushing it out through my mouth. Looking toward the digital clock on my nightstand, the dim red numbers tell me it’s a few minutes past three in the morning. I still have an hour before the alarm goes off, but I don’t think I’ll be going back to sleep anytime soon.
I look back up at the ceiling, rubbing the sleep away from my eyes, and wonder if Brooks is awake in his cabin too. If he’s found any semblance of peace lying in his bed alone. I think of Rhett and Wells and the girls they have in their lives—are they happy? Are they sleeping with the warmth of their partners wrapped around them? Or are they awake too, contemplating every ounce of shit this family has been served in our lifetime.
The grass over Melody’s grave hasn’t even had a chance to sprout again, and already we have more problems to navigate. When is it enough? When will this family have the opportunity to live an easier life? Isn’t that the whole purpose of what we do—to disentangle ourselves from the world outside of these grounds?
Huck is supposed to be one of us. He’s a damn Bennett . . . He’s supposed to understand the sanctity and beauty of our work; he grew up here, just like we did. But all he seems to care about is what this ranch can do for his wallet, not for his soul.
I groan, sitting up in bed and throwing the covers away. Stepping into my slippers at the foot of the bed, I head for the bathroom and splash a few handfuls of cold water on my face as the weight of the world settles over my shoulders.
This is all on me, I know it is. My dad sure as hell doesn’t have the capacity to fight any legal battles with his brother, and Brooks is already going through so much. He just lost his wife, for fuck’s sake. That Huck would even think to take advantage of that loss for his own sleazy benefit is disgusting.
