Page 61 of The Bad Brother

I STAND ON THE FRONT PORCH OF THE Mill, heart pounding in my chest while I watch Sloane and River make their way home on my phone screen.

They’re moving slowly, heading east on Riverfront, toward the bridge.

The speed indicator on the app is set at thirty miles an hour.

Ten under the speed limit on Riverfront.

Sloane is driving slowly on purpose. Trying to buy them as much time as she can.

Maybe hoping that Colt will catch up and pull them over before they get here.

If that’s what she’s hoping, she’s in for a disappointment.

Reese is Colt’s only deputy and she’s standing watch over her father.

If Colt is still at the hospital like Cal said, he’s not going to be much help.

He's been calling me every few minutes. Probably wants to tell me not to do anything stupid. That he’ll find them. Bring them home safe—I just have to trust him. Be patient.

He doesn’t know what I know .

That they’re on their way here and there is no such thing as safe for anyone as long as my brother is still alive.

It’s something I’ve been avoiding for a long time.

Something that Tank would’ve tried to talk me out of if he were here.

I’ve let my brother make my life a living hell.

Literally let him get away with murder and even after what he did to Lyla Strong, I let him keep torturing me because at the root of it all, he was still my baby brother and as long as no one else got hurt, I told myself I could take it. Maybe even that I deserved it.

You get in this truck, you get in alone because you can’t start over with a heart full of hate and you can’t be better with their bullshit dragging you down. Whatever happened to get you here, stays here. You gotta let it go, kid.

That’s what Tank said to me the day I was released from prison. The day he brought me home and made me a Barrett and I’ve been trying. Every day, I’ve tried to put it behind me. Let it go. Move on. No matter what Ethan did, I tried to live my life in a way that would make Tank proud.

But I can’t do that anymore.

Because Ethan isn’t just hurting me.

He’s hurting my family.

He’s hurting the woman I love and I can’t let that happen. So, I guess I’m just going to have to settle for being glad that Tank isn’t here to watch me do what comes next.

Standing here, I watch while the little blue dot on my phone screen crests the bridge.

They’ll be here in a few minutes. I don’t have much of a plan.

Employing Cade means I can’t keep any real weapons on the premises.That leaves me with the baseball bat I keep behind the bar and Tank’s old hunting knife stuck in my boot .

The little blue dot on my phone screen slows to a stop at the base of the bridge while Cade’s name flashes across the top of it. Rather than close the app, I answer the call on speaker phone.

“Colt’s been calling,” he says by way of greeting. “He’s leaving the hospital now and headed your way.”

Shit.

“Tell him not to bother,” I say calmly. “I’m not at the Mill.”

Cade makes a rough sound in the back of his throat that says he knows I’m lying. “Where are you then?”

“Driving around, looking for them,” I lie smoothly while the blue dot on my screen decelerates slowly. They’re less than a mile away now. “Look, I’ve got to go.”

Cade makes that noise again. “Colt’ll be there in the next fifteen minutes. I’ll be there in less than ten.”

He hangs up before I can say anything else.

Fuck.

They’re less than 100 yards away now. Jamming my phone into my back pocket, I watch the road on the other side of the parking lot.

Come on, Peach, get your ass here before I ? —

A gunshot rings out, the faint pop of it muffled, the sound of it catapulting me across the porch and down the stairs, seconds before Sloane’s little red compact shoots into view, the passenger side door hanging open.

My boots barely hit the parking lot before the front of Sloane’s car hammers into the 100 year oak across the road.

I shout out a curse, suddenly moving at a dead run, eyes zeroed in on the car in front of me, its front end accordioned, wrapped around the tree it slammed into, almost every airbag deployed, making it impossible to see inside the car.

Please. Please let her be okay. Please ? —

“ Jensen .”

I hear someone scream my name and turn to find River standing in the middle of the road, no less than twenty-five yards from where Sloane wrecked her car, face bone white. Limbs visibly shaking, a look of absolute horror on her face. This is how her parents died.

“ Where’s Ethan ?” I bellow without breaking my stride. I’m crossing the road now, swinging wide around the tree to get to the driver’s side. “ Riv, where’s ?—”

“In the back,” River shouts at my back, nasty road rash covering her legs, blood oozing from her knees. More of it oozing down the side of her neck. “She told me to jump. She was supposed to jump. She said?—”

“Colt’s on his way,” I shout at her, rounding the front of the car and the tree its wrapped around, engine hissing and ticking so loud it nearly drowns out the blood rushing in my ears. “Go inside. Call 911 and then wait for him.”

“But—”

“ Now, goddamn it .”

Not bothering to make sure River does what she’s told, I keep moving, my focus zeroed in on Sloane.

Please, God, let her be alive.

I’ve never asked you for anything. Not even for Tank.

I’m asking for this.

Finally making it to the driver’s side of the car, I reach for the door handle and yank it open, the crunched metal squeal of it deafening in the still morning air, and my stomach drops. There’s blood—bright red smeared across the stark white of the airbag.

Please.

Pulling the knife from my boot, I stab the partially deflated airbag, rather than fight with it, before jamming it back in. Ripping it out of the steering wheel, I toss it aside so I can assess the damage.

Blood.

Sloane’s entire face is covered in blood, stark white under the red river of it. Arms limp. Hand loosely wrapped around her stun gun.

Remembering what River said, I flick a quick look at the backseat. Ethan is out cold, a nasty burn still sizzling on his forearm. As much as I want to drag him from the car and break his neck, I leave him where he is and focus on Sloane.

“Sloane...” I whisper it, teetering on the edge. Heart thumping almost painfully in my chest, I reach for her only to stop myself because there’s too much blood and I don’t know what to do. Where I can touch her without hurting her even more. “Baby, what did you do?”

When she lets out a soft, plaintive croak in response, I almost pass out in relief. “ Jen ...”

“I’m here,” I tell her frantically, hands hovering above her arms. “How bad is it? Can you move? I don’t know?—”

“River...” She tries to lift her hand only to let it drop back into her lap on a painful wince. “Where’s Riv?—”

Shaking my head, I cut her off. “She’s okay.”

“Ethan.” She tries to lift her hand again. “He?—”

“ Fuck Ethan ,” I push the words through clenched teeth.

“How badly are you hurt? What do I do? Do I move you?” With the bus accident, it was easier.

By the time I got to the crash site, people were already climbing out of the wreckage on their own.

All I did was help them. Guide them to safety.

This is different. This is Sloane. “Sloane, baby, tell me what to do. I don’t?—”

“ Trunk ...” she whispers, hands twitching in her lap, limp finger aimed at a lever under her dash. “ My kit... C-collar ...”

“Okay. Yeah.” I flick another hard look at Ethan. Still out cold. Hopefully dead. “Wait right here. Don’t move.”

Her lips twitch like she’s trying to smile. “ ...be right here.”

Toggling the trunk release, I push myself out of my crouch, catching the distant wail of sirens.

River called 911. Help is coming. Not willing to wait, I hurry to the rear of the car and throw open the trunk lid to peer frantically inside, the contents of Sloane’s trauma kit flung across the inside of it in a jumbled up mess.

Comeoncomeoncomeon...

Scanning the trunk, I spot the C-collar, wedged between a case of water and what looks like a portable spotlight, I reach into the trunk. “Got it. Hang in there, baby.”

Slamming the trunk closed, I lift my gaze to find Ethan standing next to the car, swaying slightly. Blood oozing into his eye from a cut above his brow, hand pressed against his side like he’s trying to hold himself together. His other hand is wrapped around a gun and it’s aimed right at my face.

He gives me one of his psychotic grins. The same one he gave me when I asked him about the pile of dead rabbits in the gardening shed.

The same one he gave me after the judge handed down her sentence when she deemed me responsible for the death of a girl I’d never even heard of.

“Well, this didn’t go at all the way I planned. ”

“Yeah...” I feel the corner of my mouth lift in a nasty smirk while I move slowly out from behind the trunk. “Sloane’s quite the monkey wrench, isn’t she?”

When I say her name, Ethan’s face falls into a scowl. “I fucked your girl, so you fuck mine—is that how it is?”

I hear another siren enter the fray. This one behind me. Closer. Moving faster.

Colt.

From the sound of it, he hasn’t quite made the bridge yet but he will, soon enough.

“She’s not yours, you crazy fuck,” I tell him quietly, barely able to push the words past the clench of my jaw.

“Are you sure?” Ethan flashes me that psychotic grin again, right before he pulls the trigger.

Body jerking instinctively, it takes less than a second for me to realize that instead of the loud bark of a gunshot, all I hear is a dry click.

Dropping the C-collar in my hand, I don’t hesitate. Charging forward on a roar, I lower my shoulder, slamming it into his mid-section, lifting him off the ground before we both go down, gun knocked out of Ethan’s grip on a sickening howl that tells me I’m right. His ribs are broken.

The wail of sirens, approaching from both north and south—the ambulance, coming to help Sloane. Colt coming to stop me—is almost deafening. Sandwiched in between, I hear the slam of a car door, right before I hear my name. “ Jensen .”

As promised, Cade got here first.

Popping up on a surge of adrenaline, I spot the gun where it landed, a few feet away. Bending over to scoop it up, I wrap my hand around it and turn, lifting it just in time to watch Ethan stagger to his feet.

Wracking back the slide on the gun, I clear the jam the way Tank taught me, popping the stuck bullet out of the chamber. Tightening my grip, I aim the gun at his chest. “You’re not very good at murder, little brother. First Red and now me—you should’ve stuck to hiring out your dirty work.”

“Idunno—” Ethan shrugs on a wheezing laugh. “did pretty good with Lyla, didn’t I?”

“Jen.” Cade says my name again, the cautioning sound of it coming from somewhere behind me. “You’re bleeding.”

“I know.” My stitches ripped open when I tackled Ethan. I can feel blood oozing down my back.

“Colt’s on the bridge. Whatever you’re gonna do, you better do it fast.”

I know that too.

“Help Sloane,” I tell him without looking away from my brother. “The C-collar to stabilize her neck is around here some?—”

“ Jesus Christ ,” Cade barks behind me, his tone held together by barely controlled panic. “He shot her, Jen— he fucking shot her . If you don’t fucking kill him, I will .” Cade again, quieter now. More controlled. “ Come on, Doc. You gotta hang on, okay? Help is coming... just hang on .”

Ethan’s expression shifts, the first real hints of worry, rippling across his features. That worry is tinged with confusion because he never thought this would happen. He’s become so used to beating me that he thought there was no possible way he could lose.

“Whaddya gonna do, Jen?” He gives me a woozy head shake. “Shoot me back? We both know you don’t have it in you.” Lifting a hand, he gestures weakly at the still empty street. “Sheriff’ll be here any second. The best thing— the right thing —to do is just let him arrest me, don’t you think?”

The right thing?

Probably.

It’s what Tank would do.

What he’d expect me to do if he were here, but it’s not the best thing because we both know it won’t stick. Murder doesn’t stick to money. For people like Ethan, there’s always a way out. And as long as there’s a way out, my brother will always be a threat. No one I love will ever be safe.

“You heard him,” I say, tightening my grip on the gun I have pointed at his chest. “If I don’t kill you, Cade will.”

“Did you forget about your security cameras, brother? I’m unarmed—” He holds out his hands, arms extended in a show for the surveillance cameras I had installed only days ago. “how’s that going to play out for you?”

“Don’t worry,” I tell him, with a tight head shake. “I turned them off.”

“What about your precious Tank?” he sneers at me because he knows it’s over. He knows what happens next and the best he can hope for is hurting me, one last time. “He’d be pretty disappointed in you, don’t you think?”

“Yeah.” I answer him honestly. “Probably—but I think maybe he’d understand. ”

“I hope she fucking dies.” Ethan gives me one last psychotic grin, right before I pull the trigger.