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Will ran. He didn’t know how he had managed to get away, but he had. He didn’t know what he was going to do, but he had a gun now. Hayden had given it to him to protect their dads. Will wasn’t doing a very good job of it.

But he had to get away. If they caught him, those guys out of Texas would kill him and Abby and their dad. But maybe if he killed Bruce, they wouldn’t hate him so much. If he got away, he could get back to them and tell them what Bruce wanted. What he was looking for.

Or, maybe Will could go to the cops himself. Tell what he knew.

He just couldn’t let Abby be with him when he was arrested. She and his dad, they had to look like victims. Completely innocent. It had to look like it was all Will’s fault so they would be okay. Abby could take care of their dad okay, and Will’s dad had always kept an eye on Abby.

But if Will was blamed for this, his dad would be safe. His head still hurt, from the OPJ and from hitting the front window when those fucking Tylers on horses had run him off the road. It made it hard for him to think.

Maybe he could even get to Dylan, and she would listen to him. Talk to her uncle for him. Or the sheriff. They were related now, he thought. The sheriff was the son of her aunt or something.

Maybe Dylan would help.

He just knew—people couldn’t think any of this was Abby’s fault.

Abby was a bitch and selfish and catty, but she was his sister—and she was completely innocent. He had to take care of his dad and sister.

Abby didn’t deserve to pay the price for his mistakes.

Will ran back to the house that had been in his family for generations once. Until he could see?—

A man was there. Behind Toby.

Behind Dylan. Her hair was so distinctive, even in the dim light.

And the man was getting closer.

Bruce.

Will pulled up the pistol in his hands. He closed his eyes.

And fired.