I kiss Whitney’s forehead. “Stay here. Don’t move. Got me?”

She nods, and my attention lands on McKinley. Her expression is one I recognize—hard and determined. It’s her shit got real and it’s time to lock it down expression. She reaches out a hand, as if ready to grab Whitney if she tries to run.

I bolt toward my grandfather as he lifts the shotgun with only his right arm. The barrel shakes without a second hand to steady it, but that doesn’t stop him from training the gun on Renee.

“Put your goddamn gun down, woman.”

The reporters who were standing around her have fled for cover, hiding behind cars and trees.

Wailing sirens grow louder as the sheriff draws closer. Renee stands in the grass, her gun trained on Commodore—and now me.

“This is all your fault. The great Commodore Riscoff. You’re a joke of a man. You’re the reason your son abandoned me!”

“Put the gun down, woman, or I’ll pull this trigger. No one shoots at my family.”

“Give me the gun,” I say from behind him. “You’re losing too much blood.”

“Not a chance in hell. I don’t trust that woman not to fire again, and if she does, she’s not walking away.”

Renee cackles like a crazy woman, which arguably, she is. “Your precious family. If you really cared about your family, then you wouldn’t have forced your son to marry that woman.”

The sheriff’s SUV skids to a halt in the middle of the road, but Renee doesn’t stop her rant.

“He should’ve still been mine! I’ll kill you all for that!”

I reach for the controls on my grandfather’s chair and move it to the side as fast as I can before she fires again.

Renee pulls the trigger and another shot immediately follows it, and it didn’t come from Commodore’s shotgun.

I look up to see Renee Rango on the ground, her gun at her side. The sheriff rushes over to her, speaking into his radio at the same time.

Jesus fuck. What a goddamned mess.

Commodore steers his power chair toward the gate, his bleeding arm pressed to his side. “Everyone in the house. Now.”

Despite Commodore’s orders, I refuse to leave his side as my sister hustles Whitney up the driveway. Paramedics are on their way, and the gray pallor of my grandfather’s skin scares the hell out of me. I’m not about to lose him today too.

“I told you to go in the house,” the old man tells me.

“And I’ve stopped following orders I don’t agree with. Feel free to fire me if you have a problem with that.”

His bushy white eyebrows draw together as I yank off my shirt, then tear it into strips to wrap them around his arm to stop the bleeding.

“Stubborn SOB,” he mutters, and the tone of his voice betrays the pain he’s in.

“Just like my grandfather, so I’ll take that as a compliment.”