“No, Lincoln. I’m fucking fed up. Some people come and shoot up their old office—well, I’m doing it a little different. I’m going to burn it all down and walk the fuck away from here with all the insurance money.”

His comment catches me off guard. “You started the fire? On purpose?”

Harrison’s proud smile makes me sick. “Ten out of ten for creative tactics, am I right? I inherit everything, and that everything isn’t a bunch of fucking trees in the ground in this shit-hole town. No, instead I get cash, and I can walk away and start over far away from anyone who has ever heard the name Riscoff.”

I’m still trying to find words to respond when someone else speaks from beside me.

“Not so fast, boy.”

A shot rings out, and Harrison screams as he drops to his knees. “My hand!”

Commodore’s head lolls to the side as what’s left of Harrison’s mangled hand spills blood onto the carpet. His pistol lies a foot away from him, his fingers still attached.

“I’ll kill you, old man!”

Harrison dives for his gun with his left hand, but I’m across the room quicker than he can move as he bleeds. I kick the gun away before he can reach it, and it slides across the carpet and spins on the wood floor. As soon as my fingers grasp the blood-slick metal, I whip around to face him.

Before I have to make the choice of whether to shoot my brother, Magnus Gable walks into the room, his rifle raised and sighted in on Harrison’s head.

“Now, what the fuck is going on here?”

Forty-Five

Whitney

When the gunshot rang out, Magnus was out of the chopper with impressive speed. I followed on his heels into the house, terror charging through my system.

There was no way in hell I was going to get Lincoln back, and have his ring on my finger, just to lose him now.

No. Fucking. Way.

When we cleared the threshold and I heard Harrison’s yelling, the knot in my stomach twisted into something unrecognizable. I remembered how he destroyed everything he could touch on the way out. I remembered what a spoiled, entitled brat he was.

And I knew he’d come back for revenge.

Magnus acted before I could even begin to comprehend what I was seeing play out in front of me. Now he’s standing over Harrison, the rifle barrel inches from his head, while Lincoln holds a pistol dripping with blood. Commodore’s head hangs forward in his power chair, which is pushed in front of a table.

“You little pussy prick,” Magnus says as he looms over Harrison. “You shot Goose! He was a good goddamn dog. What the hell is wrong with you, you sick fuck?”

“He also started the fire,” Lincoln says.

“What? Why?” I ask.

“I’ll explain later. Call 911. They both need an ambulance.”

“The chopper will be quicker,” Magnus says. “But I’d let that brother of yours burn in the fire of his own making. I call that poetic justice.”