Page 12 of Midnight Salvation

“I am not your fucking son,” I seethe through gritted teeth. “Those motherfuckers came into my town, onto my property, and drove their asses right up to my house before they unleashed a barrage bullets on my fucking house.” I jostle him against the wall. “Where my fucking family was. Do you understand what that does to a man, Sheriff?”

Redford swallows. “Yeah, I understand.”

I shake my head, dismissing his empty words. “It’s got me feeling like I have to reevaluate who I trust. Can I trust you, Redford?”

He nods. “You know you can, Silas. We’ve had a mutually-beneficial relationship for years. Why would I jeopardize that right before retirement?”

I release my grip on his shirt with a sharp exhale and take a step back. “Why indeed, Sheriff. What are you planning to do to make this right, hm?”

Redford’s eyebrows shoot up, his gaze shifting around once more. “Me? This is a club issue, so—Silas. This kind of thing isn’t part of our agreement.”

“It is now.” I grin at him, flashing a feral sort of smile. “These motherfuckers won’t stop with us. They’ll hit Main Street next, then the residents. If they haven’t already. That’s how they work. They’re fucking parasites, feeding off of destruction and chaos. And they’ll tear apart every good thing just because they fucking can.”

“Well, now, see you should’ve told me that right away, Silas. No need for the . . . theatrics,” Redford says, glancing over my shoulder.

“We good, brother?” Nova asks from somewhere behind me.

I fold my arms across my chest and stare at the sheriff. “Are we good, Redford?”

The sheriff runs a trembling hand down the front of his shirt and clears his throat. “Yeah, we’re good, so—Silas.”

I nod a few times, but the movement is all sharp and fueled by anger. “I was having quite the chat here with the sheriff about how he wants to take one of us in for the mess in the front yard. Despite the fact that we’re the fucking victims in this situation, so anything that happened after the fact is considered self-defense.”

“Is that right?” Nova drawls, his slow cadence a facade. “How nice of our sheriff to come to our aid in our time of need.”

“Mm-hmm. Almost as nice as the amount of money we’ve paid him over the years. You know, Nova, it’d be a shame if that gift turned into a debt. One that needs to be repaid starting today.”

Redford shifts his weight from one foot to another, his shoulders curving over a little. “Nah, no need to get hasty, boys. I’ll make sure Sheriff Bellfleur gets the details right in the report. And I’ll send the team to clean up for ya.”

“And where is that shithead Ethan today, hm?” Nova asks, cocking his head to the side. “Seems kind of like the thing the next sheriff should be overseeing, yeah?”

I recognize that faux-casual tone and the almost innocent curiosity in his gaze. My brother has had it out for Ethan Bellfleur since freshman year when he caught him shoving a kid inside a locker like it was some high school sitcom. Nova didn’t even know the kid, but if there’s one thing my brother hates, it’s a fucking bully.

“Oh, ah, Ethan?” Redford asks, scratching his jaw with his index finger. “Yeah, he’s handling a dispute by the edge of town.”

Nova saunters across the kitchen, stopping a few feet in front of Redford. He arches a brow and flashes a charming smile. “Is that right? Give him my regards, yeah?”

Redford clears his throat, his gaze bouncing from Nova to me and back again. “Right, well. I’ll be around if you boys need something.”

I wait for the sheriff to leave, before I turn to face my brother. “No sign of them at the clubhouse?”

He shoots me a glare. “Would I stand here and fuck around with the sheriff if there was?”

“Nah, I know. I’m just—fuck.” I exhale and shake my head, looking at my boots.

“What’s this? Is that Evangeline’s handwriting?” he asks, walking to the refrigerator.

The hope in his voice snaps my head toward him. “Yeah, I thought it was clues or directions or something at first, but this”—I stab my index finger on the first line—“I don’t fucking know what this gibberish is. Or when she wrote it. For all we know, she did this weeks ago and it has nothing to do with any of this.”

He knocks my hand away. “It’s not gibberish. And it’s from today. I would’ve noticed it if it had been there before.” He takes another step toward it, his expression deepening as he studies the scrawled words.

“How?” The word hangs in the air like a skeptical echo.

“Because that’s what I said to her that night at The Wild Boar,” he murmurs. “And this, this is from the night Bane said those infamous three little words and she pretended to be asleep. Guess she was scared to say it back then,” he murmurs.

My head rears back, and my brows crash into an angry V between my eyes. “And how the fuck do you know that?”

He lifts a shoulder, his gaze focused on the words. “Bane’s not the only one who can hack a security system. I liked to check in on her from time to time.”

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