Page 192 of Beat of Love
“Choice?” Her voice was tight.
“There’s enough narcotic in that syringe to end your life. Quick. Painless.”
“You’re insane if you think I’ll use it.”
“Hmm. Thought you’d say that. There is another option.” He paused, watching her fight for nonchalance. But the white knuckles gave away her tension. “Do you remember Salvador Ortega? The ruthless Colombian you double-crossed. The one who vowed to do unspeakable things to you? Worse than what you did to me?”
The blood visibly drained from her face.
“Ah. So you do.” He allowed himself a small, cold smile. “Two options, Kamila. The syringe. Or a call to Ortega. Your choice.”
A string of profanity followed by hysterical pleas crackled through the speakers.
Rafferty reached forward and muted the mic.
He stood and turned to Smith. “Let me know when it’s done. Either way.”
54
Belonging
The call came a short distance from the ranch entrance. Rafferty eased Sarge off the main road and onto the gravel shoulder before answering.
“It’s over,” Smith simply said.
He tossed the cellphone down and got out of the vehicle and rounded the hood. With surprise he noted it was the same stretch of fence line where he’d stood all those months ago, fresh out of hell. In the throes of withdrawal, his body wracked with tremors, pain, and bone-deep regret, he’d watched Aidan at the far end of the cattle pasture.
Watched his brother turn his back on him.
The March sun shone brightly, casting a golden warmth over the land. Bluebonnets and wild mustard painted the roadside in bursts of color. Tender shoots of wintergrass and wheatgrass shimmered green across the pasture.
Life was coming back.
It mirrored something inside him.
A quiet, fragile promise that all things healed.
The rumble of a slowing vehicle drew his gaze to the road. He recognized the Chevy immediately. And the man behind the wheel. Rafferty exhaled through his nose, glanced up at the cloudless sky, and muttered, “Seriously?”
Apparently, God had a truly twisted sense of humor.
Aidan pulled in behind the Jeep and climbed out, his steps heavy as he crossed the gravel toward him.
“Not pissing in a jar on the side of the road,” Rafferty called out.
Aidan’s jaw flexed. He tipped his cowboy hat back, scrubbed a hand over his closely cropped hair, then settled the hat firmly in place.
Without a word, he joined Rafferty at the hood of the Jeep, leaning against it in the same casual, braced posture.
“My life’s simple,” Aidan said quietly. “This land. The people who live on it. The livestock that graze it. That’s all I care about.”
He didn’t say it with judgment. But Rafferty felt the contrast all the same.
Aidan had roots. Purpose. Peace.
He had blood on his hands, ghosts in his wake, and a future that still felt unreal.
“I’ll never understand your choices,” Aidan continued, his voice low. “I’ll never understand how you went from the young man I admired — someone eager to serve his country — to choosin’ a life built on lies, danger, and violence. Pa’s accident …” Aidan’s voice caught. He dropped his gaze, shoulders tight. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get past your part in it.”
