Page 61 of His Brutal Game
Forrest smacked my back. “That’s my boy. Always ready to make me proud.” He squeezed my shoulder, leaning in close. “Remember, son, death is all we truly have. You can never get close to anyone. Not even me. Or your brother.” He straightened his posture, though his head hung low as he mulled over the words: “Your mother’s death should have taught you that. But if she didn’t break you from the habit, then your wife certainly will.”
I began to nod, mindlessly agreeing with him like I always did. But then I stopped.
“My wifeisdead,” I said.
“In time,” he said.
The memories surfaced, flashing before me. My mother kneeling. Maisie with the hood over her head. My mother’s face caked with mud. Maisie’s words:I love you, Wilder.Aiming at the back of my mother’s head, pulling the trigger. I wasn’t sure if I had a choice at ten years old. Forrest would have made me do what he wanted. But when it came to Maisie, I didn’t have to let her die. And I wouldn’t kill her. I wouldn’t let anyone hurt her.
“You’re wrong,” I said.
Forrest stopped, his shoulders rigid. “Wrong about what?”
“There’s more than death,” I said. Maisie had taught me that.
“Are you disagreeing with me, son?”
I leveled with Forrest. He knew my response. I stepped closer, my fingers tapping the gun in my holster.
“All right,” Forrest said. He sighed, then dialed a number. “Bring them in,” he said to his phone.
He clicked off the device, then stowed it. My shoulders tensed. Every breath that followed leaked slowly out of my chest.
“Who is this cunt, anyway?” Forrest said, staring down at the flesh.
“My wife—”
The doors to the Dairy Barn opened. Sawyer rolled in a cart, carrying two women tied to cattle chutes, the bars keeping them locked in place, on their knees, their hands tied to the metal. Bambi’s hair clinging to her sweaty face. And Maisie. She screamed at Sawyer, her cheeks red. I reached for my gun, but the hammer on Forrest’s pistol pulled back.
“Why interrupt the fun now?” Forrest asked. He tilted his head, a grin plastered on his face. “After all, you’re following my advice, aren’t you?”
Sawyer brought them across the barn, presenting them to us. Forrest laughed and locked the barn doors.
“Can you do what needs to be done, my son?” Forrest asked. “Or shall I have your brother finish the Offering for you?”
I clenched my teeth. The edges of my vision blurred. I was tired of this. Tired of fighting for a position that I didn’t want. Tired of pretending like I gave a shit about our family’s legacy. All I wanted was Maisie.
I imagined Forrest’s decaying flesh, his greenish skin, blue and purple veins twisting through his bloated body. But a more fitting end would be for him to rot at the bottom of the pond. If he made a move toward Maisie, I didn’t care that he was my father. He was gone.
Sawyer removed his gun. “Stop wasting time,” he said.
I couldn’t hold back any longer.
I hit the back of my gun into Sawyer’s head, shoving him out of the way. My fists seared, crashing into him, but he laughed, returning an equal amount of power to me. I didn’t want to kill my brother, but I was tired of this. If he died because I protected Maisie, then so be it. My sore knuckles bludgeoned into his nose, using the weight of the gun as he did the same to me. But as I met his eyes, I realized that he was as trapped as I was. Did he see that too?
A scream caused me to stop.
Maisie ran toward the door. Bambi scampered behind.
Had Forrest let them go?
Sawyer punched my jaw, the pain flaring through me. Then he knocked the gun out of my hand. It skidded against the floor.
“Which of you can kill the livestock orders first?” Forrest asked.
Maisie pulled on the barn door’s handle, but it wouldn’t budge.
“I locked the doors, you rats,” Forrest laughed.
