Page 22 of Tainted Empire (Sins of Our Father)

He’s not technically a vet, but he’s been working with our animals for at least forty years, so he knows enough.

“What seems to be the problem, Hunter?” he coughs out, wiping his nose on his flannel before bending down to inspect the writhing calf.

“Had a huge piece of glass in its foot. I just pulled up and saw him here,” I say before looking at the front door of the house as it swings open, my father grumbling out with his usual angry, red face.

“Damn cattle can’t stay put no matter how much you beat ‘em!” he shouts before he walks over to Bill and me.

“Maybe it’s because the pasture is filled with your Saturday night splendors,” I gruff and his angry, blue eyes snap to mine, filled with venom.

Here we go.

“What was that, boy?” he growls at me, his eyes narrowed as I swallow a deep breath, shoving my frustrations deep into my throat.

“It seems the calf damaged some nerves when he stepped on the glass. He’s not moving his foot and the entire top half of his leg is what’s causing him to wail,” Bill says, saving me from another snide comment aimed at my father.

“Well don’t just sit there, shoot the fuckin’ thing!” my dad hollers, glaring at the calf who whines on the ground below us.

“Pop, that’s the fourth calf this month that we’ve gone through, we really can’t afford anymore-”

“The fuck did you just say to me?” my dad snarls, walking up to me and standing a hair away from my face as he squares up.

I’ve got his height, but the old fuck is scrawny compared to me. I’ve worked on this ranch day in and day out for my entire thirty-eight years of living while he sits on his ass watching daytime television. My muscles can vouch for me.

I stare at him now, his eyes filled with drunken fueled rage as he blows his cigarette smoke in my face. When the smoke dissipates, I swallow and straighten my posture, my Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in my throat. I stare at him long and hard, my expression cool and unreadable.

“Nothin’,” I say, my gun feeling as if it weighs a ton tucked inside my belt.

He blows out another cloud of smoke before tossing the cigarette to the ground, smashing it under his boot.

“That’s what I thought. Now, take care of this and get back to work,” he grumbles, turning on his heel and marching back into the house to resume Wheel of Fortune, I’m sure.

“And wake up Finch for fuck sake before I fire his ass!” he hollers before slamming the door behind him.

He won’t fire Finch. He can’t afford it and as much as that man sleeps instead of works, no one else can take his spot. No one wants to. My father is the most hated man in this town and people steer clear of him and his ranch.

I sigh before leaning down to the calf, shoving down any emotion I may feel right now. This is one of the worst parts about the job, hurting the animals. After a while, you’d think I’d get used to it, but every time I put a bullet in one of their heads, a piece of me dies with them.

“Sorry, little one. You won’t feel anything bad after this,” I say before standing and pulling my gun from my belt.

Bill sighs and steps back, hands in his pockets as I pull the trigger and shoot the writhing calf below us. He lets out one final groan before collapsing, silence echoing in the open air.

I tuck the gun back into my pants before Bill and I lift the calf and take it to the burial site we have for the animals. Bill grabs the shovel and starts digging as I wipe my hands and make my way back to my cabin to clean off the blood from my face before I go to wake up Finch.

My cabin is at the south end of the ranch. It’s tiny and modest, but more of a home than I’ve ever had growing up. My mom died when I was nine and all I’ve ever known is ranch work and the bite of my dad’s belt. Coming into this tiny piece of woodwork is a breath of fresh air compared to everything outside of it.

I take my boots off on the porch and step inside. There’s plumbing and gas, but I don’t really care for electricity. I’d much rather bask in natural light and candles when it’s dark. I walk to the bathroom and run the faucet before wiping the calf’s blood from my face, the water running red in the metal basin. With it, runs every trace of Alison Bailey’s sweetness.

When I look back in the mirror and stare at my reflection, I can’t help but hope that taking over Arthur Bailey’s daughter and ranch will be much easier than killing a baby animal. Or at least, hope that it’ll be worth it.

When it comes to that curvy redhead, I’m sure it will.

16

Marley comes bargingin the house as soon as the movers leave, her face red with frustration. Hunter left hours ago and as soon as he did, I had to take a shower to wash off all memories of him. No matter how hard I scrubbed or washed my skin, traces of him still lingered, so I just went to finish the office when the movers officially left.

Now, I’m sitting in the kitchen drinking a glass of water to cool down the hot sweat on my skin, staring at Marley as she huffs and puffs and makes her way around the kitchen.

“What happened?” I ask, and her response is a short scoff as she pulls a beer from the fridge and immediately starts chugging it.

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