Chapter Fifty-One
Grant
“I still can’t believe I’m driving my children to an execution,” Uncle Ant mumbled as he navigated the SUV through the rain. Mud swallowed the tires as he drove past the gate. Rain tapped steadily against the windshield, in a soothing drum. The wipers dragged back and forth, clearing a view of the barn across the glass.
It didn’t take anything to convince Burgess to let us use his pig farm. He was thrilled to be of service and promised Branson would be disposed of properly.
I’d only been to the farm once before as a teenager, and I promised myself I’d never step foot on the property again, but here I was, and I felt like a kid at Disneyland.
Casey climbed out first with determination etched on his face. He said many times that he felt partially responsible for what happened to Kiyah, and for him? This was redemption. Kieran followed, jaw set, and movements clipped and efficient. Ronan’s boots hit the ground, heavy and pronounced. He squared his shoulders and scanned the perimeter. Uncle Ant stayed behind the wheel with his hands loose on the steering wheel. He was the same man who’d taught us how to drive stick, made homestyle breakfasts, and allowed us all to pile into bedand watch cartoons. Now, he waited in the van like this was just a weekend errand.
I left the SUV and rounded the back, opening the hatch. I unlatched the black industrial cases and lifted the lids, revealing rows of high-powered weapons. Each of my brothers lined up and made their selection before I settled on a double-action revolver.
My chest felt tight, like the air had doubled in volume somewhere between the hospital and here. When I closed my eyes, I could still see Kiyah’s sallow, bruised face.
I cleared my throat and tugged on the collar of my vest.
“Alright. Kieran, you’re in the barn loft. Casey and Ronan, you’re sticking with me. Casey, keep your eye out, and Ronan, you’re checking the trail cams. Branson is mine.”
They nodded. Uncle Ant killed the engine, Ronan closed the hatch after checking his rifle again, and Kieran adjusted his jacket, staring off in the distance with dead eyes.
Casey approached me. “You good?”
“I am,” I lied, drawing in a slow breath before stepping forward. They followed me, and the smells of the farm assaulted me. It was a mixture of soil, wet hay, and pig shit—the kind of smell that clung to your clothes and didn’t leave without maximum effort. Somewhere nearby, pigs shifted and snorted, rooting around for something to nibble on.
We got into position and waited for what we were owed—justice, revenge, peace that had to be taken, not earned. We weren’t leaving the farm the same version of ourselves, but each of us already made peace with that.
“Incoming,” Ronan announced. “Singular vehicle, two bodies,” he confirmed.
“Anyone else?” I asked.
“Negative.”
Waiting felt like a lifetime, but in reality, it only took five minutes for Desi to park and drag Branson into the barn. A black bag was over Branson’s head, but that did little to muffle his shouts of protest. He crumpled to the dirt floor when Desi shoved him down.
“Grant,” Desi said, focusing his attention on me. I nodded. He reached inside his jacket and Ronan and Casey didn’t hesitate to lift their weapons. “It’s an envelope, not a weapon.”
“Pat him down, Ro,” I instructed.
“All clear,” Ronan confirmed after patting down Desi and Branson. He snatched the manila envelope from Desi and tossed it to me. I opened it with relief.
“Those are all of Pete’s essential documents. His passport, birth certificate, immunization and health records, Mr. Branson’s will, life insurance policy, and financials. There is an encrypted hard drive that should only be opened on a secure line. The password is Pete’s birthday, backwards. I’ll be satisfied if we never hear from each other again.”
I nodded and handed the envelope to Casey. “Agreed.”
“For what it’s worth, I regret my involvement.”
“I’m sure. You’re free to go. I’ll never forget this,” I said, lighting a cigarette.
Desi nodded and left the barn. He nearly arrived at the SUV when a crack echoed through the air, masking the sound of his body hitting the ground.
I could’ve spared him. I actually forgave Desi, but I couldn’t have any loose ends.
I crouched and peeled off the hood, revealing Branson’s bloodied face.
“You son of a—” He yelped when I pressed the cigarette into the side of his face, burning away flesh. He curled into the fetal position and coughed repeatedly when Casey kicked him in the stomach. I smirked when Ronan decided to get his lick andsmashed the butt of his gun into Branson’s head, splitting the flesh and knocking him out. Fresh blood trickled into a pool in the dirt.
“Hang him,” I said, lighting another cigarette.