14. Barbarians and Boobytraps

Chapter Fourteen

BARBARIANS AND BOOBYTRAPS

Bramley

“ T hat’s right, motherfucker, go have a fucking smoke.”

Crouching behind a tree and out of view of the security cameras, I watch the two suits by the garage shoot the shit, talking about some new batch of bitches coming in from auction, and everything they plan to do to them when they get here.

I don’t know why I drove to Harden Ranch.

I’ve made it a point to stay the fuck away from here ever since I started picking off its employees but fighting with Nash has me all kinds of fucked up still, and I was gunning to find someone with blood I could spill to make me feel better.

These mafioso looking fucks aren’t going to cut it, even if they’re talking about doing some pretty vile shit to the new omegas they’re apparently waiting for.

I need someone big. Someone important. Someone Bryce Harden will actually miss, otherwise my entire night is shot to shit, and I’m not going home no matter what, so this needs to be worth it.

Especially since these asshats are clearly packing, and I don’t even have my hunting knife because I left the shop so fast I didn’t grab anything other than what I needed to leave.

It’s very possible I could die tonight, and right now, I don’t really give a shit. I just want someone worth the risk.

Please, give me a bastard who deserves to die more than I do. Anyone who lives in that gigantic house and makes a good chunk of the population miserable on a daily basis. Just one member of the inner circle, one piece of shit from the family. If I’m going down, make it worth it for me. Give me one last chance at redemption, one shot at trying to avenge my mother. Let me…

Bingo .

As if the gods of fucked up serial killers heard me, a car goes flying down the driveway and comes to a screeching halt in front of the two dumbass henchmen before none other than Alan Harden throws open the driver door.

Walker’s oldest brother .

If I had my phone and actually gave a shit right now, I might text Zeke to double-check that his friend really has written off his entire family. Walker swears its all for show, that he only lives here, and goes out of town to scout for omegas, to help us. He says that after his grandfather was murdered—not one of mine, unfortunately—and he saw what his family was all about, he vowed to never be like them.

So far, he’s proven that to be true, but I haven’t had the opportunity to kill someone so close to him before. Walker could look at things a little differently when he finds out his brother’s hugely overweight corpse is hanging in my cooler, so we’ll see where his loyalties lie when we get there.

I’m killing that big, fat, smug son of a bitch, if it’s the last thing I do.

It very well might be, too, so I have to make it good.

Keeping him in my line of sight, I watch as he starts pacing by his side of the car, holding up a finger to the two goons who seem to be waiting for his instructions. He’s yelling at someone, losing it about a shipment, the auction, and how his dad can’t find out about his fuck up. Alan is going ballistic on whoever is on the other end of the phone in his hand, but that last bit has me curious.

Is big brother branching out on his own? Is he working on something behind Bryce’s back?

Fuck it.

I don’t actually give a shit right now, I just want Harden blood on my hands.

Standing slowly, my eyes shift to the other side of the sports car, the passenger door opening as Alan walks around to it. A male gets out, tall and lean, built similarly to Clayton but a few years younger than him at least. He flinches when Alan reaches for him, still yelling into his phone as he grips the male’s arm tightly and jerks him toward the men in suits.

He’s an omega.

I don’t know that to be one hundred percent true but that’s what my gut is telling me, and judging by the way Alan is dealing with him, I’d say he thinks this one belongs to him in some way.

Well, this just got a lot more interesting, and slightly more fucked up.

Apparently saving Indigo gave me a fucking hero complex because now I want to kill Alan and save this fucking omega, even if it means he takes my truck and heads to Obsidian on his own with a message to my family about where to find my dead body.

I shake my head at the thought.

A hero complex, and a death wish, all in thirty seconds. Great.

Thankful for the veil of darkness, I look around at my feet for something to throw, planning to draw one of the mafia barbarians over this way in order to gain his weapon, but I come up short. The ground is still pretty hard, especially with the sun already set, so a handful of dirt is out, and I’m not seeing any fucking rocks.

A tree branch it is.

Reaching above my head, I quickly snap the closest one, smirking when it immediately gains a look in my direction from goon number one. He searches the tree line briefly before turning back to the omega they’re now babysitting, and when he seems otherwise engaged, I snap the branch in half and toss a piece at the trunk of a neighboring tree. He says something to his partner before facing my direction again, taking a step toward me as he sticks his hand inside his coat and rests it on his gun.

“That’s right, get ready for a fight, asshole,” I whisper as I toss the other piece of the branch.

He draws his weapon, clicking the safety off as he steps in between the trees, his eyes wide as they search the darkness for whatever threat is waiting for him. The dumbass gives me his back, heading in the opposite direction, and as soon as I know I’m able, I sneak out from my place in the shadows and grab him.

I have a good three or four inches on the bastard, making it easier for me to snatch him up because my reach is longer, and I quickly cover his nose and mouth with one hand while I reach for his gun with the other. We scuffle a little, him getting in a few good elbows to my ribs, me keeping him from firing his weapon and ending this before it can really begin.

He’s putting up a fight, I’ll give him that. Squirming and kicking, even when I lift him off the ground by his neck and cut off his air supply. It isn’t until I squeeze hard enough to hear something pop that he quits moving, and I drop him like a sack of potatoes the second he does.

I grab his gun and stick it in the back of my jeans as I crouch down, checking for a pulse and grinning when I don’t find one. I snap his neck again for good measure, one quick twist that has his throat bulging, and because I’m having a great fucking time, I go through his pockets to see what else I can find.

Brass knuckles, a switchblade, another gun in his ankle holster. Guy was definitely armed but that’s not really what I’m looking for.

Pulling his wallet out, I snake his ID and stick it in my boot, saving it for later when I can send the shit to Bryce Harden to continue taunting him the way I like to. I’ve sent him the ID of every single one of my kills, anyone who has ever set foot on this land or carried out that bastard’s orders, and I do it so he knows there’s someone out there just as untouchable as he is.

I grab this guy’s ankles and drag him behind the tree, deciding I’m going to leave a second calling card for good old Bryce because this is the first time I’ve ever killed on his property.

It should be fucking memorable, and I know exactly how to do that.

Checking on them again, I see that Alan is off the phone and smoking a cigar, and his arm is around the male omega who’s all but cowering beside him. He’s dressed in a tux, they both are, and I can only assume Alan took him to some sort of function as his date, but I doubt their night has ended just because they’re back at the ranch.

Which is probably why that omega flinches every time that Harden dickhead moves.

He looks scared.

He should be, if he goes into that house with Alan there’s no telling what the fuck is going to happen to him.

“Fuck me,” I grumble as I step out from behind the tree and immediately shoot the second goon in the kneecap. “Goddamn hero complex.”

The guy yelps in pain but pulls his gun and fires blind, barely missing my head before we’re facing off like two idiots living out some Wild West fantasy.

“Drop it,” he grunts, balancing on one leg as I walk toward them. “Now.”

I shake my head, and watch the cameras, making sure I stay out of view. Mask or not, my big ass is one Bryce would recognize and so far, he’s pissed off so many people over the years that the dumb fuck hasn’t figured out who’s been targeting his organization. And I want to keep it that way.

“Can’t do that.” I glance at the omega, who’s now being used as a human shield by Alan, and that really pisses me off. “But I don’t need to kill you.” Which is a bold face lie.

Well, I don’t need to, but I want to.

“Drop it.” The suit says as he tries to keep his balance. “I’m warning you.”

Movement catches out of the corner of my eye and I turn in time to see Alan try to unlock his phone, most likely to call for help, and that won’t do.

Keeping the gun pointed at the goon, I move for the switchblade, open it as fast as I can then throw it at the slimeball, the blade finding it’s new home in the back of his left hand.

“You’ll pay for that!” He cries as he cradles his wrist, holding it against his chest while his blood stains the white of his shirt. “You won’t get one dime for this, and you’ll be the one to pay!”

I keep advancing, a grin on my face behind the skeletal jaw, and when I’m as close as I can get without having my picture taken, I motion for the goon to join the other two. “I don’t want your fucking money.”

Alan steps more squarely behind the omega and yells over his shoulder, “Then what? You want an omega? Is that it?”

My chest goes tight as Indy flashes through my mind, the image of her wrapped in a tarp, frozen and left for dead. I growl as I picture the marks on her body, the wounds someone like this asshole inflicted without a second thought, and how hard it was for her to heal from them. I imagine something like that happening to her again, Indy ending up on this fucking ranch because of me, all because I refuse to act on what I know to be true, and I lose it.

Without a second thought, I whip my gun toward Alan, squeezing off two rounds before I hear three more. I don’t feel them enter my body but the way it jerks tells me they did, and I quickly change hands and empty my clip into the goon as I go down to the pavement under my feet.

I watch him fall to the ground through a red haze, guilt, and fury blinding me to the pain, giving me tunnel vision as I make sure the fucker is dead and when I can tell he is, I drop my head back and take a few seconds to breathe.

Right before I hear movement to my left.

“Shit,” I groan as I roll to my side and push myself up. “Hang on.”

I crawl on all fours toward the omega, who is trapped underneath a very dead Alan Harden.

“Calm down,” I grunt, tossing the empty gun before grabbing the corpse and tugging it toward me.

The kid—now that I’m close I can see that he’s a lot younger than I originally thought—is panicking; his chest is heaving, his eyes are wide, and I can tell he’s seconds away from screaming his head off. Which makes sense, considering the force of the hollow points spun them or some shit, and he now has a good majority of Alan’s skull and brain matter on the side of his face and front of his coat.

“Get him off me,” he whispers before his voice starts to crescendo. “Get him off me, get him off, please, get?—“

“What’s your name?”

He stops and blinks tear filled eyes at me. “Wh-what?”

“Your name, kid. What is it?” I scoot closer to get a better grip on Alan since it appears I can no longer use my right arm. “Or don’t you have one?”

“Arrow,” he whispers.

“Arrow?” He nods as I grunt, “Ok, Arrow, I’m gonna need you to push when I pull, got it?” Alan Harden weighs damn near as much if not more than I do, and all the extra pounds had nowhere to go but his gut since he’s maybe a foot shorter than I am.

I might be strong, but I have one good arm, I’m pretty sure I was also shot in the leg, and I’m most likely going into shock soon. Getting that asswipe off this kid is going to be a two man job right now.

“On three, ok?”

Arrow looks down at his chest, Alan’s face pressed against it while the gaping hole in the back of his skull faces up at him. “I-I can’t. I can’t do this, I?—“

“Hey,” I bark before using a softer tone. “You can, and you will. We’ll get this shitbag off of you, then I’m going to clean up before I get you the hell out of here.”

He blinks at me a few times before he nods, bracing himself the best he can against the side of the car, and on three, we manage to roll the fucker far enough for him to slip free.

After a little more coaxing and a lot of reassurance, Arrow helps me to my feet and starts walking us away from the garage, but I stop him.

“I need to clean up.”

“What?” He looks around as I stand on my own. “How… how are you going to clean up?”

“Stay out of the camera, and just sit and watch.”

And he does.

Arrow watches in awe—or horror—as I go through the suit’s and Alan’s pockets, grabbing their IDs before I take the goon’s knife. I use the multiple bullet wounds as a map and dismember what I can with little more than a pocket knife, then drag all his pieces to the garage door and prop them neatly in front of it. Starting under his chin, I make a deep incision, one that runs all the way down his middle, the buttons on his shirt popping until I hit the top of his slacks, then unsteadily get to my feet to retrieve his partner from the tree to do the same.

Taking a step back, I look them over, tilting my head to the side to admire my work.

Both men are flayed wide open, parts and pieces propping up their torsos, and I pulled out their intestines, tied them in a bow, then stuck a lit cigarette in each of their mouths.

Not bad with one arm and all the blood loss.

Hopefully, Bryce gets the message.

“This is how you clean?”

I glance at Arrow, who’s staring at my work with a slack jaw. “It is right now.”

“What about him?” He points to Alan and visibly shudders. “What are you going to do with him?”

“He’s coming with us.”

His eyes go wide as he looks me up and down then turns to the bloated body. “How?”

Turning to the sports car, I narrow my eyes. “You know if he’s got chains in there? For the snow and shit since he’s stupid enough to have that car out in February?”

“He does.” Arrow nods. “I know he does.”

Slowly, I turn toward the twenty-something omega, my jaw clenched tightly as I refrain from asking him how he knows, and instead ask, “Can you get them out and bring them over here?”

“I’ll manage.”

Sure as shit, he does.

Arrow pulls every fucking chain and rope from the trunk and uses them as well as a tarp he found, to help me tie Alan Harden’s corpse up and drag it all the way down the trail and back to my truck. He even helps me load it in the bed, covering it with whatever we can find, and once it looks like I’m just hauling a bunch of junk, we both sag against the cool metal.

“I’ve never done anything like that before,” Arrow says as I hand him a bottle of water.

I chuckle a little. “First time for everything.”

“Is it bad that I didn’t mind?” He takes a drink and closes his eyes. “After I got over how gross it was to have his head explode on me.”

“Nah.” I didn’t either, not the first time I dealt with a dead body, but I’m a different breed than this kid. “Can you drive?”

Arrow pushes off my truck as he nods. “It’s been a few years, but, yeah. I can drive.”

Ignoring how long he’s been at the ranch, I brace myself the best I can before I yank open the passenger door. “You know where Obsidian Falls is?”

“No.”

Well, shit. “I’ll give you an address, you punch it into the GPS, okay?”

“Do you need help getting in?” Arrow holds the door while I lean heavily into it. “You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

“I’m fine. Keys are in my pocket, hurry up and get in so I can tell you where to go. I’m pretty fucking sure I’m about to pass out, and Nan will kick my ass if I do that before I tell you where her house is.”

Which is the last clear thought I have as I essentially fall face first into my passenger seat, and I do, in fact, pass the fuck out.