Chapter 59

59

They were bigger morons than he thought. Brandt had pulled that damned drug patch off his neck within seconds of those idiots slapping it on him. He knew what it was and knew what it reportedly could do. It had been used in Finley Creek a few times—and he had heard about it from the governor of Texas himself. And from Powell's best friend, who had been a victim of it weeks ago. That woman had told him exactly what that drug patch could do.

The idiots had looked away. Just for a second. That was long enough.

He was a big man, who had spent years learning martial arts. Studying. Practicing. He moved damned fast when he wanted to.

And those dumbasses hadn't bothered to bind his hands. Said they didn't want it on the autopsy.

Assholes. Morons. That was their first mistake.

Brandt had also grown up with a father who was one of the most successful attorneys Texas had ever seen. Brandt knew how to strategize.

And he was his mother's son—Brandt knew how to love. To fight for those he loved, no matter the cost.

And he'd fight for the woman he loved. Until he gave his last breath, he would fight for her.

He forced himself to act like the drug was working. Allowed his body to fall to the floor where they'd pushed him. He had to make it look believable.

Those assholes were laughing at him. At the big rich guy who they had now. Calling him a pansy and a wimp and other things.

Brandt just waited. Listened…

They put Meyra in a closet clear across the room. She was still fighting. Kicking the door, it sounded like.

One guy laughed.

"She's fighting more than I thought she would. She's always been so quiet, didn't think she had much fight in her. I think we should take her with us. Party along the way," the guy said. "Fulfill my teenage wet dreams. I jacked off to thoughts of Meyra Talley for years, guys. I really want to live those dreams now."

Brandt opened his eyes partially. And studied his first opponent. He was going to pay for even thinking about Meyra that way. Brandt was going to make sure of it.

"Can't, dude. Can't leave DNA on this one. They are already on to us in Finley Creek. For that warehouse, and those rich lawyers in Hughes Heights."

Finley Creek. Warehouse. Rich lawyers in Hughes Heights.

Brandt was putting things together now.

Three or four of those assholes who had attacked his family had gotten away. It appeared they'd come right back to Masterson County. Surprise, surprise.

"This guy is just as much a pansy as his old man and that Erickson dude," one said. Standing over Brandt. Gunnar Erickson—the man who had walked into Brandt's parent's house, already injured, to save the people Brandt loved. Erickson—the man his twin loved, who was still in ICU in Texas. Because of these assholes right here. Erickson—all the confirmation Brandt would ever need.

These were some of the assholes who had helped hurt his family.

"Let's just finish this. I want something to eat. Think we can get an order in at the diner? Wouldn't that be fucking funny? Wonder if we can get Marin Fucking Talley to bring it to us? She could join her sister, and we can party with two of the great General Talley's daughters."

Brandt forced himself to wait. To plan.