Chapter 63

63

Everything had fallen in place. Answered questions. Brandt recognized one of those guys as the third asshole who had attacked him that night in his own damned barn.

Brandt was a Barratt who traveled between the two points in question on a regular basis. To profit. It was no wonder they had picked him.

He was the fall guy. The younger brother wanting to prove himself and everything. He'd practically made it easy for them.

Brandt had figured it out as he'd listened to the two bastards after they'd thought he was out.

He was the perfect patsy, apparently. Of course, he was. That designer drug. Out of his hometown. Being stored in houses owned by his twin sister. The cop who had been investigating the drugs from the beginning—now engaged to Brandt's sister.

These bastards wanted one thing: to frame Brandt, and possibly Gunnar. To make it look like they were the ones responsible for OPJ in the first place. And for good measure, apparently, Powell was supposed to be in on it, too.

Well, that just pissed him off completely.

No one was going to screw with his family again.

Especially his sister.

And especially Meyra.

Brandt pulled himself to his feet, ignoring how weak he felt right now.

Meyra needed him.

And Brandt was going to get to her.

Those bastards had made it clear—they were going to make it look like Brandt was up there in Masterson County to relocate their little operation.

And he was in similar businesses as the men the police were searching for.

Brandt had definitely been an idiot. It had probably only been his connections to people in this town and in his hometown that had kept him from being much of a suspect to begin with.

"You all don't think it's kind of stupid to put a gun in this dude's hand?" the blond guy— Kurt —asked. "I mean, what if he shoots us?"

Well, maybe Kurt had one or two working brain cells. For now. Brandt was looking forward to rearranging Kurt's face for him as soon as he possibly could.

Kurt had bragged about hurting Brandt's sister. Laughed about hurting her and Heather that night. Made crude jokes about Powell and Heather that Brandt would never forgive. Kurt had been one of the men who had abducted his sister and Heather. Who had beaten Heather almost to death when she'd protected Brandt's pregnant twin sister. He'd boasted about beating that hot cop almost to hamburger and how good it had felt to show her who was boss.

Kurt was going to pay for that. For every moment Powell and Heather had been hurt and missing, for every instant Brandt's parents had been hurt a week later, for every drop of blood Brandt's future brother-in-law had shed protecting Powell that night. For every minute Heather had spent in a hospital fighting for her life, while her daughters needed her. And for every second of fear Meyra was feeling right now.

Kurt was going to pay.

Vengeance had waited long enough.

"Dude's doped, man. He's not going to do a damned thing to stop us. Besides, gun's only got three bullets left in it. Can't kill all of us. Who is feeling brave, tonight?" another man said. He wasn't anything special. He would go down easily enough.

He was grunting as he dragged an older man into the room.

The older man groaned. He was still alive then.

"This dude is fat. Someone fucking help me. This dude is like a hired killer, right? How? Can he even make it up the stairs?"

Kurt was obliging—after he wrapped Brandt's fingers around the grip of his own gun.

Well, well, well, how helpful. Brandt used every ounce of control he had to act like he was still drugged, to let the gun drop just a little. Of course, Kurt had to readjust it. To make it look good and everything. For the damned autopsy.

Just enough resistance… yes …

He tightened his fingers around his gun. Brandt had the gun now. With three bullets. The idiots had just given it to him. Didn't the dumbasses deserve what they were going to get?

He was going to make each bullet count.

"Someone is going to have to shoot Barratt with this old guy's gun. And the girl. I don't want to be the one to off her. We used to be pals in school. I got rules against that," the nasal-toned loser said. "So who is going to do it?"

"Take her out back and tell Will to do it before he takes off," Kurt said. "Didn't realize you were such a pussy about killing a woman. You growing soft?"

"Fuck off. I don't have no problem killing women—just…I liked this one, okay? She always treated me good back then. And Will won't off nobody. Too much of a pussy."

"Tell Toby to do it. He's out back with the truck," Kurt said. He was apparently a second-in-command here.

But it was the older man that Brandt was going after next. As soon as Meyra was safe, that son-of-a-bitch was going to pay for everything he had done.

Every sin he had ever committed.

Starting with putting his hands on Meyra.

The man was on borrowed time.