On the long drive back to the ranch, Charlie hits every bump and corner at full speed, throwing the driver around in the truck bed. Perhaps if I hadn’t heard what he’d done in full detail, I’d complain about the rough ride. But I did, so I don’t.
We stop at a private airfield in Wimberly, which appears to be part of a larger property protected by a guarded gate. As my mom would say, betcha a dollar this is the home of the illustrious Wimberley crew.
A sleek jet is pulling off the runway as we enter the property, and Erik’s cousin, Anders, deplanes, followed by his gorgeous husband—Omar—and a slightly shorter guy I’ve never seen before. While all three are tattooed and ripped, this third guy doesn’t look like a vigilante. He almost looks…Mafia.
Anders sees us and lights up, jogging over to the truck, followed closely by his friend.
“What’s up, y’all? Thanks for coming in clutch. This is my buddy from New York—he was with us in Minneapolis, figured I’d bring him along. Hopper, meet my friends. Friends, Hopper.”
We exit the truck and exchange handshakes, and I need no one to spell out for me that Hopper and Anders are the killers Charlie was referring to. They’re both friendly and charming, each in their own ways, but there’s death in how they hold themselves.
“Remember that story of…what was the angel’s name?” Levy whispers out the side of his mouth.
“Raguel,” I answer, nodding.
“The angel of justice.”
“And vengeance,” I add. “That driver is about to have a very, very bad day.”
Levy’s jaw sharpens. “I’m okay with that.”
“Me too, brother. Me too.”
Hopper, as his name implies, nimbly hops into the truck bed and uncovers the driver, who looks a little worse for wear after our trip. Anders joins him, and they both squat to examine the driver more closely.
Hopper pushes his hair off his forehead and straightens his collar.
“Look up at the stars,” he says softly.
Confused, the man looks around. Charlie pulls up the app and, for once, it translates his words.
Arcing his hand in a gesture that follows the brilliant band of stars above, Hopper explains, “Did you know that’s the Milky Way?”
The driver’s answer translates roughly to, “Why are you telling me this?”
“I wanted you to take a look because it’s the last time you’ll ever see the sky.”
Hopper’s grin turns dark as he works with Anders to pick up the driver and take him out of the truck. The man begins to scream in terror, and Hopper sends him a look that freezes the blood in my veins.
The driver’s abrupt silence is loud under the bright stars.
The pilot, a curvy woman with curly hair and sparkling eyes, pulls up with Anders’ husband in a truck. The guys work together to transfer the driver into the bed and then take off through the gate.
“Charlie?” Levy asks. “Have you ever been through that gate?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t need to see what goes on beyond that gate.”
Erik snorts. “Me either.”
We pile back into Charlie’s truck, not exchanging a single word as we pass over the empty roads back to the ranch. Charlie drops us off in front of the bunkhouse in the hazy predawn light. I hesitate as Levy makes his way up the steps, and he turns to me, his eyebrows pinched in confusion.
“You’re going to his house.”
Dropping my eyes to the dirt, I nod.
“Bram…”
“I’m sorry.”
