“Morning, Mom. It’s good to see you too.” I bend to kiss her cheek, feeling the slight flinch she can’t quite suppress. It’s all a matter of form now.
I love my mother, and I want to help her, but sometimes I don’t think she wants to be helped. Even if there was a way for her to escape my father, I don’t think she would go. Her maternal instinct is too strong. As long as we’re a part of this world, she will be too, and I hate that for her. She’s played her role, providing my father with the heirs he required. I know it’sdifficult for her to see what we’ve turned into under our father’s influence.
What I’ve turned into, especially.
Stepping back, she gestures for me to come in. “Just warning you, your father is in another one of his moods. He thinks you betrayed the family name and he’s been ranting and raving about it all night.”
I suppress the desire to roll my eyes and step inside the house. She closes the door behind me. “No surprise there. I’m sure Wayne was here last night, word vomiting everywhere.”
“He was, and your father was soaking up every single word. I didn’t pay him much attention, since I know you’d never turn your back on us. Your father, on the other hand, is losing his mind. The constant paranoia has him thinking everyone is an enemy.”
“Believe me. I know.” I give her a soft smile. “If anyone is capable of talking him off the ledge, it’s me.”
“I know.” She whispers, and gives me a side hug.
We part ways and I continue in the direction of my father’s office. It occupies the entire west wing of the ground floor, a space designed to intimidate and impress in equal measure. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the ranch, reinforcing the message that everything as far as the eye can see belongs to Roman Bishop.
The walls are lined with trophies, mounted heads of elk and moose and bighorn sheep, shot and caged by him. A massive grizzly bear stands in one corner, rearing up to its full nine-foot height, frozen in its final moment of defiance.
I’ve always hated that bear. Always understood it too well.
My father sits behind a desk carved from a single piece of massive oak, his back to the door as he gazes out over his domain. At fifty-eight, he’s still built like the college linebacker he once was, broad-shouldered and solid muscle, with handslarge enough to crush a man’s windpipe. I know, because I’ve seen him do it.
Some things you can’t forget.
“You’re late.”
That’s all he says. He doesn’t even turn to look at me when he speaks. Not sure why I expect him to greet me differently. He’s been like this for years.
I check my watch—8:58. “No, sir. I’m early.”
At my response he turns, fixing me with eyes a few shades darker than my own ice blue.
“Sure. Sit.” He gestures to the chair across from his desk, the one deliberately set lower than his own. If there’s ever one thing you should know about my father it’s that everything he does is intentional, a play for power. Roman Bishop is the king at making others feel small and insignificant. I do as I’m told, keeping my face carefully neutral.
Years of practice have made meetings like this second nature to me.
Show nothing, reveal nothing.
Especially to him.
Emotions are weak. Feelings are weak.
When you have no emotion, taking another person’s life is easy, as simple as breathing. And that’s what he expects of me.
“Tell me what happened with Martin Everett.” His eyes lock onto mine, quiet but devastating, the kind of stare that strips you down to whatever ugly truth you’re hiding. There’s no room to breathe, no space to think—just the terrible certainty that he’ll know if I whisper anything less than the truth.
“I’ll be honest with you. Shit went sideways. He got away, and we had to chase him down. Things ended the same way we planned, just with a little more cleanup than usual.”
“Is that right?” He leans forward, resting his forearms on the desk.
The sleeve of his crisp white shirt rides up, revealing the edge of a tattoo, the Bishop brand, the same one that marks our cattle, our horses, and every member of this family.
“I got a very interesting call from Sheriff Tanner this morning. It seems someone reported hearing gunshots out near the James place last night. Any reason you would be at their place?”
Fuck.I hate the way my pulse picks up speed.
Despite the trickling of adrenaline in my veins I keep my breathing even. “Yes, when Martin ran, he made it onto their property. Things didn’t go as planned, but the result was the same. Martin is dead.”
