“Next time, I’ll let you bleed out.”
“The C is for Carter, right? Are you a Carter or someone else?” She continues, making herself comfortable on the other end of the couch. Judge trots over to her, the fucking traitor. “Let me think if I can remember all the family names for the ranches out here. I mean, there’s a lot, so it may take a while.”
She takes a bite of the apple and spits the piece straight back out before she hands it to the dog, who happily takes it from her.
Good fucking lord.
“Go to fucking bed,” I get up. “I want you out the moment the sun is up.”
I don’t give her a chance to respond as I storm from the room and up the stairs. I could worry she’ll rob me in my sleep, but what the fuck is she going to take? I’ve nothing of worth in this old farmhouse anymore, and the only thing worth a damn is the farming equipment outside. Can’t see her getting away with them. She could murder me in my sleep too, but that honestly sounds peaceful now.
So I leave her there, Judge not budging an inch from her side, and I slam the door. Next time, I’ll ignore my father’s voice inside my head and let him turn in his grave.
CHAPTER 5
Carter.
Knox Carter, to be exact, well at least that’s going by the letters in the desk drawer in his office. The big red stamp reading overdue had caught my attention. The man is in a shitload of debt.
Not sure how he’s even got this place still open. The pain in my body didn’t allow me to rest, though I tried. The house groans and creaks with age, the walls themselves seem to tick, and a persistent drip from a leaky faucet somewhere inside adds to the pulse the house seems to have. I keep going through the paperwork until a familiar logo appears.
Rossi Enterprises.
The letter is dated six months ago.
An updated offer of six point three million dollars for the land and titles of Carter Cattle Ranch.
So he’s one of the ranches that refused to sell when Rossi bought up all the farmland in the area some years ago. Guys got balls not to budge, I’ll give him that, especially with the state of this place. He’s going down, and he’s bringing this place with him.
I mean, Rossi wouldn’t be where he is without the money my father gave him. They took over the market for the state quickly once they had the financial backing. It just took them selling their soul to the mafia to get there.
I fold the letter and put it back in the drawer, heading for the cabinet where several full and half bottles of whiskey are lined up behind the glass case. They’re covered in dust, having not been touched for months, if not years.
Opening the doors, I pluck one from the shelf and blow off the dust. I don’t recognize the name, but it looks old and good quality, so I pop the cap and take a swig. It burns all the way down, but maybe it’ll help me get some sleep. Knox wants me out by morning, but he’s going to be in for a surprise. Sure, he could kick me out, or try to, but I’m not leaving here just yet. I need the shelter and I’m sure I can work out some kind of deal with him.
Taking the bottle back to the bedroom, I get back onto the bed and look at the melted flesh onmy thigh, the burned in C, red and angry. I should dress it, but that only makes it hurt worse.
I need to recover before I go back and challenge my uncle. He’s probably already claimed the throne, thrown out some bullshit story about my death, and carried on like I didn’t exist. He won’t tell them about the ambush or his treason. He’ll have his men, and I’m left with trying to figure out who’s on my side and who’s on his. Who has he turned against me and my father? Because ultimately, that’s what it is. My father appointed me his heir.
And every single one of them is going to regret ever making an enemy out of me.
I settle against the headboard and drink from the bottle, letting the alcohol work through me. I have my gun at my side, loaded and ready should I need it. Knox’s dog is curled up on the floor beside the bed, seemingly attached to my hip. I always wanted a dog, and this one is cute. Maybe I can take him with me when I eventually leave this place.
The whiskey works through my veins, numbing the pain just enough that I can relax onto the pillows. It’s fucking hot in here though, there’s no cool air and the heat presses to my skin, making it damp. I don’t know how anyone can live like this.
But sleep comes, and it comes heavy, taking me under so strongly, not even a tornado could wake me.
“Are you fucking shitting me?” His deep, gravelly voice jolts me from my sleep, and I pry my eyes open to see him looming over the side of the bed. And he looks pissed.
I scramble and reach for my gun, but it isn’t there.
“Where the fuck did you get this?” He growls, waving the bottle of whiskey. I spot my gun in his hand in the next minute.
Fuck.
His hands are covered in soil, there are smudges of it on his face, but his eyes are shadowed by the rim of his dark brown cowboy hat. He’s a hardened man, but handsome, with a thick beard and piercing blue eyes framed by low set brows and a mess of dark hair. Broad shouldered with wide thighs, his skin tan from the hours he spends out in the brutal sun.
“Your office,” I force myself to play it cool, like an angry man pissed over the fact I stole his whiskey doesn’t scare me. It doesn’t, but the gun in his handdoesmake me a little nervous. Wouldn’t take much for him to finish the job my uncle started the day before.
