“You’re done,” I said. “Next time you set foot on McKenzie land, I’ll bury you on the ridge and plant a tree on top. You understand?”
Luther nodded, face white.
I flicked the muzzle toward the road. “Take your trash and go.”
Ransom stepped up, grabbed the guy on the porch by the collar, and yanked him upright. "You heard the man. Now, get the fuck off our property."
He shoved him down the steps, then wiped the blood on his jeans. He shot me a look, halfway between admiration and mischief.
Quiad circled wide, never taking his eyes off Luther, who was already up and backing away, hands up, defeated. Harlow released the dog, which limped after its owner, tail between its legs.
Ransom cracked his knuckles, then spat in the dirt. “That was almost fun,” he said.
Quiad grunted, then slung an arm around Ransom’s shoulders. “Next time, let’s use real ammo.”
I turned back to the house. Newt was sitting on the steps now, knees up, arms folded around himself. He was shaking again, but this time, it was just adrenaline, not fear.
I sat next to him, close enough that our shoulders touched. “You did good,” I said, voice low.
He looked at me, eyes still wild. “I stabbed him.”
I shrugged. “He deserved it.”
He laughed, shaky and thin. “I think I’m going to puke.”
“Do it off the side,” I said. “We just had the steps cleaned.”
He snorted, then leaned into me, body softening. He was trembling, but not with fear. He was riding the high, the after-burn of violence, same as I was.
I reached for his wrist, careful and slow. "You did good," I said, just loud enough for him to hear.
The words hit Newt like a punch. His face went slack, then flushed, a deep red that worked down his neck and up to his hairline. He blinked twice, then bit his lip and stared at me, waiting for the next order.
In front of us at the bottom of the steps us, the others fanned out, forming a semicircle at the edge of the yard. Harlow stood sentry, watching the road, while Ransom and Quiad covered the flanks.
I knew without looking that every window in the house was now filled with McKenzie faces, the extended clan lined up and ready to back the play, whatever it was.
The bleeding kid had made it to the gravel. Luther rushed to his side, clamped a hand over the wound, and glared back at me with all the impotent rage in the world.
"You'll pay for this," he hissed.
I smiled. "Send us a bill."
We watched until they stumbled off into the darkness.
Ransom waited until they were gone, then exhaled, long and low. "Well, that was fun. Who’s up for pancakes?"
Quiad grunted, then vanished back into the darkness, already thinking about the next threat.
I kept my eyes on Newt, who was still breathing like he'd run a marathon. His hands were shaking, but the fear was gone. All that remained was the adrenaline, the raw, wild confidence that comes from surviving a fight you never thought you'd win.
"You okay?" I asked, my own voice unfamiliar in my throat.
He nodded, wordless.
I wiped the blood from his hand with my sleeve, then pressed his palm flat against my chest so he could feel the drum of my heart. "You're safe," I said. "You’re home."
He sagged against me, finally letting himself collapse, and I caught him, as promised.
