We’re starting to call more meetings than actually get work done, but I’m glad to see my younger brother. It’s been way too long. When I get inside, I see the rest of the guys are already there. “Sorry, I seem to be late.”
Jesse takes a drink of his coffee. “Truett and I were already out here, and Carson just showed up. You aren’t as late as you think you are.”
I appreciate that he’s willing to give me an out. I have been getting to the ranch later than I used to, but at least I have a good reason. “So what’s this I’m hearing about Austin doing reconnaissance?”
Austin pushes his hat off his head and runs his fingers through his hair. “Y’all are about to get arrested, but I need you to go with it. Noah will be here in the next hour. I spent last night meeting with Shawn Cooper, and he knows the deal. Lennon has already started to work on some of the paperwork. So as soon as they ask to speak with you, just say lawyer. Shawn will be waiting for all of you at the jail.”
My stomach clenches. I don’t do well in spaces or situations where I’m forced to follow rules. Not anymore. I’m just about to say those words when I hear sirens and what sounds like a bunch of cars coming down the driveway.
“That was faster than expected,” Austin mutters, glancing toward the barn doors.
“Shit,” Carson hisses, looking around like he’s searching for an escape route.
Jesse holds up a hand, his expression calm despite the approaching chaos. “Everyone needs to put their hands up and kneel. There’s no reason for us to cause a disruption. Let them come in, do what they need to do. If we don’t fight, then they have no reason to use force.”
Truett looks like he wants to argue, but he catches Jesse’s warning glance and nods reluctantly.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm the roaring in my ears. Enclosed spaces, restraints, loss of control—these are the things that trigger the worst of my PTSD episodes. But Jesse is right. Fighting will only make things worse.
“Do what he says,” I instruct, already lowering myself to one knee, hands raised above my head.
The others follow suit, forming a line of kneeling men in the center of the barn. Austin stands off to the side, hands also raised but remaining on his feet.
“It’ll be okay,” he says quietly. “Just follow the plan.”
The sirens cut off abruptly, and the sound of car doors slamming echoes through the morning air. Heavy footsteps approach the barn, and then the doors burst open, flooding the dim space with harsh sunlight.
“Sheriff’s department! Nobody move!” The shout comes from one of the deputies I don’t recognize, his gun drawn and pointed in our general direction.
More officers file in behind him, including Noah, who strides forward with a smug smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He’s enjoying this, the power trip of seeing us on our knees with our hands up.
“Well, well,” he drawls, coming to stand in front of me. “Devlin Nelson. How the mighty have fallen.”
I say nothing, keeping my eyes fixed straight ahead. Any reaction would only feed his ego, giving him the satisfaction he’s looking for.
“You’re all under arrest for cattle theft, conspiracy, and interfering with a police investigation,” Noah announces, loud enough for everyone to hear. He gestures to the other officers. “Cuff ’em.”
The deputies move in, pulling our arms behind our backs and securing them with plastic zip ties. One of them is unnecessarily rough with Carson, yanking his arms so hard he winces.
“Easy,” Jesse warns, earning himself an extra-tight cinch of his own restraints.
When it’s my turn, Noah steps forward. “I’ll take this one,” he tells the deputy who is approaching me.
I can feel the tension radiating from my brothers as Noah circles behind me, but I give them a slight shake of my head. Don’t interfere. We’ve got a plan.
“You know,” Noah says, leaning down close to my ear as he secures the zip ties around my wrists. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time. Payback for what you did to me.”
I remain silent, focusing on my breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. The way my old combat instructor taught us to handle stress.
“Nothing to say?” Noah taunts, pulling the restraints so tight they immediately start cutting into my skin. “No smart-ass remarks? No threats?”
When I still don’t respond, I see a flash of frustration cross his face. He wants a reaction, something to justify escalating this beyond a simple arrest.
“Get up,” he orders, grabbing my arm and hauling me to my feet with unnecessary force.
I comply, rising smoothly despite the awkward position of my arms behind my back. The others are being pulled to their feet as well, all of us maintaining a dignified silence that seems to irritate Noah more by the second.
“Start walking,” he commands, shoving me toward the barn door.
