He shoves Carson forward, keeping the gun trained on him as they move further into the store. The few customers have pressed themselves against the walls, trying to become invisible. All except one, a teenager who’s holding up his cell phone, the telltale red recording light visible from where I stand.
“You,” Noah barks, noticing the boy. “What are you doing?”
The teenager flinches but doesn’t lower his phone. “L-live streaming,” he stammers. “For my Insta.”
Something shifts in Noah’s expression, a calculated gleam replacing the wild look. “Perfect,” he says, surprising us all. “Keep that camera rolling, kid. I want everyone to see this.”
He turns back to me, gesturing with the gun. “Come here, Atlee. Nice and slow.”
Every instinct screams at me to run, but I can’t leave Carson. I move forward cautiously, hands raised to show I’m not a threat. “Noah, think about what you’re doing. This isn’t going to solve anything.”
“Shut up,” he snaps, grabbing my arm when I get close enough. He pulls me roughly against his side, the gun now alternating between pointing at Carson and me. “Both of you, over by the window where everyone can see us.”
We comply, moving to the large front window that faces the main street. Through the glass, I can see people stopping on the sidewalk, pointing, some already on their phones, calling the police, I hope. Though what good that will do when the threat is a deputy himself, I don’t know.
“Noah,” Carson tries, his voice admirably steady despite the circumstances. “You’re making this worse for yourself.”
“Worse?” Noah laughs, the sound brittle and harsh. “How could it get worse? I’m already finished in this town after thatarticle. Suspended pending investigation.” He spits the words like they taste foul. “Twenty years on the force, and they suspend me on the word of a bunch of cattle thieves.”
His grip on my arm tightens painfully, and I wince. “You can still walk away from this,” I tell him. “No one’s been hurt yet. You could?—”
“I said shut up,” he cuts me off, jerking me closer. To the boy with the phone, he says, “Make sure you’re getting all this, kid. I want Devlin Nelson to see exactly what’s happening here.”
My heart sinks. This is about Devlin. Of course it is.
“Hey, Nelson!” Noah shouts, clearly playing to the camera now. “You seeing this? Your girlfriend and your brother, right here with me. How does it feel knowing I can take everything from you, just like you took everything from me?”
The desperation in his voice is palpable, the bitterness of a man who feels he has nothing left to lose. Those are the most dangerous people—the ones with no exit strategy, no reason to de-escalate.
“If you’re watching this,” Noah continues, addressing the phone. “You have thirty minutes to get here. You and everyone else who’s plotted against me, or things are going to get very unpleasant for these two.” He nudges the gun against my ribs for emphasis. “Clock’s ticking, fucker.”
The boy with the phone looks terrified but keeps recording, the red light a steady beacon in the chaos.
“Please,” I say quietly, trying one more time to reach whatever rationality might be left in Noah. “You don’t have to do this. Whatever happened between you and Devlin is in the past.”
“You don’t know anything about it,” Noah hisses, his face inches from mine. “About what he took from me.”
“Then tell me,” I urge, hoping to keep him talking, to humanize myself in his eyes. “Help me understand.”
For a moment, I think he might actually explain, might give me some insight into the hatred that’s driven him to this desperate act. But then his expression hardens again.
“Nice try,” he says coldly. “But I’m not falling for your psychological tricks. You just stand there and look pretty for the camera. Your boyfriend will be here soon enough.”
My stomach twists at the thought of Devlin walking into this trap. He will come. I know he will as surely as I know my own name. Nothing could keep him away, knowing I’m in danger, and his brothers will be right beside him.
Which is exactly what Noah is counting on.
“What’s your endgame here, Noah?” Carson asks, voice low. “You think you can take on all the Nelsons? Even if you manage it, the whole town will be after you.”
Noah’s laugh is hollow. “You think I care about that anymore? I’ve got nothing left. My career is over. My reputation is ruined. Might as well go out making sure Devlin Nelson pays for what he did.”
The single-minded focus of his vendetta would be almost admirable if it weren’t so terrifying. This isn’t about justice or even the law anymore. This is personal—the kind of hatred that consumes everything in its path.
I glance at the boy with the phone, wondering if the livestream has reached Devlin yet and if he’s watching this unfold in real-time. I hope not. I hope he’s busy, his phone forgotten in his truck while he works. I hope he doesn’t see me like this, held at gunpoint because of my connection to him.
But even as I think it, I know it’s a futile hope. Devlin will come, and when he does, Noah will be waiting, gun in hand and revenge in his heart.
All I can do is stay calm, stay alert, and look for any opportunity to change the outcome of this confrontation.Because I refuse to be the reason Devlin walks into a bullet. I refuse to be Noah’s instrument of revenge.
