“You boys have fun,” Grandma Jo calls as they head out.
When the steel door swings shut behind them, silence falls. Kade walks slowly to the far side of the room, leans back against a stainless steel workbench, and crosses his arms. He doesn’t say a word, just watches, knowing this is my rodeo.
Set on the approach I want to take, I grab a chair and drag it across the floor until the legs screech to a stop in front of Bradley. I sit backward, rest my arms on the rail, and lean in close—close enough to see the twitch in his jaw, and the way he’s trying to brace himself.
Reaching into my jacket pocket, I pull out something that started this whole goddamn thing in motion—Noah’s engagement and wedding rings.
I palm them between my fingers, then flick them, one after another, at his chest. They fall to the ground and ping against the tiled floor with a satisfying clink. “I think you lost those.” I tip my chin toward the diamond bands.
Bradley glares at me, eyes full of rage and bloodlust. “Fuck you, farm boy.”
Ignoring his retort, I continue, “Just so you’re aware, I fucked them right off her finger. And she enjoyed every second, judging by the way she moanedmyname.”
His shoulders jerk against the chains, breath coming out in ugly, panicked pulls. “Noah Lane is mine. She belongs to me.”
“Wrong,” I state. “Noah was never yours. She was alwaysmine.”
A hiss slithers past his lips, but I ignore him. My eyes wander around the space, and I silently applaud my grandmother for her quick thinking. This place was built to kill. White panels seal the walls from floor to ceiling, seamless and smooth, easy to scrub. The tile beneath our boots slopes almost imperceptibly toward grated drains that feed into containment tanks buried under concrete. Everything runs downhill here. Blood. Water. Guts.
Convenient.
Stainless steel gleams in every direction—hooks, rails, and benches laid out with the tools used to take an animal apart piece by piece.
Kade pushes off the workbench and strolls closer, hands in his pockets like we’re admiring livestock at the county fair. “Man,” he drawls, circling Bradley once, “you picked the worst possible place to throw a tantrum.”
Bradley lifts his head just enough to glare at him. “You think this ends well for you?” His voice shakes, but he tries to sound big. “I’ve got lawyers. Money. People?—”
The chair legs scrape loudly when I stand and drag it back a foot. The sound makes him flinch, but I carry on, “Well, that’s your first mistake. What makes you think you’re going to live long enough to utilize any of those options?”
I step past him and stop beneath the overhead rail system. The block and tackle hangs there, a heavy chain looped through steel pulleys. I reach up and test the tension. “Second mistake,” I continue, glancing back at him, “was thinking you could walk onto my land and walk off it again.”
Kade grins. “The third mistake was threatening our women and thinking there wouldn’t be consequences.”
I unlock the restraints at the beam, and Bradley sags forward, legs barely holding him. He tries to twist away when we grab him but panic finally wins out. “Don’t! Don’t touch me!” he snarls, thrashing weakly.
Kade catches him by the shoulder and slams him chest-first into my grasp with a dull, meaty thud. “Easy.” His smirk widens. “You’ll get plenty of attention. No need to beg yet.”
I loop the chain around Bradley’s wrists, metal biting into skin already rubbed raw. He curses as he fights it, but it doesn’t make a difference. The hook slides home with a solid clank. I step to the winch and start cranking.
The chain tightens, jerking his arms upward as his boots scrape uselessly against the floor.
“Wait! Wait! Fuck, stop!” His voice cracks now, real fear leaking through. “Can we talk about this? I have money. How much do you want?”
I don’t look at him as I keep turning the handle. “That’s not the currency I deal in, Bradley. Much like my brother here, I prefer to collect my debts in a different way.”
The come-along whines, electric motor engaging, and Bradley’s feet leave the floor inch by inch. His whole body stretches, a strangled sound tearing out of his throat as the hook takes his weight. He hangs there, suspended, the drain directly beneath him.
Kade lets out a low whistle. “Torture looks good on you, buddy.”
Hands resting on my hips, I step back and finally meet Bradley’s eyes again. They’re wild with panic, tears gathering in the lash line. No bravado left.
“This is the part,” I tell him evenly, “where you start realizing how slow the rest of your life is going to feel.”
“And also how short.” Kade’s smile sharpens, grinning like a madman.
Done with listening to Bradley whine, I gesture to the far corner of the room, “Go grab the charge box and jumper cables.”
Bradley sucks in a breath so hard it stutters. “Cables?”
