“You don’t know who you're messing with, young man,” Dutton said. “But I’m sure my protection detail mentioned we were conducting important business in here. Please leave.”
“I really think you want to step outside,” Cullen said. “And if I were you, I’d bring everyone. Don’t make me come in and get you. That’ll just upset me.” The line went dead.
“That kid has some set of balls on him.” Dutton strolled toward the picture window and glanced outside. Then he looked over his shoulder before moving to the kitchen window. “Courtney, we’ve got a problem.”
Trent pushed to a standing position.
“Sit the fuck down.” Dutton pointed his weapon. “I won’t hesitate to put a bullet between your eyes.”
Trent held his hands up, but he didn’t back down.
Both Dutton and Courtney moved to the side door.
“All right. We’re heading outside,” Dutton said. “Karl, you’ve got the girl. Courtney, you’ve got Jack. I’ll take Trent. If any one of them does something stupid, shoot them. I’m tired of this shit. No more playing nice. We’re taking this property, and we’re putting an end to it. And if I have to add one more crazy Marine to the list, then so be it.”
Trent took Dove’s hand and squeezed it. “It’s gonna be okay.”
“That’s my line,” she whispered.
Dutton walked them out the side door and across the porch—Trent and Dutton first, Dove and Karl behind him, Jack and Courtney behind her—each pressing a weapon into their side while each of them held their hands up in the air.
Cullen stood in the driveway with a grin that had no business being that wide, given the circumstances. He held his rifle in his arms but not pointed at anyone. He stood there with a wide stance and an easy confidence that Trent wasn’t sure he’d ever seen from the man.
On the ground behind him, all five of Dutton's men sat zip-tied back-to-back in a line as if they were waiting for an execution.
And on the bank of the moat, Dolly had hauled herself halfway out of the water, her tail still cutting slow arcs in the shallows, her massive head swinging toward the group with the patient, ancient attention of something that had been on this earth long before any of them and planned to be here long after.
Clarkson was right behind her. The pale scar on her flank caught the morning light as she pulled herself up the bank, her head low, her eyes fixed on the gathering near the bridge with an expression—if you could call it that—that suggested she was deciding whether the flesh in front of her was too big to consume.
It was a dangerous look from a gator, especially if that gator felt threatened, and Clarkson was a wild beast who, while she trusted Trent, would still take off his leg if he moved in a manner that frightened her.
“Let my men go,” Dutton said.
Cullen chuckled. “That’s not gonna happen. You’re gonna step away from my friends and hand over your weapons.”
“It’s one against three,” Courtney said. “You lose every time.”
“Do I?” Cullen adjusted his stance. “You don’t know who I brought with me, or where they are. I could have a shooter on the observation platform. I could have someone hiding in the reeds. Not to mention the gators who are working pretty hard to cross the moat to come and say hello.”
Dutton turned. “Shit.”
"I'd put those weapons down," Trent said, without taking his eyes off his gators. “And I’d do it slow. Real slow.” He glanced over his shoulder at Dutton, who was staring at Dolly with the particular expression of a man whose plans had just developed a significant complication. "She can move a lot faster than you think, and her hind legs just wiggled over the edge."
“If she comes at me, I’ll shoot her,” Dutton says.
“There are anywhere from ten to twenty gators in that moat at any given time. Not to mention a second one just managed to climb where she isn’t supposed to be able to. One shot isn’t going to put them down.” Trent took a chance and stepped away from Dutton. “Dolly, the big one. She’s mostly friendly, but she doesn’t take too kindly to strangers, and she can be incredibly territorial. Not to mention she gets all the other ones riled up.”
“I don’t like agreeing with Trent.” Karl took a slow step toward the bridge. “But I’ve been around alligators my whole life. We don’t want to be here right now.”
“What do you suggest we do?” Courtney asked.
Trent completely separated himself from Dutton. “I’ll create a diversion while everyone else makes their way into the house. Once I’ve got them back on the right side of the moat, we can go back to killing each?—”
“That won’t be necessary,” Cullen said. “Dawson and that other US Marshal are down at the gate waiting for my signal.” He lifted his rifle, pointing it toward the observation deck. “Buddy’s up there. Sterling’s around the other side of the house.”
Trent looked up toward Buddy. “Don’t kill my gators unless I’m the one about to die, got it?” Trent blew out a puff of air as he took a step backward, since Clarkson was closing in a little faster than Dolly.
Cullen moved toward the five men kneeling on the ground with their hands bound. "Let's go. Slow and easy. Nobody runs because if you do that, those gators will bite your limbs off.” He helped the first man to his feet, rifle slung over his shoulder. He kept his movements precise and so did the man he was helping.
