Page 114 of Branded Betrayal

“Ah, so you’ve met my nephew,” Wilkerson says. “He’s been very helpful, keeping an eye on things for me. Reporting back on things you’ve fucked up.”

“I was helping Savannah out,” Tyler says. “Someone needed to be there when you kept hurting her. I made sure she was taken care of.”

“Get away from her,” I say.

Tyler tilts his head slightly, lifting an eyebrow. “You’re not in a position to make demands, Hartman. You lost that right when you chose to betray her.”

My jaw grinds tight. This sick fuck was watching her too. Stalking her. Obsessing over her.

At that moment, the door crashes open. Colt and Nash barrel in, weapons in hand.

Wilkerson doesn’t look the least bit surprised. “And here’s the rest of the rescue party.”

Nash’s eyes immediately scan the room, landing on the men with the tattoos. His expression turns to stone.

“Something you want to say, boy?” Wilkerson asks.

“Those men.” Nash raises his gun and points it at Wilkerson, his hands steady despite the rage in his voice. “Your crew. They were at my ranch six years ago on the night of the explosion that killed my parents. They have the same tattoos. They belong to the same group.”

Wilkerson smiles. “Very observant.”

“You sent them,” Nash says through gritted teeth. “But that was supposed to be your operation. Why the hell would you sabotage your own job?”

“I didn’t sabotage my operation. I sent them to eliminate a business problem.”

“What problem?” Nash demands, moving closer.

Wilkerson’s eyes slide past us to where my father cowers in the doorway. “Ask Harlon.”

Dad’s face drains of color.

“That wasn’t my job,” Wilkerson says. “It was Harlon’s. He organized it behind my back. Used my contacts, my routes, my infrastructure . . . and planned to keep all the profit for himself.”

My heart rattles in my chest. The pieces click together in my head with sickening clarity. Dad not showing up to the Carlson ranch that night, making up bullshit excuses when I asked where he’d been.

“I have eyes everywhere,” Wilkerson says. “Harlon thought he could double-cross me. So I sent my crew to that ranch to deliver a message. Eliminate the problem at its source.”

The gun shakes in Nash’s hand. “My parents—”

“Were collateral damage. Your father and uncle were Harlon’s partners in that little scheme. They all needed to be dealt with.” Wilkerson shrugs. “My men took back what was rightfully mine and then triggered the explosion. Unfortunately, the primary target wasn’t there.”

“What?” Nash’s voice is barely a whisper.

Wilkerson shoots a look carved out of ice at my father. “Harlon was supposed to be at your ranch. But he conveniently didn’t show up. So he survived.”

I can’t breathe. Can’t process what I’m hearing.

“You’ve been holding this over his head ever since, haven’t you?” I manage to force the words out. “That’s why you’re still working together. Why I’m—”

“Leverage is everything. Harlon knows I planned to kill him that night. And he knows he’s alive today because I chose to let him live. For a price. He’s been paying it ever since. With you, Blaze. He used you as repayment for his gambling debts for years before the explosion, and after that shit show, he made sure you were mine for good. Or at least while you were still valuable.”

Nash whips around to face my father. “You got my parents killed. You knew exactly what kind of man Wilkerson was! My mom and dad and Uncle Aaron paid for it with their lives. You were supposed to be their friend, you fucking bastard.”

“I didn’t have a choice—” Dad stammers.

“You had a choice,” Nash roars. “You could have gone to the police. You could have told someone. Instead you let my family die, and you kept your fucking mouth shut. Kept working for him like nothing happened. Let me think it was just some random rival crew when you knew—you fucking knew—it was Wilkerson all along.”

“He would have killed me—”