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Home.

He hasn’t been home in six months. Not since Granger Hale had Wells, Ezra, and River hauled off to foster homes. River and Ezra were returned after we got guardianship. But Wells. They hid Wells.

Until tonight. That’s when Aurora Hale brought us his case file, stolen from her father’s office. We had an address.

After that, everything that came next was easy.

I stomp to the truck bed and lower the door.

A man blinks at me. His hands tied behind his back with thick rope. Blond hair, pale blue eyes, and a gaunt face. Ernest Doyle. A prominent rancher two counties over who sits on the board of Granger Hale’s directors and takes in foster kids.

Well, not anymore.

The kind of people who hurt children and women don’t deserve to live.

Hours earlier, we busted down Doyle’s front door to find our brother on a soiled mattress in an upstairs closet. His bruised and bloody body curled in on itself. Duct tape around his wrists and ankles.

Vengeance.

The thought crawled into my body like gasoline for my soul.

It was what we wanted, what we needed to do. My brother was hurt, nearly dead. We’d go to the edge of the earth and the end of the law for Wells.

I grab Doyle’s leg and yank him the length of the truck bed until he’s standing on his own two feet. I give him a shove. “Walk, motherfucker.”

When he stands there, muffled protests coming from behind the rag in his mouth, I pull the gun from my waistband and level it at him. “Walk. Now.”

Adrenaline spikes. Moonlight guides our path as we walk in a line to the Pit, a remote, rural copper mine shaft that sits behind our ranch at the base of Bellowing Peak.

“What’re we gonna do?” Ezra’s soft whisper floats.

River’s voice, hard as he carries Wells in his arms. “You know what we’re gonna do.” It’s like the darkness of the night has seeped into his blood.

What takes minutes seems like hours, the walk long and tense. We all stop when we reach the edge of the mine shaft. The sounds of the Tempest night take over. A cacophony of insects mixed with a dreadful, still silence.

Spinning away from the mine, Ernest turns to us. The rag’s fallen from his mouth. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

“I’m sorry,” I scoff. Rage incinerates my chest as I slam Ernest in the face with the gun, causing the man to drop into an untidy pile on the ground. His moans cut the still night air.

“Wrong fucking answer.” I kick him in the side with my boot. My voice explodes in the dark like shrapnel. “You tell those kids I’m sorry when you had them locked in the fucking closet?”

Ernest weeps. Snot drips down his face. I step back, chest heaving, gun clenched at my side.

“If we kill him…” Even in the darkness I can see the panic flash across Ezra’s face. He stands on the sidelines in the tall grass, watching. “We’ll get caught.”

“We won’t.” Our eyes go to Warren. Our oldest brother has all the answers.

“How do you know?”

“Because Hale doesn’t give a shit about Ernest. He just used him to do his dirty work.”

“Why don’t you just go? You don’t have to be here.” River looks at Ezra likes he’s a traitor.

“Fuck you,” Ezra says.

“If we do this, it changes us.” Warren presses his lips together and evaluates us all.

“Good,” River says. “It’s for Wells.” He glares at Ezra. “Jack would do it.”