Buckled

by Pam Godwin

  Contents

  Disclaimer

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  Up Next

  Other Books by Pam Godwin

  Playlist

  Acknowledgments

  About Pam Godwin

  If you have not read the first book, STOP!

  Each book in the TRAILS OF SIN series is a different couple,

  but they should be read in order.

  KNOTTED (#1)

  BUCKLED (#2)

  BOOTED (#3)

  SIX MONTHS AGO…

  Some might say I’m unethical. Maybe even depraved. But the things I’ve witnessed and the crimes committed against those I love tainted me. Provoked me. Gave birth to the anger and strength blazing through my veins.

  I make no apology for it.

  Leaning against the wall in the hallway outside my father’s office, I glare at the closed door. Dad is in there right now, completely oblivious to his fate.

  Most men look at their fathers and feel protective. Loyal. When I look at mine, I see an unworthy creature made of frail bones and greed. An abomination I want to destroy.

  I don’t just want to hurt John Holsten. I want to throw him into the ravine and dump truckloads of earth atop his broken body until his lying goddamn mouth overflows with dirt. I want to hear his pained cries while boulders rain down and crush his organs. I want to see the life drain from his deceitful eyes as the gorge swallows him whole.

  This is the exact method my brother and I used last week to murder Rogan Schroeder.

  The vest-pocket loan shark was the biggest threat against Conor Cassidy’s life. His network of black-market creditors loaned money to our fathers and demanded repayment with impossible interest rates.

  Rogan Schroeder didn’t just want to be repaid. He wanted a piece of Julep Ranch. Specifically, the oil-rich land. My father bowed to his demands, working with him to keep the land owners, Conor and Lorne Cassidy, out of the picture while oil rigs chewed up the property.

  The Cassidys will return eventually. Conor, to honor our blood oath. Lorne, when he’s released from prison. Rogan intended to have them murdered the moment they stepped foot on the ranch.

  So Jake and I eliminated him.

  In doing so, there will be no more contract killers. No more debts. No more threats against the girl I love like a sister.

  After Jake and I deal with Dad, Conor will finally be able to live safely at the ranch. Lorne still has a few years to serve in prison, but when he’s free, we’ll be able to welcome him home with open arms.

  I drum my fingers against my thigh, listening for my brother’s footsteps, so fucking ready to put this shit behind us.

  A few minutes later, he rounds the corner of the hall and strides toward me with a laptop tucked under an arm.

  Despite how close we are to getting Conor back, his mood hasn’t improved from the surly, miserable funk he’s been immersed in for the past five years.

  Because Conor has a boyfriend. A man she now lives with on her college campus. That revelation is ripping Jake apart, day after day.

  “Ready?” His whisper snags, his jaw so tight it doesn’t give.

  With a nod, I step toward the office door.

  We were raised under a strict code of conduct, to honor our father, his rules, and his privacy. That includes knocking before we enter his quarters.

  He lost all honor the moment he put Conor and Lorne in harm’s way. Still, it goes against the grain to open that door without permission.

  Jake casts me an irritated glare and swings open the door himself.

  “What the—?” Behind the desk, Dad shoves his chair back and causes something to fall at his feet. His hands fly to his lap, his eyes murderous. “Get out!”

  I follow Jake in, and we skid to a stop at the sight of the woman rising from the floor behind the desk.

  Long black hair and beautiful Native American features, Dad’s girlfriend, Raina, hugs her nude chest.

  Fucking great. I share a disgusted look with Jake.

  “I said, Get out!” Dad zips his pants, his face crimson with rage and utter disbelief.

  Interrupting a blow job is one thing, but we’re blatantly ignoring his booming order. He has no idea how much leverage we hold over him.

  “Raina.” Jake approaches the desk without looking at the woman. “Leave us.”

  I spot her shirt on the floor and toss it at her.

  She catches it, keeping her tits covered with the cloak of her hair. She slips it on without a bra and looks to Dad for permission to leave.

  I don’t know what her interest is in him. She’s a stunning woman. At age twenty-two, she’s a year younger than Jake and me. Way too young for a sixty-year-old man.

  If she thinks he’s loaded, she’s sorely mistaken. He’s penniless, and after this meeting, he’ll be homeless. Or dead.

  “Wait in my bedroom while I deal with this.” Dad waves her away.

  She turns and heads out of the office, shoulders square and expression unreadable. She’s been staying at the ranch for the past month and hasn’t so much as met my eyes, let alone spoken to me. Even now, as Jake and I glare holes through her, she doesn’t look at us.

  Something feels off about her. Nothing indicates she’s here against her will, but she’s not exactly warm around my father, either. Whatever it is pings at my protective instinct.

  “You boys might be grown.” Dad nudges the white Stetson up his angry brow. “But I’m fixing to whoop your asses. You better have a damn good reason for barging in and disobeying me.”

  “We do.” Jake sets the laptop on the desk.

  While it powers on, I follow Raina into the hall.

  “Hold up.” Out of view of the office, I grab her elbow. “Are you in trouble?”

  She yanks free and steps back, folding her arms across her chest. “Trouble with whom?”

  “You tell me.” I cock my head. “You know the old man is broke, right?”

  “You’re sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.” She pivots in the direction of Dad’s bedroom and strides away. “Stay away from me.”

  Well, I tried. Maybe she just has a thing for older men.

  With a shudder, I return to the office and close the door behind me.

  “What the fuck is this?” Dad glares at the laptop screen, his face paling from furious red to ghost white as realization dawns.

  The screen angles away from me, but I hear the video snippets. Captured with hidden cameras over the past couple of years, the recordings serve as evidence against Dad’s criminal activities. His discussions about the hits on Conor and Lorne, meetings with Rogan Schroeder and other dangerous moneylenders, illegal negotiations with Sheriff Fletcher—all of it would put him away for a very long time.

  “How did you get this?” Dad’s dark eyes jump between mine and Jake’s.

  “You underestimate us.” Jake removes a small camera from the nearby bookcase and rips the wires free.

  I’m not a tech guy. Neither is my brother. But Jake found what we needed online and wired an amateur setup. It was easy enough, seeing how Dad still looks at us like we’re kids. Like we’re naive and simple-minded with aspirations that don’t stray from herding cattle.

  At least, he did. He’s not looking at us l
ike that now.

  His bulging eyes are overly bright, his hands white-knuckling the armrests. “You have no idea what you’ve done.”

  “We know Conor and Lorne own the land.” I lower into the chair across the desk from him. “We know if they lived here, they could revoke the Power of Attorney that allows you to drill on land that isn’t yours.” I lean forward. “We know your creditors are dead, your enemies gone.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “We know it was you!” Jake slams a fist onto the desk, making Dad jump. “You hired the men who raped and brutalized Conor. You put the hit on her and Lorne.” His face twists with five years of deep-seeded pain. “How could you, Dad? They’re family! And Conor…” His hoarse voice scorches the air. “She’s my entire fucking world, and you took her from me!”

  “Calm down, son.” Dad’s breathing accelerates as he discreetly reaches for the desk drawer that holds his pistol. “Just listen for a—”

  “Are you going to shoot us?” I direct my eyes toward his wandering hand. “Have you fallen that far?”

  “You’re my sons.” A muscle flutters across his jaw, and he abandons the drawer to stare at me like I’ve lost my mind. “I’d put a bullet in my own head before turning a gun on you.”

  Maybe so, but just in case, I removed the guns from this room this morning.

  “What happened to Conor…” Dad steals a glance at Jake and frowns. “It was supposed to be quick. A quick, painless death—”

  Jake launches over the desk, roaring and reaching for Dad’s neck.

  I catch my brother around the waist, hauling him back and manhandling him into the chair. “Keep it together.”

  Bloodthirst spikes through me, too, but killing our father is a last resort. Jake and I discussed this endlessly. As much as we want him dead and as many men as we already buried, murdering the man who raised us would alter us irreparably. It would make us as fucked-up as he is.

  “Look, I’m sorry about Conor and Lorne.” Dad straightens, his deep voice soothing, seemingly trying to temper the confrontation. “I made some bad decisions that put everyone in jeopardy, and in the end, it came down to your lives or the Cassidys. I didn’t have a choice. I would do anything to protect you.”

  Eliminating Conor and Lorne may have appeased his enemies and kept them from hurting Jake and me, but it was never a solution. If the old man doesn’t see that now, he never will.

  “They’re our closest friends.” I meet his eyes. “Closer than blood. You had no right.”

  “Do you know that Dalton beat her in Chicago?” Jake stares at his lap, his hands clenching. “He took out his anger on her for two years.”

  Dad’s lips thin, and his head makes a slight shake. “I’m sorry, son.”

  “I don’t give a fuck if you’re sorry. I don’t want to hear it.” Jake rises from the chair and paces beside me. “You should’ve told us about the trouble you were in. We could’ve worked through it together.” His voice explodes. “Before you tried to kill my girl!”

  “We could’ve helped.” I touch Jake’s arm as he passes, a reminder to keep himself in check, and return my gaze to Dad. “We respected you back then. Loved you. We would’ve worked harder on the ranch, figured out a way to make more money. But instead of coming to us, you took away the two people who mean the most to this family. In one night, you twisted us into the vengeful, bitter men we are today, and we won’t stop until this is finished. I hope you’re proud.”

  “What do you mean you won’t stop?” Dad looks at the laptop, at Jake, and back at me, his eyes widening with understanding. “You’re behind the disappearances?” His throat bobs. “You’re the reason my business partners are missing?” He drags a hand down his pallid face, his voice a whisper. “What have you done?”

  “We took care of your debts.” I return to the chair and rest a loose fist beneath my chin, watching him. “Rogan Schroeder won’t threaten this family again.”

  Dad removes his white Stetson and carefully places it on the desk. “That’s why he didn’t show for our meeting last week.”

  Oh, he showed. Jake and I intercepted him a few miles away. The arrogant fuck was alone when we shot out his tires and forced him off the dirt road. His body and pickup truck lay at the bottom of the ravine, buried beneath the very earth he drilled out of the south pasture.

  Dad doesn’t need the details. He comprehends enough. It burns in his red-rimmed eyes. “You don’t know who Rogan Schroeder is, do you?”

  “A criminal loan shark intent on taking this land.”

  A hollow laugh bursts from his chest. “I suppose I owe you a thank you?”

  “You owe us more than that.” Jake glances at the clock on the wall. “Our lawyer will be here any minute.”

  “A lawyer for what?” Dad peeks at the desk drawer again, eyes wild. “You boys think you’re going to turn me in?”

  “No, you worthless piece of shit.” I angle forward and let my expression convey the lethal conviction of my words. “You’re going to sign over ownership of the cattle operation and all assets on the property to us. Then you’re going to take your whore and disappear. Quietly. Permanently.”

  “Or what?”

  “Or you stop breathing.” I shrug.

  “You’re threatening me?” He rises with a wide stance and swipes a hand across the desk, crashing computer equipment to the floor. “I’m your father!”

  “That’s the only reason we’re giving you the option to live.” I remain seated, unmoved by his posturing.

  A knock sounds at the front door, and Jake steps out of the office to greet the lawyer.

  “I won’t agree to this.” Dad snarls at me. “The cattle business is all I have left.”

  A business he acquired from my mother and ran into the ground after her death. He never deserved Julep Ranch.

  “If you don’t sign the papers and leave town, I will kill you.” My tone doesn’t waver, my eye contact steady and brutally honest. “I’ll disembowel you just to see how long you live without your toxic insides. The truth is, Dad, I would enjoy it. And why is that? Did I inherit that sickness from you?”

  “No.” A clammy sheen shines on his brow, and he slumps into the chair, studying my expression as horror strains his own. “I’ve never killed anyone.”

  “That’s right. You hire out the dirty work. Because you don’t have the stomach for it. Because you’re a weak, pathetic old man.”

  His jaw tightens, and his eyes grow cold.

  I’m baiting him. Mostly, I want to see if he has what it takes to reach for the gun that no longer sits in that drawer. But I already know he won’t. He didn’t have the balls to kill Conor and Lorne himself, and he certainly doesn’t have it in him to kill his own sons.

  Jake returns with the business attorney, and the room coils with silent tension. As papers are laid out with signature boxes marked with tabs, Dad stares at the documents, his eyes swirling with resentment and conflict.

  I slide a pen across the desk. “What we’re offering is more than you deserve. Sign the fucking papers.”

  “The business is steeped in debt. It won’t make you rich, boy.”

  “This isn’t about money. It’s about taking what rightfully belongs to us and making sure you lose everything our mother built. As far as revenge goes, this is trivial.”

  “If I sign,” he says, his voice lowering with waning resistance, “you’ll let this go?”

  “Yes. We’ll let you go. Gladly.”

  He snatches the pen and angrily scrawls his signature, one page after another without reading the terms. “I don’t want to lose you boys.”

  “You already have.” Jake gathers the signed paperwork and hands it off to the quiet, middle-aged lawyer. “I’ll walk you out.”

  He leaves me alone with Dad again, putting a helluva lot of trust in me that I won’t kill him. Or maybe he’s hoping I’ll do exactly that.

  “I want you and Raina gone by nightfall.” I glance at the p
osition of the sun beyond the office window. “You have three hours to gather your shit.”

  It feels weird standing on this side of a confrontation with him. Giving orders rather than receiving them. It’s empowering.

  “It doesn’t have to be like this.” Dad scans the office, his usual dominant demeanor weakening by the second. “Let me stay. I’ll pull my weight on the ranch and make it up to you.”

  He looks tired, a defeated old man who long ago exhausted his sixty years. He still has his hair—thick and dark, peppered with silver. He’s still physically fit, strong limbs and a sturdy build. Except for his gut, which extends past his belt buckle from years of laziness and self-indulgence. Maybe his appearance hasn’t changed much, but I see him differently now. He no longer holds power over me, and he knows it.

  “We’re five years past amnesty.” I stand and head toward the door, lingering on the threshold. “If you turn us in for crimes you believe we committed, we’ll kill you. If you harm a hair on Conor’s head, we’ll kill you. If you kill us, the evidence we hold against you will be delivered to people we trust. People on the right side of the law who would love to put you and Sheriff Fletcher behind bars for the rest of your miserable lives.”

  Lorne has access to every piece of evidence we hold and can do a hellacious amount of damage with it from prison.

  “I pity you.” Dad rises from the chair and circles the desk, his posture relaxed and nonthreatening. “You think you’re smarter than me? A better man? Yet you’re willing to kill your own flesh and blood. That makes you truly evil.”

  The fact that I’m letting him live proves him wrong. But there’s an iota of truth in his statement. A man cannot be good unless he possesses the capacity to be evil. Decency is a choice. It’s being tempted by hatred and following a different path no matter how difficult. It’s looking inward with a magnifying glass and acknowledging the flaws and weaknesses in one’s character.

  It’s the terrible ache for revenge and choosing to let it go.

  “We’re showing you mercy.” I grip the door frame, giving him my back. “Don’t squander it. You have three hours to disappear.”

  I leave him there to regret his consequences. Or to make more mistakes. Whatever happens next is up to him.