Booted (Trails of Sin 3)

Silent objection pulses from Jarret. The tension in the air steeps in testosterone. The porch isn’t big enough for three alpha men locked in disagreement.

The strange part is, I’m not exactly sure what they’re opposing. Every person here wants John Holsten dead.

“This isn’t her decision.” Jake paces in a tight circle, hands clenching at his sides. “If she’s arrested for murder, she’ll rat us out to enter a plea bargain.”

“I wouldn’t—”

“You don’t know what you’ll do when facing life in prison.” He turns to Lorne. “This impacts all of us, and we’ll deal with it together, just like we always have. The four of us.”

“There’s five now.” Jarret nods at Maybe.

“Six.” Lorne’s eyes cut to me and return to Jake. “She’s part of this, whether we like it or not, and she has a better reason than any of us to spill his blood.”

“Bullshit.” Jake gestures angrily at Conor. “Have you forgotten he tried to kill your sister?”

“You know he hasn’t.” Conor rises from the couch and rubs her hands along Jake’s contracting biceps. “You need to calm down.”

“Not until he explains this.” He jabs a finger in my direction. “She fucked the old man and paid the price. That doesn’t give her a vote in what happens to our family.”

I flinch at his scathing tone, my eyes and cheeks hot with humiliation. I feel naked, on display, and would do anything to make this end.

“There’s more to it.” Lorne glances at me, his gaze a storm of dark splendor.

“Like what?” Jake asks.

I close my eyes. If they hate me now, they’ll really hate me when he reveals what I do for money.

“That’s her story to tell.” Lorne lets that settle over the group, surprising me into breathlessness.

I open my mouth to come clean, but he’s not finished.

“She can either kill him or go to the cops.” A twitch feathers across his jaw. “She’s doing us a favor by dealing with John on her own. The least I can do is give her some training.”

The mood in the air shifts, their expressions pinched with puzzlement and curiosity. I don’t know what they assume about my story, but one thing’s for certain. They’re furiously protective of their bond with one another.

“I can’t let you risk going back to prison.” Jake steps toward him.

Lorne straightens away from the railing, his hands falling at his sides. “That won’t happen.”

“Think carefully about this.” Jarret approaches Lorne’s other side, closing him in. “All it takes is one ranch hand to see you with a firearm. If this turns into an investigation, our employees will be questioned, and you’ll be arrested.”

Jarret moves into his space, and Lorne’s face pales beneath the brim of his hat. He steps backward, but Jake and Jarret stay with him, their body language assertive and tense.

The cords in Lorne’s neck go taut, and his breathing accelerates. I don’t think the conversation’s setting him on edge so much as the proximity of two men corralling him.

I inch closer, debating whether to intervene.

“It’s not worth the risk.” Jake puts his face in Lorne’s, his voice rising. “We just got you back, dammit. If you returned to prison, think about what that would do to Conor. To all of us!”

“I made my decision.” Lorne turns toward the porch stairs to leave.

“We’re not done here.” Jarret reaches out and clasps Lorne’s shoulder.

I see the next few seconds play out before it happens.

Whirling around, Lorne reacts like a man who’s been repeatedly attacked from behind. He seethes past clenched teeth, his arms swinging to block, punch, and defend against a gang of brutal inmates.

Jarret grabs for him again, but Lorne doesn’t see his family or their attempts to calm him. He sees memories. Aggression. Pain.

Maybe I’m wrong, but I’ve received a few black eyes during sleepovers with ex-cons who woke in the throes of flashbacks.

“Don’t touch him.” I launch into the gridlock of muscled arms and labored breaths.

Jake knocks me out of the way as he wrestles to get a handle on flaring tempers. But his impulse to restrain and control only adds to Lorne’s distress.

“The fuck?” Jake dodges a punch. “Calm down.”

They continue to grab at Lorne in an attempt to subdue him, arms flying, boots scuffing, and hats tumbling off. Can’t they see that Lorne just wants to get away?

“Stop it!” Conor grips Jake’s shirt. “All of you.”

“Let him go.” I throw myself between the men, ramming a shoulder into Jake’s chest and screaming over the ruckus. “Step back!”

Jake and Jarret freeze, and their hands drop. Lorne staggers backward, eyes haunted. He grabs his hat from the floor and bolts off the porch.

Jarret moves to chase him, and I step into his path.

“Let him cool off.” I tilt my head back and wince at the flames in Jarret’s golden eyes.

“Move.” Muscle and veins strain against his skin as he glowers at me, panting.