Freed (Steel Brothers Saga 18)

Chapter One

Dale

My second night alone in the wilderness, I awaken in the early morning, chills racking my body.

I wanted aloneness—complete aloneness—but at the moment, I wish I’d brought Penny along. While this may not be a three-dog night, it’s definitely a one-dog night.

I scramble out of my zero-degree bag and grab my flask of Peach Street. I love my wine, but backpacking and camping alone in the mountains necessitates something a little stronger for the occasional cold snap.

I unscrew the lid and take a drink.

Warm spice and smoke coat my throat. Yes, that’s better.

But then—

Everything races back.

My birth father. He’s dead now—gone on to a better place, if such a place actually exists. I never believed in hell, but I hope now more than ever that a place of eternal damnation exists for Floyd Jolly—a man who sold his two young sons into sexual slavery for five grand.

Five fucking grand.

I shake my head.

Five grand means nothing to me. It’s like twenty bucks to the average person. I have more money to my name than I could spend in five lifetimes.

But what if I didn’t?

Would I be desperate enough to…?

I shake my head vehemently as I screw the lid back on my flask. No one is here. No one can see me shaking my head. No one can see the look of utter disgust and nausea on my face or the bitter bile inside me as I think about what my birth father did.

Never.

Never would I be so desperate as to sell another human being—let alone a child of my body—into the horror that Donny and I lived through.

And we were two of the lucky ones.

Most either died during “training” or were sold to the highest bidder, never to be seen or heard from again.

Donny and I were rescued—rescued by Dad and Uncle Ryan.

Not only did Dad rescue us, he then adopted us. Brought us into his family. Made us Steels and heirs to a megafortune.

For so many years, I wondered why he did. Why he, a newlywed with a biological child on the way, would take in two broken little boys.

Only recently did I learn the truth.

Dad went through something similar. He didn’t go into detail when he told me, and I’m not sure I want him to. How can I imagine my father—my strong, loving, and generous father—enduring even a tenth of what Donny and I went through?

And when I have to think about Dad’s ordeal, I have to think about—

I have to think about the ugliest, most horrific thing I ever did in my young life. I was ten years old, and I—

I shake my head again. More vehemently this time, enough that I almost feel my brain sloshing between my ears. Those thoughts have no place in my world.

I’ve left them buried so deep for so long…

But now…

Now they’re threatening to emerge.

No. Not emerge.

Erupt.

Detonate like a bomb that has lain dormant for eternity, but now the fuse is lit…

I thought I was in control. I let my love for Ashley out, and the love seemed to override the hate.

But the hate for my birth father has awakened the hate for myself.

The hate I bear for something I did all those years ago.

The hate that brings out the darkness in me—the darkness that was always there but is now too much to endure.

Even my love for Ashley can’t fix this.

I was a fool to think it ever could.

I let the chills overtake me as I open my flask and take another sip.

It doesn’t help this time.

It doesn’t help because I don’t deserve warmth.

I could leave the security of my tent and start a small fire.

That would help.

But I can’t.

I deserve the darkness. I deserve the cold.

I don’t even deserve the heat of hell.

I wake at sunrise. Already, the air has warmed, and I’m no longer shivering. I scramble out of my sleeping bag, put on a parka and shoes, and leave the tent. I take a quick piss and settle down to build a small fire. I warm my hands for a few minutes above the flame, and then I pull out my French press. I need coffee.

Though I use a drip coffeemaker at home, coffee made in my French press while I’m alone in the mountains tastes better than any coffee in the universe. Even my mother’s—the strongest, most flavorful coffee ever—can’t compare to the coffee I press myself when I’m alone outside, surrounded by the beauty of the mountains.

But something wants to destroy this beauty.

I sniff. The smell of forest fire. For a moment, I thought the smoggy air was just the fog of morning, but it’s not.

Fire.

Colorado has fires every year, so this isn’t unexpected.

Except the smell is strong.

Very close.

I’ve ventured into the mountains, away from home. Away from my vineyards. That’s what I needed to deal with my father’s confession.