Our Finest Moment ✔️

45

COLTON

Kenneth smiles at me through the glass door of the hunting shop. His chin is covered with dark gray stubbles, and I huff at him as he starts to open up the door.

A quiet day in the week makes this shop a great place to meet my biggest enemy at the moment. Multiple of my people are placed around the block, armed and dangerous, while Rina is browsing the shop and Dorian is behind the register. It's his shift here anyway.

I told Liana to stay home today, to play the guitar and relax, and I'd bring home whatever she wanted for dinner later. She wanted to come when we planned it all, but I managed to convince her to stay at home. Our house is being watched carefully by some of Harold's old people, because I trust them more with my wife than my own soldiers right now—they joined my ranks because of her, after all.

My arms are crossed as the old Sergeant steps inside, his gun and badge on full display for everyone to see, even the real customers in here at the moment. He nods at me, a secretive smirk on his lips, as he walks up to me.

"I like the new location," he says casually, "the old one was a little too obvious as a front."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I say back, though we both know I do. I'm not about to incriminate myself. "The new place has brought the profits through the roof." What I leave unsaid is that those profits also come from the increased security of the deals going on in the back, and in the other facilities.

"I can imagine." Kenneth looks over both his shoulders, scanning the area. "I assume at least one of the people in here are yours," he stares with a lowered voice, "including the child behind the counter."

The dark chuckle is genuine as it makes its way up my throat. Dorian is indeed a child, and I look forward to telling him about this later. "The child is harmless," I lie, shrugging it off.

"So," the Sergeant starts, clapping his hands together, "what was so important today, Colt?"

I tilt my head to one side as I assess him. Then I smile. "I had my guys do some digging." His jaw clenches slightly, but he nods for me to go on like he doesn't know what I'm talking about, so I do. "We found out that you dismissed the murder of Brianna and Harold Henderson, said it was an accident, and closed the case. What you said to my wife earlier this week was a lie—the case is marked closed." I pause for emphasis, before I add, "But it was murder, and the guy who did it is probably very sorry he didn't remember to make sure the kid died, too."

"You're probably right. The murderer probably regrets not checking her room." Kenneth nods, his hands folding together in front of him. "I genuinely thought it was just an accidental fire at first—"

"Bullshit." I scoff at him.

"Excuse me?"

I scan his face, seeing the way his brows furrow in a surprised way—not an offended way. The subtle motion is evidence enough in my mind, when added to the stockpile of past mistakes and idiocy from this man. My fingers are already itching to rip his throat out.

It's a feral, possessive man's dream, really.

But Liana tells me I'm not a monster. I'm human. And I'm hers. So for a little while longer, I'm going to have to keep my bloodlust contained and stare at the man who took everything from my lovely, little wife, and turned my life upside down—if only to prove to her that I can deserve her. I will deserve her.

I shake my head at him and look around the shop. It's quiet. A middle-aged man is paying for some new fishing gear while Dorian is half-focused on the conversation between me and the Sergeant. Rina is admiring her cleavage in a mirror after trying on a new model of the fleece jackets, one eye strained on Kenneth at all times. Another woman walks in with her phone to her head, while the man exits.

"We both know who put those bullets in their heads," I continue, ignoring him. What I don't say is that I'm going to enjoy making him pay for those lives. If he was anyone else I'd have screamed it all in his face a second after he entered my view today, but considering threatening someone's life is illegal—and he's enforcing the law—I keep myself contained.

"Should we take this conversation to the back?" he asks, already taking the steps towards the door as if he decided it.

I grab the collar on his shirt, pulling him back from that door. There's nothing going on there right now—the place is clean as a whistle—but I'm not taking the risk. It's a risk in itself to have him meet me here to discuss that I know how bad he is in vague sentences. He grunts his disapproval when I let go and position myself between him and the back door, my eyes narrowing in a silent threat. "We should not," I state.

"Very well." He clears his throat, and then he inhales deeper than I've seen him do before. "I don't know what you're talking about, Colt," he says, repeating my own words back to me, "but I do know that you're not going to be living this high much longer. My detectives are good. If I could tell you everything we've gathered on you and yours so far these past months, you'd be running for the hills."

"What makes you think I won't when you say that?" I ask, inclining my chin.

"You're too proud," he explains. "Too stubborn." Then he chuckles, and it sounds like stones grinding up against each other, before he says, "And you hate your old man for doing exactly that, so you won't. Not until you see how many years in prison you'll be facing. I'll personally make sure death is off the table for you, because you'd see that as a damn reward, you psychotic bastard."

"An achievement, actually," I retort, shrugging casually, "but who cares about that?"

My smirk is as wicked as can be when I meet his gaze again. His jaw ticks, and I know I've knocked his footing. He walks forward, a finger out, pressing it firmly into my chest, as he grunts out, "You will rot behind bars, Radley, even if it's the last thing I do."

I raise a brow. "No matter how much blood you get on your hands on the way, Sergeant?" I ask, adding an unnecessary amount of pressure on the last word to remind him that he's supposed to be the good guy here. I don't have a problem bathing in blood I've spilled, but he should.

"You're just as cocky as your old man," he grumbles as he takes a step back. "I'm closer than you think to a warrant for your arrest. I'm this close—" he pinches the air with his thumb and index finger for emphasis, "—to a search warrant for anything in your name, kid, so you better wipe that stupid grin off your face." He grits his teeth, the sound making me narrow my eyes again at the old man who's so clearly wasted his life away chasing my father and I. Then he adds, his voice darker and colder, "And when you go down, I'll make sure I right the mistake I made twenty years ago."

Rage floods me. I see red as the man I've been hiding from all my life turns around and starts towards the exit. My hand moves to the back of my pants—to my gun—but then I suddenly can't bring it forward. As the door closes and the Sergeant disappears around the corner, I let out an enraged sound I didn't know I had in me as both Dorian and Rina struggle to hold my arms back.

"He admitted it," I yell into the store. "He fucking did it!"

"Yes, and now we've got to make a plan, Colt," Rina tells me in her no-bullshit tone. She moves and stands in front of me, her hands on my shoulders as Dorian grab both my hands behind my back. I still try to get free, but it's more half-assed now that he's gone. Rina goes on. "We know he did it, we just have to dig deeper and prove it, and then you can deliver him beaten to a pulp on the Captain's doorstep with the proof. Sound good?"

I grunt, but yes, it does sound good. Especially if by pulp she means I can kill the guy—because I will kill him.

I will watch him draw his last breath. I will see the light leave his eyes. I will make sure he won't ever hurt Liana again, because I will kill him before he can so much as lift a finger in my girl's direction.