His Brutal Game by Audrey Rush

CHAPTER 12

Wilder

The next morning, Forrest was in the Calving Barn waiting for me. He pointed to a chart on his laptop. “You see this?” He drew his finger across the jagged line, an upward trend. “If your brother is right, then this is good. In a few months, we can expand. Open up another farm. Perhaps on the other side of the country. Whoever finishes the Feldman Trial first can lead it, and then—”

“Why not both of us?” I asked. Forrest clenched his jaw. He had taught us at a young age not to interrupt him, but with Maisie constantly cutting me off at home, I had forgotten.

“Are you actually suggesting that?” Forrest asked.

He knew what I was saying.

He closed the laptop, then stood, putting a hand on my back. “Son, if I thought you could both lead, I would jump at that chance. It would certainly eliminate some of our problems.” His shoulders sank. “But that’s not part of how our family handles the line of succession, and I’m not going to be the first one to break with tradition. It’s how I got to where I am. It’s how one of you will lead. Now, if you or Sawyer decide to change the course of the Trial, then that is your decision.”

I took a deep breath. “The winner could handle the other farm. The loser could watch over this farm,” I explained.

“That’s funny,” Forrest laughed. “I’m going to watch over this farm.”

I bent forward. That wasn’t how we handled the line of succession either. “Not—”

“How is that Maisie girl? Have you been getting along?” he asked, changing the subject. I nodded my head, trying to find the words to be truthful without saying anything substantial.

“She’s fine,” I said. Forrest had taught me to never lie. There were ways to admit the truth without saying anything real. But by the look in his eyes, I knew he could read exactly what I was actually saying.

I didn’t understand anything when it came to Maisie, and that was an issue.

We walked together, heading back to my house through the grass. “Have you consummated the marriage, yet?”

I gritted my teeth. Why was he obsessed with that?

“It was a month before I slept with your mother,” he said. “Nine months later, you were born.” Did he want a grandchild, then? Was that it? “If she doesn’t produce, we can find another. But Maisie cleans up, doesn’t she?”

Maisie sat in the window, reading a book, her yellow hair shining from the sun in the window. Loose jeans on her calves. A v-neck shirt that hinted at her small breasts. Her fingertips teased the dip in her shirt as she ran her fingers over her skin absentmindedly.

I balled my hands into fists, a vein throbbing in my neck.

“Did you do anything to her?” I asked.

He grinned, then let out a bellowing laugh. “I would never disrespect you that way, my boy,” he said. “I observed her, yes. Made sure her body was fit for childbearing and appeal. But I never laid a hand on her.”

In my mind, I took my father apart. My knife in his eyes, gouging them out, one by one.

“I trust you remember well what happened with your mother,” he said. “It’s good to develop a healthy interest in Maisie. It will teach you what it means to let go.”

That was bullshit. “I only married Maisie because you arranged it,” I said. “Because you agreed I wouldn’t have to get attached.”

“But it’s been hard for you, hasn’t it?” A hard edge came over his words. He coughed into his hand. “That’s a good thing, son. It means you’re human after all. It gives you a chance to shed your weaknesses.”

I was never supposed to have any weaknesses. I had sworn that years ago, after my mother died. The only reason to have a family, to have a wife, to cherish anything that resembled a relationship, was to show that you could live without it. That you didn’t need anything besides work. Because in our family, murder kept us alive. Even when it came to those you thought you loved.

“Sawyer should be the leader,” I said, changing the subject on my father this time. “I can do the field work. He can do the rest. The livestock orders are what I specialize in. I don’t deal with the business. He excels at it.”

“You don’t have a choice,” Forrest said. “One of you will succeed in the Trial. And so far, your brother is winning.” He smacked my back. “He’s a good choice. I don’t doubt his capabilities. But I know you can do it too.” He kept his eyes concentrated on mine. “Your brother falls in love too easily. But you can show me you’re smarter than him. Smarter than me. Better than the rest of us.” He smiled, the expression strained. “Make me proud, son.”

My throat constricted. Those words coming from my father’s mouth? Pure manipulation. Perhaps he had observed my lack of interest in the Trial. That must have been why he was trying desperately to keep it going. He had once told me that he feared that if the Trial died with Sawyer and I, that the business would weaken. He needed that legacy.

“If you don’t win, you know what happens,” Forrest said.

My blood ran cold. I looked up at the house. The window was empty, leaving a hollow space where Maisie had once occupied it. She must have gone to her bedroom. I met my father’s icy stare.

“I know.”

Once he left, I checked on Maisie, made sure she was all right, then locked the doors and left. In the Dairy Barn, I glared at the livestock orders on their knees, hoods around their heads. They’d be executed, the video distributed to the rest of the drug lord’s dealers through our secure messaging system. A warning to his other employees.

I turned on the cameras, then removed my gun, pulling back the hammer. The bullet pierced through the room, the second livestock order gasping in anticipation. Maisie had been inside of this barn not too long ago, and though I had my gun on me then, I hadn’t used it. Hadn’t wanted to. Had wanted the opposite, in fact. To keep her alive. To know her more than these people.

The second bullet crashed into the second livestock order’s head, sending him slumping into the final person. My brother had only a few kills left, and I still had three. I didn’t care about the family business, but I was good at my job. I needed this to be mine.

And even with this order, I was still focused on Maisie.

The final twitch of my finger. Three.

The third and final livestock order fell forward. I collapsed to my knees with him, laughing to myself. It was so fucked up. My family. Maisie. Me. There was no escape. No matter what I wanted, I knew what had to be done.

I checked the surveillance app for my security in the woods. Eileen Hathaway hovered behind a tree. I knew exactly where she was. I notified Kyle, letting him know to finish up with the drug lord’s order without me.

I packed my equipment, then drove to the woods, parking off in the brush. I hid behind a tree next to the pond. And I waited. The overcast sky grew darker. Fog enveloped me, heavy on my shoulders. Finally, I saw her. Black hair. Kneeling by the pond. Washing her face. I stood. She stared down at her reflection, then a small gasp came from her lips. I stepped closer. I was right behind her. I clicked my knife open.

I threw her into a chokehold, holding the knife against her throat, forcing her into stillness, then shoved her down into the murky water, holding her there. My vision blurred: her black hair turned yellow, a bruise eclipsing her neck. All I saw was Maisie. The woman pushed against me, bucking me off of her back in my distraction, but I renewed my grip, thinking of Maisie, waiting for that moment when her throat closed up, when her lungs gave out, when she finally died.

The woman’s body relaxed. I eased my hold, but still leaned on the back of her skull, keeping her head in the water. My heart drummed in my chest. My thoughts scattered, for once, not exactly thinking about Maisie, but everything else attached to her. One down, two to go. That meant that I was closer to that finish line where I could decide what happened. Where it would be up to me.

My chest expanded. Sweat dripped from my brow. It was my favorite kind of kill. When they gave more fight than you expected. When you still won at the end of it. A pleasant surprise.

After I was sure she was dead, I ran my wet hands through my hair, standing up to stretch. I turned back toward the direction of the SUV and saw a person crouching. Actual yellow hair. Dark brown eyes.

Maisie.

I waited for her next move, sizing her up. Her eyes were round and full, judging me. She stood, matching my stance. Her expression softened.

This wasn’t about judging me, then. This was something else.

“Do it,” she whispered. My pulse skipped a beat. “Do it to me. I want to feel it too.”

I closed my eyes, then slowly opened them. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

Her dark brown eyes searched me, trying to decipher what I was hiding. But there were no secrets.

“You drowned her,” she said.

“I killed her.”

“I want to feel it too,” she whispered. “I want you to drown me.”

My throat was dry, blood pounding in my ears. She had to be testing me.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

“You want me to kill you,” I said.

“You wouldn’t kill me,” she said. “I know you wouldn’t. I just want to feel it.”

That was why my father and brother had known to pick her. They must have sensed whatever this was circulating inside of her. That she was messed up too. This strange, obsessive need to feel, even if it meant fighting for your life. A recklessness that would drown us both.

“Give it up, Maisie,” I warned. “You’re in too deep.”

“I’m not.” She inched closer and I widened my stance, making sure she knew that I wasn’t going anywhere. “You said it yourself.”

And I knew exactly what she meant: When I want you dead, you’ll be dead. She was the living proof that I wanted her around.

“Run,” I said. Maisie blinked, unable to comprehend what I was telling her. “Run!” I yelled. Her eyes flashed with fear and her hands fell to her sides, wiping the sweat from her palms against her clothes.

And then she ran.