His Brutal Game by Audrey Rush

CHAPTER 18

Wilder

I should have been working on my last kill for the Trial. But the next afternoon, Maisie said she might be gone for a few hours to check on Bambi. I made sure the GPS tracking device was operating in her car, then watched her drive away. A heaviness unrolled inside of me.

Something wasn’t quite right. I kept my eye on Sawyer, making sure he never went far without me. He usually spent his time in the city, but lately, he had spent far more time on the farm. But killing Sawyer wasn’t my priority right then, and Forrest rarely left the property these days. As long as they didn’t leave, Maisie would be safe. I continued with my day, checking the cow-calf pairs, tending to the chores, and checking the GPS every few hours. Nothing was out of place.

But in the evening, the lights in my house were still off. I checked the parking area; Maisie’s car was dripping condensation like she had just returned. Where was she?

I took the UTV for a quick lap around the pastures. Cows lowed. A rabbit scurried through the grass. A new hunter mended the fence. But no Maisie. I headed to the Calving Barn. There were only a few more places she could go.

Forrest popped out of the barn’s office door.

“Still working?” he asked.

“Always,” I said.

“Come with me.”

I followed him through the pasture to the Dairy Barn, lit up like a lantern glowing in the night sky. Our footsteps shuffled against the grass blades.

I did a mental check: the gun was still in my holster, my knife sheathed in my pocket.

Forrest stopped, holding his hand against the sliding door.

“You must understand, son. This is part of our family’s lineage. It’s how the Feldmans dominate all others. You have to prove that you’ll do what’s best for our family.”

He was stuck on repeat, saying these same lines until they blurred together in my mind. But this time, my chest tightened. He was preparing me for what was inside.

“For the farm,” I said.

He slid open the door. One of the pens was gated off. A familiar scent wafted through the air. Sawyer stood by the pen, his gun in his holster, his eyes glued to the prisoner inside. A small woman crouched on the ground, her hands and ankles bound in rope, a canvas hood covering her head, her moans stifled underneath by a gag. My heart rate spiked. I balled my fists.

Sawyer pulled off the hood. Maisie blinked her bloodshot eyes. She glared up at my father, mascara dried in streaks on her cheeks. Full of pure anger and adrenaline.

What had they done?

“You two haven’t been fucking, have you?” Forrest asked.

Why did he care? Maisie looked small on the ground like that, tied up and bound. My fingers itched for my gun. I glanced at Sawyer; his hand was already wrapped around his holster, waiting for my movement.

“Last night,” I answered.

“Only last night?” Forrest rubbed his brow. “Lying to your father-in-law so soon?” he asked Maisie. She tossed her head to the side, grunting in response. I reached for my knife—she needed to get out of those ropes—but my father held up his gun. “She doesn’t go free yet.”

Free.

Maisie had received chances to go free. She could have left before the wedding. When I told her to run away. When we were in the train tunnel together. She had the chance to kill me, back then. She could have killed me when I was cuffed. But she had stayed. Every damn time.

Had Forrest taken her from Bambi’s motel, or had Maisie come back to the farm, returning to me?

Sawyer aimed his gun at my forehead.

Kill her. Or die myself.

Forrest handed me his gun, the same blue swirled engravings as the gun I had used for my first kill.

“You know what must be done,” Forrest said.

I took the gun, holding it in my grip. This time, the weight didn’t surprise me. I pulled back the hammer and kept my lips shut. Raising the gun, I aimed the barrel between Maisie’s eyes. Her eyelids twitched, but her gaze was focused, unmoving.

She wasn’t afraid.

She knew to trust me.

Why did she trust me?

“Don’t be a pussy,” Forrest said in a guttural voice.

I lowered the barrel, then faced my father, my gun aimed at the ground. “In my own time,” I said.

“There won’t be another time,” Forrest laughed. “Trust me. It only gets harder the longer you wait. I had ten years. Ten years before I finally gave in.” He scratched his jaw. “I expected this from Sawyer, but not you.”

Sawyer had fought my father on the Feldman Offering for a long time. But he brought his lover’s charred corpse back to the farm as proof of his loyalty. But rage had simmered inside of him, at what he was forced to do. He hadn’t been the same after that.

I wasn’t going to burn, shoot, or stab Maisie.

Not unless I went down with her.

Adrenaline buzzed through me. Death with Maisie was a very real possibility. And for once, I didn’t want to die. I wanted to be with her.

“This is taking too long,” Sawyer said under his breath. He aimed his gun at Maisie. “I’ll do it.”

Before he could pull the trigger, I charged forward, forcing the gun from his grip. A bullet hit the roof. I rammed my fist into his face, barreling into his nose and eye sockets. He threw me off, but I grabbed his shoulders, shoving him to the ground, letting my fists fly into him, seeing red.

“Yes!” Forrest shouted, each clap of his hands thundering through the barn. Ringing vibrated in my ears. “This is good. Be brothers. It’s our family’s way.” Punch after punch. His nose was bloody and my hands were numb. Sawyer spit blood in my face, then kicked me off. Forrest’s laughter grew. “Finish him!”

Sawyer’s fist landed on my eye, pain swirling inside of me. I ignored it, evading his next attack, then glided past him and pulled him into a headlock. He swung a fist back, punching my stomach, but I held his neck, choking him. He tapped my arm. I straightened, readying my stance, meeting my brother’s eyes. He threw a hook into my side; I let it land, then used that moment to hammer into him. A punch landed on my cheek. Blood filled my mouth as Maisie blinked up at me, her eyes wide and for once, scared. But not for herself, but for me. In my distraction, Sawyer knocked me to the ground, then kneeled on my chest.

“You need to face your fucking problems,” he said. “Figure it out. You’ve got to see it through.”

I tried to read past his shield. Did he mean I needed to kill Maisie? Or was he saying that I needed to kill him instead, to get the Trial over with? Sawyer’s eyes flicked over to Forrest, and our father nodded with glee.

Was I his last kill in the Trial too?

I kept my voice low so that only Sawyer would hear: “Who is your last kill?”

Sawyer laughed, the sound hearty and raw. It wasn’t me, then. He would have attacked me before this. Would have shot me in the head right now. But he hadn’t. No—it was Maisie. Like I suspected. Because my father knew I wouldn’t do it. Because as long as Maisie was dead, there would be one less loose end to worry about. By killing Maisie, Sawyer could show our father that his loyalty to the farm came before his loyalty to me. His ultimate challenge proving that our family’s business was the only thing that mattered to him.

The farm could erode under the sea for all I cared.

And yet, I couldn’t kill my brother. Not yet.

I shoved him off of me, and we both got up, glaring at each other, huffing. Locking eyes with him, I threw my weapons on the ground, and Sawyer did the same. We both turned to our father. Forrest’s jaw hung low.

“You could both end this right now if you wanted. You know that,” he said. He motioned to Sawyer. “Go on,” he instructed. “Hurry now.”

Sawyer glanced at me, then grabbed his weapons and left. Forrest and I walked to the edge of the barn, but at the entrance, I stopped, waiting for Forrest to leave. He glimpsed over my shoulder at my wife, still kneeling on the ground, completely bound. I stood in front of him, blocking his view.

“She’s making you weak, son,” he said. He narrowed his eyes. “This isn’t who I raised you to be.”

I clenched my jaw, but my face showed no expression. That was what he had taught me. To let nothing slip by.

And still, he saw through it.

“You know what happened when I made that mistake,” Forrest said.

I remembered that day. The rancid scent of the pond water. The ache in my arm. The blue engravings in my father’s gun. The day my father gave me the choice to kill my mother.

But this time, I knew I had a choice. I would protect Maisie, even if I died in the process.

I gestured toward the main house. “You have a business to run,” I said. “And a better son to lead.”

Forrest shook his head, the disappointment weighing on his shoulders. “How did Sawyer become more ruthless than you?”

I slid the door to the barn close behind him. Turning toward the pen, I wrapped my fingers into fists. I could kill almost anyone. I could take a life without question.

Except for two people. I couldn’t explain it.

I grabbed my knife and cut the ropes from Maisie’s wrists and ankles and pulled the gag from her mouth. She rubbed the indentations, her wrists red and raw. A cough raked through her body. I found a water bottle, shoving it in her direction.

“The hell was that?” she asked.

“Family,” I said.

“Family?” She forced a laugh. “That’s not family. That’s attempted murder. In like, three directions.”

But that was normal in my family. She knew that.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “I need to know something,” she said, stubbornness flaring in her eyes. “I need to know that you’re here. With me, Wilder.”

“You knew from the beginning that we were fucked up.”

“I don’t care about them. I care about you.”

I held the back of my neck, then stared up at the beams crossing the ceiling. My body was numb, drained of energy, completely dull. I needed to kill, to dig myself out of this bottomless well, but Maisie consumed me. Trapped me in her needs and emotions. Drowned me.

So many fucking emotions.

“Just tell me we’re okay,” she said, her voice quivering, near tears. “That’s all I need.”

But it wasn’t that easy. There would never be an ‘okay’ with us. Not while Sawyer was alive. Not while my father was with us.

I headed toward the door.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

I turned around slowly. “You need me to carry you?” I glared at her. “Can’t walk yourself back to your ivory tower?”

She crossed her arms. “You’re an asshole.”

By the time we got back to the house, her face had fallen, but there wasn’t anything I could do. No matter which direction I moved, we were pinned in the same place. There was no way to win. I slid into bed, flipping onto my side. Maisie settled in next to me. She put her arms around my waist and I scooted away, her touch excruciating. I didn’t have the energy right then. Everything was lost.

“Are we okay?” she asked.

I sucked in a breath, her scent making my head spin. I closed my eyes, everything going dark. She needed reassurance. It was a natural, human response, and after what we had been through, I didn’t blame her for that. But I was sleeping next to her, wasn’t I? I had never slept with a woman before her. Had never even shared a bed with anyone. I could have told her to go back to her own bedroom. I could have gotten up and slept on the couch by myself. Wasn’t this enough?

A life with me wasn’t going to give her the security she wanted, the stability she deserved, the home she had been searching for. If it wasn’t my brother hunting her or my father taunting me, it would always be something else. Another enemy searching for my one true weakness, if Maisie didn’t kill me first.

I was certain that I didn’t have any heart to give, but Maisie had ripped it out and put it in chains.

And I hated it.

I had to do something. In the morning, I would make her see the truth. Show her that I could never give her what she wanted. Give her one last chance to run away.

But until then, we’d stay quiet, waiting for that final sleep.

“Wilder?” she asked.

“Go to sleep,” I said.