EIGHTEEN

Caleb shifted his weight to ease a cramp in his leg, careful not to fall off the branch he sat on. He was restless. It was the silence of the woods around him, not the task that lie before him—he had no qualms about shooting the marshal if he needed to. And he didn't care if anything happened to Kitty while he was absent from the cabin, as long as Ben didn't kill her. That's what he told himself, at any rate. Their conversation from two days ago still lingered in his mind. Caleb grimaced just thinking about how quickly his youngest brother had turned on the woman. Ben had been mellow for a few months up until that point. Hopefully this phase wouldn't put a wrench in their plans; although, Harley could usually do a pretty good job of calming him down, if need be.

Caleb had found a spot to wait and watch in the woods on the edge of the road to the cabin at dawn to give the ransom demands directly to Dillon, and he only wanted Dillon shot now if he would not cooperate and turn back to get the money. He had a feeling, though, that he would need to shoot, to prove he meant business, to give Dillon more reason to fear for his woman's safety—not that her safety would actually be guaranteed by the ransom. As much as he hated the marshal, he had to admit the man was determined. If he did not immediately feel the urgency of Caleb's demand, he would be shown.

Caleb was just about to find a more comfortable position again when he heard the sound of horse's hooves approaching. Dillon had actually waited until sunrise to follow them—that fit with what Caleb knew about the marshal's relationship with Kitty, how much he cared about her. He quickly brought his rifle to his shoulder and waited for Dillon to come into his sights.

"Dillon!"

The marshal pulled his horse up hard and fast, reaching for his gun.

"Don't try it! I've already got you covered. Now I'm here to make a deal, so listen up!"

Dillon's eyes darted around, looking for Caleb, both hands slowly returning to the reins.

"Where's Kitty Russell? What do you want from me?"

"I want your heart, Marshal," Caleb growled, finally getting the chance he'd been waiting for, for the past ten years. Desperate for, since his mother died a year ago. "I want to drain your town, and I want them to know you did it for your own selfishness. I want to ruin the people you love, and I want them to know it's only because they're connected to you and you let innocent people die. I want to destroy your life…because you destroyed mine."

Caleb could see the way Dillon's color was rising, the way his hands gripped the reins with white knuckles, the way his teeth ground together. But he couldn't stop because his own anger coursed through his veins, the rage strong enough to keep the chill air at bay.

"As for Kitty Russell, bring ten thousand dollars to the old cabin on Crooked Creek. Then you can have your woman," he sneered.

"Why wait 'til now to ask for a ransom? Why not leave that message with Doc?"

"Now where's the fun in that, Marshal? Maybe I like watching you squirm on the end of a rope."

Caleb smirked, the emotions playing across Dillon's face satisfying in a way he hadn't expected. He knew his words were cracking the marshal's tough exterior. He pushed harder, knowing exactly which nerves to hit. "What's wrong, Dillon? Her kind's just trash. Although, I will admit, she is mighty pretty, for a whore. I might have to try her out myself after Harley's done with her, see what you find so appealing." The lies fell easily from his tongue, even as unease prickled in his belly. She was more than pretty, but he could never force himself on her.

Caleb noticed the marshal's gun hand twitch, and he went for one last shot, his tone deadly serious.

"Dillon, if you don't follow through with the ten thousand, I promise you that bitch will get used 'til there's nothing left to—"

The forest exploded, both shots sounding as one. In his anger, the marshal had drawn blindly in the direction of Caleb's voice, and the shot nearly hit him, going just a few feet wide. Caleb's already drawn rifle found its mark high in Dillon's left shoulder. His face contorted in a grimace, and he nearly dropped his gun, not letting any sound escape his bared teeth.

"Now you go back to Dodge and get that money! And you'll hurry, Dillon, if you know what's good for Kitty."

Gripping his wounded shoulder to try and stem the flow of blood, Dillon threw one last heated glance into the trees and turned his horse around, heading back the way he came.

Caleb waited until the adrenaline wore off and he was sure the marshal had gone before climbing out of the tree. Quickly, he made his way back to where he'd hidden his horse, more than ready to get back to the cabin.

Their luck only needed to hold out a little while longer.

Matt was dead. He was as good as dead. He was already dead. Matt. Matt!

Kitty could feel her throat becoming raw as screams tore out of her. Hot tears seared her skin, literally burning trails down her cheeks and singeing her clothes where the drops fell. Matt was dead, had died trying to save her—been slaughtered like an animal cut down by gunfire—and she couldn't even get to his body. Her desperate mind told her that if she could just get to him, if she could just reach him, then maybe she could bring him back to her. After all, he had promised he wouldn't leave her, hadn't he? Hadn't he made sure she knew she could always depend on him? Hadn't he come back from the dead just last year?

Trees blocked her path—they moved every time she did. Branches clawed at her face. Faces mocked her from in between the trunks at every turn. Caleb. Harley. Ben. They all laughed at her misfortune, reveling in the power they felt from killing Matt, from making her watch, from holding her helpless in their grasp.

Kitty couldn't reach Matt, it felt impossible. But she was not going to give up trying—she couldn't do that, either.

The taunting faces of the brothers—the murderers—circled her until she thought she would be sick, making it that much harder for her to reach her destination. Matt. He was dead. The screaming started again, a terrible noise filled with despair. But even though Kitty knew the cries were her own, she felt powerless to stop them. She who had once been a force to be reckoned with, now reduced to a pitiful, wretched mess.

Suddenly, it all stopped. The mocking whirl of faces halted, the trees disappeared, and the shouting ceased. And there, on the hard, unforgiving ground at her feet, lie Matt. Broken. Dead.

The pain Kitty felt upon seeing his lifeless body was unlike anything she had ever experienced before, even when she'd thought Mace Gore's men had killed him, and the weight of her reality came crashing down on her. It felt like her heart was literally being ripped from her chest. The agony it brought was complete and terrible. Nothing in her life would ever be the same. Nothing.

Kitty fell to her knees and—

She shot upright on the bed, her heart racing. Some loud noise had jarred her awake.

Kitty sat there for a while, waiting for her heart rate to slow down, and then finally she sighed in relief. She was still in the same situation as before, but at least she was not in her nightmare. Any reality was better than that at the moment. And there was still hope. She had to hold on to that.

Wiping tears from her face with a trembling hand, Kitty looked out the bedroom window and noticed the slow lightening of the sky. Sunrise. She faltered. Matt would be on his way to her by now, which meant that her nightmare could, God forbid, become her reality sooner than she would like to believe.

Harley stood in the doorway, watching Kitty toss and turn on the bed, writhing in a tortured sleep.

She was making noises now, miserable cries. Harley knew that he should hate this woman. This Kitty Russell who was closely connected to Matt Dillon, the man who had killed his father and turned their world upside down. Harley could never forgive him for that. He hated him and he should feel the same for the woman lying in front of him. But he didn't. He only felt indifference, he didn't care what happened to her, one way or the other. And watching her be tormented in her sleep, hearing her sorrow, only made him feel more powerful. He'd had so little control over his life these past ten years.

Kitty abruptly stilled. Harley leaned closer, unable to tell if she was even still breathing. But then he saw the rise and fall of her chest and kicked himself—she had just had a bad dream, nothing more. It wasn't any concern of his.

Soon enough, he'd be able to have his way with her. Right now she still thought her marshal would come storming in and save her, but she would learn different.

Harley slammed the door to the bedroom on his way out.