Deploy, Part One (Rawlings #1)(35)

And somehow, she found the nerve.

“Leave me alone. Get out of my house,” she said with a glare. It took far more courage than she thought it would but she said it across a trembling, firm tone.

At first, she thought she had scored an instant victory. Her father’s face went lax, the anger was gone, and astonishment was there, but only momentarily.

“What did you say to me?” he asked with an enraged, bewildered look on his face. He really was in shock that she even spoke.

“Not your house, and I can see who I want.”

“Can you now?” he said, right as his backhand slung across her face.

She knew if he hit her face, he was aimed to bring her a world of pain, and on purpose.

The blow caused her to fall to her knees. For a second, she couldn’t hear anything beyond a ringing noise, and the taste of blood was rich in her mouth. Her entire body was tense with adrenaline, expecting another blow any second, expecting worse.

He pulled her up by her hair, but she refused to scream. Only tight short breaths came from her.

“That whore mouth of yours has somethin’ to say to me? White trash just like your momma, looking for a free ride and willing to spread it for anyone!” He kicked her when she slipped and went down on one knee. Then he pulled her up again.

“You listen here—” She didn’t hear what else he said. Something had clicked inside, some kind of rage, or fear, or fight for survival. All she knew was she was not going down without a fight.

She charged forward, throwing him off balance. On his way down he pulled her with him but almost immediately the pull he had on her hair released.

She scrambled off of him, ready to find whatever weapon she needed to defend herself.

But he didn’t get up.

It wasn’t until she had grabbed a piece of rebar and turned that she noticed he was still down. That was when she noticed the pool of blood he was lying in.

It looked like it was coming from the back of his head. Which made no sense to her. She had seen him fall a thousand times when he was really gone.

She stood frozen as she watched his last breath leave him.

Even then, watching the blood pool, watching him die, she still feared for her life—she still expected him to get up and charge her. She could still see him, smell him—he was right there. Still, a threat who was going to kill her, rip her apart for daring to hurt him in any way.

“What did you do?” she heard Murdock say from behind her.

With a gasp, she turned, the weapon she never had the chance to use in hand.

“He...fell...”





Ten


Murdock Souter had one hell of a problem. Before he left from where he pulled off the road, he had shone a spotlight toward the river, and there was nothing there. He crept down the road, following the fast current looking for the truck, anyone on the bank. Nothing.

He could see how fast the current was moving and knew even sober, diving in there at night was a death wish.

The entire way back to Justice’s home he kept telling himself Brent could fix it, he would fix it.

Murdock had stopped twice and retched. Therefore, he felt numbingly sober as he pulled into Brent’s drive. The rain that was pouring helped him find even more sobriety as the cold drops landed on his adrenaline-soaked body.

Still sick, but aware and somewhat clear-headed, he’d heard Brent yelling, and had taken off at a quick pace toward the shop. He wanted to get there before Brent had the chance to tell anyone Declan Rawlings had been there.

No. No one needed to know they saw him or that his body was now at the bottom of the river. Brent would agree with him, he knew he would. Alibis were needed now more than ever.

Right as he rounded the corner he saw Justice holding a piece of rebar above her head, ready to strike, and Brent’s lifeless body on the floor.

Murdock’s chest heaved with panic. All he could think was he was going to jail because he gave a damn what the dead, drunk, f*ck on the ground thought of him.

Declan would have left, more than likely never came back knowing him and his * ways. And yet Brent wanted to sic Murdock on him like some bulldog.

Fuck. This.

Then all at once his stare moved from Brent to Justice’s trembling stance. Murdock needed an alibi, someone who would never betray him. Someone who had just enough to lose, and he found one in the tearful blue eyes looking back at him.

He flew into action, turned on the lawn mower next to him, the one with the broken gas line then another one. He nodded for Justice to come to him. “Watch your feet,” he said, looking down at the pool of blood that had almost reached her.

She listened and ran to him, still confused and still in shock.

Murdock took the rebar from her and pushed her behind him. Then he scraped it across the dry ground just before the pool of gas and oil, right by all the other wood and metal. As if it was meant to be there was a spark, and it caught quick. Murdock tossed the rebar deep in the pile then stepped back and watched as the disaster that had been waiting to happen, did.

Brent Rose had fallen into the gas and oil that had leaked from all the machines he had picked up all over town and next to wood that had been sitting for days in the pooling spills.

Not watching Brent even flinch as the fire overtook him was eerie as hell, all most as freaky as watching Declan’s truck silently drive him to his grave.

“What are you doing?” Justice yelled.