Page 57 of Branded Betrayal

Wilkerson is like the demon I can’t ever outrun.

And my fucking father is the reason why this man haunts my dreams at night.

The door to his office is half open. I walk inside, glaring at the bookshelves lining the walls, the cordovan sofa, and the mahogany coffee table. A hint of cigar smoke lingers, the scent curling in the air, taunting and tormenting me like an evil spirit.

My spine stiffens at the heavy footsteps behind me. But when I turn, it isn’t Wilkerson.

It’s Colt.

He steps into the office. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

I shrug. “Wilkerson called me. Told me to come over.”

He steps closer. “You haven’t earned the right to be here. I’m the fucking guy Wilkerson calls, not you.”

“Well, then you’d better have a talk with him. Because he doesn’t seem to understand the pecking order in the Hartman family.”

“Screw you, Blaze,” he growls, edging closer. “This is my time. You gave all of this up when you ran. So just do what you know best and fucking leave.”

I look at my brother shaking with anger. He thinks being here is a good thing, that this will get him the respect and credibility he’s so desperate for. But he doesn’t realize that when you make a deal with the devil, you have to be willing to sacrifice. My father has no issue with that. And if Colt doesn’t watch his back, he’ll be the next son our father pimps out.

Colton might hate me, but he’s still an innocent victim in this. So fixated on what he can get, how high he can climb that he wouldn’t see the big picture if it took a bite out of his nose.

So when he stalks out the door, I let him go. No sense in brawling with him here. Not when Wilkerson clearly has other plans for me.

When Wilkerson finally walks in, I’m sitting on the edge of his desk, arms folded over my chest.

“I don’t appreciate being kept waiting,” I say. “What do you want?”

He chuckles softly and takes a long sip of his drink. “That’s one of the things about you that I like, Blaze. You don’t sugarcoat things. You’re direct. No nonsense. No agendas. You do the work and walk away.” He takes another gulp of the liquor. “Colton isn’t like that. He’s always angling for what he’s going to get, how much more power he can grab. He doesn’t see things longer term like you do. He’s more focused on money.”

“I never did this for the money.”

“No, you didn’t. Not even in the beginning. It was always about everyone else, never you. Your dad, his business, your brothers.” He steps toward me, his lips curling upward. “Savannah Carlson. You’re loyal to a fault, Hartman, and I respect the hell out of that.”

“Great,” I snap. “Thanks.”

“I wanted to let you know I think you’re making great progress with Red Rock.” He pauses. “I’m watching. And you’re playing your role, gaining her trust. She will fold soon enough, realizing she can’t possibly handle that ranch on her own.”

Wilkerson walks around his desk and sits down. I bite back all the words I want to spew and turn to face him.

“But that’s not why I asked you to come here tonight.” He nods toward the hallway. “As you heard, we’re having issues with distribution. And I need some help moving merchandise. Your help.”

My eyes narrow. “Fuck, no. I can’t get caught doing those other jobs. My record is shot. I was dishonorably discharged because of you, remember? I’ll be completely fucked if I get nabbed by the cops doing one of your jobs back here.”

“You’re too desperate and resourceful to get caught. That’s why you’re my guy. You know exactly how much you have to lose.”

“Forget it. We agreed that my work is limited to Red Rock. That was the deal to settle the debts.”

“Don’t make me question your value, Hartman.” Wilkerson grabs a cigar from the drawer and smiles thinly as he stands up. “You will do what I ask without question because you need me to protect you. You have a lot of enemies, Blaze. Remember that. They know how to get to you and your loved ones. Just like I do. So, the deal is whatever I say it is. You’ll do this job. And then you’ll finish Savannah Carlson.”

Then he leaves the office without another look or word.

I grab my keys and stalk toward the front door, my gut roiling. My phone buzzes the second my hand is on the door handle. I step onto the porch and slowly slide the phone out of my pocket.

What I see makes my stomach free-fall into my boots.

Two photos come through. One is a photo of Savannah outside our barn a few days ago. One is a photo of me parked outside Red Rock.