If I got there, I just hoped that I could play this off as a mistake. Otherwise, there’d be violence.
On my way, I shot a message out to Gage and Flynn, letting them know to meet us at the Baker farm instead of at Hartley’s apartment. I wanted them on hand in case something went down.
I didn’t know what to expect, but I had to imagine the worst. I had to imagine that Culver had killed everyone already and I was next on the list. If he had so much as hurt a hair on Hartley’s head, I was going to bring so much fire down on his organization’s head that they’d beg me to let Janey’s people take over their shit. I’d kill every last one of them, though, and I wouldn’t stop until the whole damn Knoxville area was swimming in Dixie Mafia blood.
I had to hope that it didn’t come to that sort of war. I may have been skilled, but I was definitely outnumbered. My ideal outcome was to grab Hartley and get her back to Knoxville without anyone complaining. We’d pretend this whole little mistake had never happened.
Dade County was a pretty little backwoods place, a lot like Knoxville except with more farms. There weren’t any rich, developed areas out this way, either. These were serious farmers, commercial farmers. These people made their living on the land. I had to admit, I envied that a little bit. Sometimes I missed being so close to the dirt, though I could get dirty in my line of work.
It was slow going as soon as I was off the highway and deep in Dade County proper. I passed through a small little downtown area, cute, but clearly it hadn’t been updated since the fucking fifties. The truck just tore on, grinding down the road.
It felt like it took hours as I went slow as molasses down the small country roads. Eventually, though, I spotted it. The Baker’s farm was on a ten-acre plot with peach trees stretching back into the distance. The only path leading up to the house was a small gravel drive, and that was way too small for my big rig.
I pulled off the side of the road and parked it in a field. I was probably going to leave tire marks in the dirt, but I couldn’t worry about that. I climbed out and walked fast toward the house, cutting across the field.
The place looked quiet. If I were visiting under better circumstances, I might have noticed how beautiful the farm was. Low rows of peach trees stretched out into the distance. Chickens were pecking off to the side of the house. A low barn with a new red paint job sat in the middle of the field. I heard a dog barking not too far away.
As I got closer to the house, I spotted my car. Hartley had parked it next to an old Ford pickup. There were a few other cars, another old truck and an SUV, parked around there. I paused, though, when I saw the last car.
It was a black BMW, parked on the other side of the drive. I stared at it for a second and couldn’t help but wonder how farmers could afford a new BMW, let alone why they would need one.
Instantly, something in my gut told me to be careful. I touched the gun in the holster at my side, reassuring myself with its steel. I moved up toward the house, my eyes on high alert, breathing deeply.
The house itself was large with a wraparound porch and beautiful green shutters. The flowers planted around the front looked well cared for. Clearly someone in the family was a gardener on top of a farmer.
I climbed the steps and knocked on the door. There was no sound from inside.
I knocked again, my nerves on high alert. The door slowly opened.
I recognized the man who grinned out at me. It was the same man who had tried to rape Hartley to start all this.
“Hey there, Travis,” he said. “Welcome.”
I cocked my head. “What’s your name again?”
That annoyed him. “Guff. You know my damn name.”
“Sorry. I don’t keep track of every asshole’s name.”
“Cocky asshole. You won’t be so cocky when you see what we got inside.”
“Let me guess. You have Hartley and her family tied up in the kitchen.”
That pissed him off more.
“Just get the fuck inside,” he said. He threw the door open.
I stepped inside. “Nice place.”
“Yeah,” he grunted. “Now, give me your gun.”
I laughed. “You’re not touching my fucking weapon, Guff.”
He stepped forward, holding his own weapon up. “You sure about that?”
“You reach for my gun and you will die here.”
“I’m holding a gun to your face. You really want to play this game?”
I stared him down, fucking daring him to make a move.
“Enough.”
I knew that voice.
Guff looked back over his shoulder. “He hasn’t given up his gun.”
“No need for that, Guff. Bring him in.”
Guff reluctantly turned away, and I followed him down a short hallway. We walked into the kitchen, and I clenched my jaw at what I saw in there.