His beady eyes swung to Aidan, scoffing at the gun he held in his hand. “Gonna kill me like you did your daddy?”
“Am I going to need to?”
Roland cackled. “Looks as though murdering a man has finally given you a backbone.” He rose slowly to his feet, a plank of wood—bent nails sticking out of one end—gripped in his hand. “So, how do you want to play this?”
“I’m going to turn you over to the law.”
He scoffed and rolled his black eyes. “Like that’s gonna happen. I’ve forgotten your sense of humor.”
“I’m not laughing.” Aidan moved a few steps to the left, blocking Roland’s path to the rifle he’d left out of reach, leaning against the cold wood stove. But there was still Earl’s gun cabinet, fully stocked, at Roland’s back. Aidan doubted the old man would be fast enough to arm himself from the cabinet before Aidan was on him, but he wouldn’t put it past him. “Put down the wood. You’re coming with me.”
“The only way I’m going anywhere with you is if I’m dead.” He cocked a brow. “You willing to kill me too?”
“Lana’s here.”
A spasm of pain crossed Roland’s weathered features.
“She’s real scared, Roland. For some reason she still loves you after all the crap you’ve put her through.”
“Well…she’s too tender-hearted. Too much like her mother. Nothing I can do about that.”
“You don’t care that your actions are causing her more pain?”
“She’s plenty aware of what has to happen here. Not my fault if she doesn’t like it. Besides, the blame lies at your feet. None of this would be happening if you hadn’t gunned down my brother in cold blood.”
“He didn’t give me a choice,” Aidan ground out, his grip tightening on the butt of the gun. “He would have killed Sonya.” He knew Roland was pushing his buttons but couldn’t seem to stop the anger and shame oozing like crude oil through his veins.
“You’re telling me there wasn’t something else you could’ve done?” His gleaming eyes met Aidan’s. “There wasn’t a part of you that wanted him dead?”
Guilt fed the anger and shame. He’d wanted Earl dead most of his life. Had wished it were Earl who had been killed in the car accident when he was a child rather than his mother.
“I knew it,” Roland purred. “I’ve seen it on your face. You wanted him dead. Sonya was just an excuse.”
Had he shot Earl because deep down that was the outcome he’d preferred?
The gun wavered in his hand, and before he could tighten his grip, Roland swung the wooden plank, hitting him square on his upper arm, right where he’d been shot. Pain flared like gas poured on a bonfire. Cursing, he dropped the gun and cradled his arm. The gun spun across the floor, falling into the hole Roland had created. Roland swung at Aidan again, the plank coming down on the side of Aidan’s neck, the twisted nails in the wood cutting into his flesh. He stumbled to his knees.
Roland sneered, walking around Aidan. “I’d hope to see some fight in you. But this—” he gestured with the wooden plank at Aidan kneeling at his feet “—it’s a good thing my poor brother isn’t around to see the pathetic coward his own son has become.”
“If I was a pathetic coward, Earl would be alive now.”
Fury and grief mixed in Roland’s muddy eyes. “You son of a bitch.” He swung his leg out to kick Aidan in the kidneys. Aidan shifted just as Roland was off balance, grabbed his leg, and in one move had Roland on the floor, while he jumped back on his feet.
“Shit.” Roland spat out of the side of his mouth, glaring up at Aidan. “Forgot about those fancy moves of yours.”
“Might as well give it up, old man. You’re only going to get hurt.”
“Fuck that.” Roland slashed out with a switchblade that he had hidden in the pocket of his cargo pants, cutting through the skin of Aidan’s calf. The cut was deep enough to make Aidan lurch back, and gave Roland time to regain his footing.
They circled each other, Roland with the knife, Aidan with his fists. The guns lay forgotten as if they both wanted this to end personally.
“You should have killed me when you had the chance.” Aidan swung out with his fist, connecting with Roland’s steel jaw. His head jerked back, blood and spittle spraying from his cut lip.
“Yeah, really regretting that, right now.” He flexed his jaw, his eyes full of death and hate. “You’d’ve been dead if it wasn’t for that damned wolf leaping out of nowhere.” He wiped the blood trailing down his chin, then parried quick with the knife, cutting into Aidan’s borrowed coat, slicing through the fabric and into the flesh of his chest. Down feathers floated into the air.