Chapter 10 - Sins of the Father
Garrett stared at me as if the concrete floor beneath his worn work boots had suddenly turned into an open grave.
His gaze darted frantically from the heavy platinum diamond ring gleaming on my left hand,
to the Kevlar tactical vest strapped across my chest,
to the three-carat platinum wedding band on Nathan’s finger,
and finally to the ivory-handled pistol held steady in my grip.
“Emily…
baby,
listen to me,”
Garrett stammered,
his voice sliding into that oily,
manipulative whine he used to use whenever he had gambled away our grocery money and needed to convince me not to call my sister.
“You don’t understand what happened…
those men in Laughlin,
they were going to cut my fingers off over the poker markers!
I had to disappear!
I was doing it to protect you and the kids!”
“Protect us?”
I repeated,
stepping two paces closer while Nathan flanked me like a mountain of dark,
unforgiving granite,
his rifle barrel pointed casually at Garrett’s chest.
“You let your seven-year-old son believe his father was rotting at the bottom of the Colorado River,
Garrett.
You left me with forty-seven cents to my name,
an eviction padlock on our front door,
and two babies who had to sleep on vinyl diner booths while I washed dishes for five dollars an hour!”
“I was coming back for you!”
Garrett pleaded,
dropping his revolver onto the dusty concrete with a loud clatter as he realized that pointing a rusted gun at the ruler of the Tucson syndicate was suicide.
He dropped to his knees,
holding both hands up in the air,
tears of pure self-pity streaking through the dirt on his gaunt cheeks.
“The guy in Laughlin gave me twenty grand to deliver that package to the estate gate last night!
He told me it was just sleeping pills,
Em,
I swear on Noah’s life!
He said it was just to make the guards sleep so they could take the paperwork from the office!
I would never hurt my own kids!”
“Do not swear on my son’s life,”
I snarled,
the fury burning in my veins turning my voice into pure venom as I closed the distance between us until I was standing six feet from his kneeling form.
“Noah recognized the smell of the cyanide because you used to leave open cans of rat poison under the kitchen sink in Yuma,
Garrett.
My seven-year-old boy had to knock a poisoned glass out of his five-year-old sister’s hands because his biological father was willing to murder them both for a cheap plane ticket to Costa Rica!”
Garrett choked on his breath,
his face turning an ash-gray color as the web of lies dissolved into nothingness under the weight of my words.
He looked past my shoulder at Nathan,
desperately seeking some kind of male solidarity or criminal bargain from the man standing behind me.
“Look,
Brooks,
man to man,”
Garrett cried,
crawling an inch forward on his knees before Nathan took a single step forward,
the heavy steel toe of his combat boot pressing hard against Garrett’s collarbone to pin him flat against the concrete.
“She was my wife first!
Whatever she told you,
she’s exaggerating!
Take the money from the duffel bag—there’s thirty thousand dollars in there!
Just let me catch a bus across the Nogales border and I swear you’ll never see my face again!”
Nathan looked down at him with an expression of disgust so absolute that it made Garrett whimper like a kicked stray.
“You are not a man,
Garrett,”
Nathan said softly,
his baritone voice vibrating with lethal finality in the cavernous space.
“A man builds a home for his children,
he stands between them and the cold,
and he bleeds before he lets a single tear fall from their eyes.
You sold your babies for scrap paper to a pair of cowards who are already on their way to a federal penitentiary.”
Nathan lifted his boot from Garrett’s chest,
stepped back,
and looked down at me.
“The warehouse is sealed,
Emily,”
Nathan said,
his voice stripping away the syndicate kingpin to reveal the husband who had vowed to place his blood between us and the dark.
“Marco has the recording of his confession on the comms,
the cyanide delivery logs are confirmed,
and the state police have an active warrant for his arrest for faking his death,
grand larceny,
and attempted capital murder.
Or,
if you prefer,
my men can make sure Garrett Parker finally finds that resting place at the bottom of the river he lied about two years ago.”
Nathan took half a step back,
leaving the stage entirely to me.
The ivory-handled pistol felt heavy and solid in my hands.
I looked down at the man who had terrorized my youth,
who had made me feel worthless,
broken,
and destitute on a desert highway forty-eight hours ago.
If I pulled the trigger right now,
nobody in Arizona would ever question it;
Nathan’s men would dispose of the body,
the police would never find a trace,
and Garrett’s reign of terror would be erased from the earth.
Yet as my finger rested on the cold steel trigger guard,
my other hand drifted up to touch the small silver cross resting against my chest.
I thought of Evelyn lying in her bed,
telling me that a queen does not rule by fear,
but by the depth of her mercy and the fury of her protection.
I thought of Noah building his pillow fort in the master suite,
learning how to be brave without being cruel.
And I realized that if I put a bullet through Garrett’s head on this dusty floor,
I would be letting his poison seep into the mother my children needed me to be.
Slowly,
deliberately,
I lowered the weapon,
engaged the safety with a sharp click,
and slid the pistol back into my holster.
“Death is too easy for you,
Garrett,”
I said,
my voice ringing out with an unshakeable,
triumphant dignity that echoed off the high rafters.
“You are going to spend the next thirty years inside a maximum-security prison in Florence,
surrounded by iron bars,
bad food,
and cold concrete.
Every single day,
you are going to watch the news and see Noah and Lily growing up in a palace,
attending the finest universities,
carrying the Brooks name,
and living a life you could never touch.
You will die in a cage,
alone,
forgotten,
and completely powerless.”
Garrett slumped against the floor,
sobbing into the dirt as Marco and three armed operatives walked in through the bay doors,
snapping heavy steel handcuffs onto his wrists and dragging him out toward the waiting police transport.
As the sound of Garrett’s pathetic weeping faded into the afternoon heat outside,
Nathan walked up beside me.
He didn’t say a word.
He simply reached out,
wrapped his strong arm around my shoulders,
and pulled me into his side as we walked out of the dark warehouse into the bright,
golden light of the Arizona desert.
Yet just as we reached the lead Suburban,
Marco’s satellite phone rang with a shrill,
urgent chime.
Marco answered,
listened for three seconds,
and his face went as white as a sheet.
He sprinted across the gravel toward Nathan,
his voice trembling with sheer panic.
“Mr.
Brooks!
It’s the main estate!”
Marco shouted,
holding the phone out with shaking hands.
May you like
“Victor’s cartel allies from the Sonora border just breached the north perimeter gate with three armored trucks!
They’ve cut the power to the main house,
