“No, I don’t,” I reply. “Does this surprise you?”
He smiles, a ghost of its former self. “No,” he says. “You’re one of the good ones. You would never allow such a thing so long as you had the power to stop it.”
“If only that were true,” I say, thinking of the father and son who were caught trying to steal from us on the farm. “But I’ve stood by and watched it before.”
He’s genuinely surprised by the admission. “Why stop them, then?” he asks.
“Because I don’t believe you were lying when you spoke of killing Barr,” I say. “I've known liars, and you are great in your own right. You fooled everyone in your work as the mole. But I heard the hate that filled your voice whenever Barr was concerned. There was nothing fake about that”
“Perhaps you heard wrong,” Owen says. I can’t tell whether he mocks me or not.
“Perhaps,” I say. “But I doubt it. So the question begs to be asked: why are you helping a man you hate?”
He doesn’t answer, sinking back into the stony silence he assumed when I entered. Given the chance he will stay there, using it as a shield against whatever it is I have to say. So I press on before he gets the chance.
“But then I remind myself, this is Barr we are talking about. His entire empire was built by coercing others to do his bidding. It’s all about leverage. But what leverage? There’s only one answer I could think of: the one thing that could possibly win against such potent hate. Love. And if that’s true, that means Barr holds someone you love hostage.”
His silence remains, but the stone facade begins to crack, the emotion beneath rising to the surface.
“From what I gather, you haven’t been here long. Many don’t seem to recall much of you before we took the place. You yourself mentioned that you had no family left: that Barr had already taken them from you. Not a lie. But ‘taken’ doesn’t mean they are dead. They’re still alive. Or should I say ‘he’ is alive?”
His eyes sharpen at that. I reach into my pocket and withdraw a simple silver ring. The facade shatters, a choking sob caught in his throat as angry tears well in his eyes. Still, I press on, needing to get through to him.
“The only person anyone could remember you with was a man you were brought in with. Said you stuck together like brothers. But it was much more than that. Wasn’t it?” He meets my eyes then, anger burning in his. “You might have fooled the others, but Barr? He would have seen the truth. And there’s the leverage.”
“Fine work, Sherlock,” he sneers. “But I fail to see how this is relevant.”
“How is it not?” I ask. “It’s critical to understand your actions. You didn’t do the things you did out of loyalty to Barr, but because of loyalty to another. You betrayed us, yes, but I understand it was either that or betray the one you love most.” I think of Lauren. “Given the same ultimatum, I can’t say for sure that I wouldn’t have done the same.”
“If that’s true, then you must also know where my loyalty lies, and that I would sooner die than betray him.”
“You betray him now, by doing nothing,” I say.
The reaction is immediate, my words pushing his anger past the breaking point.
“Fuck you!” he says. “You speak of things which you know nothing.”
“I know you are a fool if you trust Barr!” I snap. “What is it that he promised you? He wouldn’t have sent you here without instructing you on what to do in the event you were caught. So what lie did he feed you? That if you stayed quiet, no harm would come to him? Or was it the promise of what would happen if you didn’t? You can’t trust him. You know this, yes? The moment Barr learns of your failure is the moment you stop being beneficial. You know Barr as well as I do. Tell me, what do you think happens then?”
He holds my gaze, shaking from the emotional torrent I’m laying upon him. I hate myself for it, but I need him to feel this. I need him to see the truth he’s blinded himself from. A single tear rolls down his eye, and then the illusion shatters. He doesn’t sob, doesn’t bawl. He hangs his head in defeat, silent tears falling from his eyes as the cold truth sinks in.
“Your tears won’t help you,” I say, forcing myself to remain cold. Purpose will serve him better than sympathy ever could. “They certainly won’t help him.”
I stand and close the distance between us. I withdraw Richard’s combat knife from my boot and cut the cuffs binding his hands behind his back. He looks up at that.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Giving you a choice,” I say, making quick work of the rope that secures him. Free of his bindings he still does not move, a mix of surprise and suspicion clouding his features. Facing him once again I hold out my hands. In one sits my knife. In the other, the ring.
“I told you before, I am not Barr,” I say. “I won’t force anyone to do something against their will. Whatever happens now, is on you. You can reach for my knife; try and kill me as Barr has been trying so hard to. It would likely mean your own death, but perhaps the act will be enough to buy your husband’s life. What kind of life that will be on the other hand...well, you would know better than I would.
“Or you can choose the ring, and take a stand against the man who has done this to you. I made a promise to Barr that I would one day stand over his corpse and smile. It’s a promise I intend to keep. It would be easier if you were standing next to me.”
He searches my eyes, no doubt looking for the trap he’s sure is present. After what he’s been through, the thought of making his own choice absent ultimatums must feel strange. Especially this one. Lauren and the rest do not know I have planned this. In my defense, I hadn’t thought it through until the moment I found the ring. It’s a gamble to put myself in such a vulnerable position. But he needs to decide for himself to help us. And with the potential of finally getting Barr as a reward, it is a risk I’m willing to take.
He looks at my hands, his eyes lingering on the knife. I feel my pulse quicken. Feel my muscles tense, wondering how fast he can move. Wondering if I could counter quickly enough should he reach for it. But then he looks to the ring, and in his eyes, I see something shift, something spark. He blinks, and they are no longer the dark orbs I saw as I first searched his face. They have been rekindled, burning as he reaches for the ring and slips it on his middle finger. He flexes his hand into a fist, looking at the two rings that sit side by side, twins of each other. He releases the fist and extends his hand which I take into my own.
“Let’s take down the son of a bitch,” he says.
I smile. “Lets.”
Chapter 20: (Lauren)
My head hurts, a dull throb beating between my eyes as I absorb all that Morgan has told me. A dozen thoughts and emotions swirl inside me, churning my stomach. I don’t know how to feel right now. On one hand, it doesn’t surprise me that Barr would leverage Owen against us. It’s how he operates after all. But even if I accepted that as the truth, it creates as many questions as it answers, the biggest of which being how can we trust him given all that’s happened? Couldn’t this all be a ruse on his part? But then, it was Morgan who went to him. It was Morgan who found the ring secreted among his belongings and connected the dots linking it to his husband. How could Owen have planned all that?
“What are you thinking?” Morgan asks.
I shake my head. “All sorts of things,” I say. He accepts this without comment, no doubt lost in his own thoughts. I look up and find him staring at me. “Do you believe him?” I ask.
He nods. “I do,” he says. “When I showed him the ring he just...came undone. There was nothing fake about that.”
“Even so, how—”
“Do we know we can trust him?” he says, finishing my thought. “I’m not sure,” he admits. “That’s what makes this so damn frustrating. I’ve been fooled by him before. I’m afraid of how many might suffer if I’m wrong this time around.”
It’s true. If this is somehow an act. If Owen manages to sabotage Morgan’s plan, the r
epercussions could be devastating. But if he can be trusted, it could be what we’ve all been waiting for: a means to get to Barr.
He sits across from me, kneading his knuckles against his forehead tiredly. He looks like a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders. An exaggeration, perhaps. But he does carry the hope of many within the DoubleTree; a weight he never asked for but which he carries all the same. Now, within this room, he lets that strain show. There’s no need to pretend. Here, he gives voice to his fear. His doubts. And though I feel both myself, I help him carry this burden the best I can.
I lay my hand against his wrist, making him lower his clenched fists and meet my eyes. “Forget about your fears,” I say. “Forget about what might go wrong and what the others will say. What does your gut tell you?”
An echo of my mother’s voice whispers in my ear as I ask this.
“Trust your gut,” she would say. “The mind can trick itself. The heart can be fooled. But the gut? It never lies. When in doubt, follow it.”
For all her faults and many wrongs she inflicted, she had moments of lucidity. Looking back, it’s her advice that got me here. It was my gut that told me to take Grace and leave our broken home behind. It was my gut that told me to trust Morgan even when my mind begged me not to. And it’s my gut that’s telling me to trust him again.
He holds my gaze for a long moment and nods. “My gut tells me that Owen hates Barr as much as we do,” he says. “It’s telling me that we can trust him in this.”
I smile, squeezing his hand. “Then that’s what we’re going to do,” I say.
We enter the conference room to the abrupt silence of arguments and a rippling of turning heads. Byron leans forward, not even giving Morgan the time to sit before laying into him.
“That must have been one hell of a talk,” he says, sneering the word.
“It was,” Morgan says, settling down at the head of the table. “I learned a great deal.”
“That being?” I have to bite my tongue to keep from lashing out, Byron’s impatience grating on my nerves.
“Barr has leverage over Owen,” he says. “His husband, Trevor. They were with Barr when the guards reported we took the place. Owen tried to take him out, but Barr got a hold of Trevor first. You can imagine the threats that were used, it all leads to the same ultimatum: do as I say or watch your husband die. So he became the mole.”
“And he just volunteered this information did he?” Byron asks. “Convenient.”
Morgan hides it, but I can hear the irritation creep into his voice as he answers. “No actually,” he says. “It was only after I showed him his husband’s ring that the truth came out.”
“Ring?” Frank asks.
“Found it in his room,” Morgan says. “Didn’t think much of it at first. Not until Victor mentioned a man Owen was brought in with. Said they were close as brothers. It gave me a hunch. Turns out, it was right.”
“And how do you know that?” Byron asks. “Were you at the wedding? No? Then how can you be sure this isn’t some crock of shit story he cooked up?”
“Because Barr confirmed it,” he says.
The silence that follows is total and immediate. For once, Byron seems lost for words. He finds them soon enough.
“What’s that?” he asks. “Barr confirmed it?”
“Yes,” Morgan says. “After I spoke with Owen, I had him make the call. He reported that Lauren had busted up her leg and we were forced to turn back. He told Barr that I will be making the same trip tomorrow morning and that I personally asked him to join me. Barr assured him they would be ready for us. When he asked about Trevor, Barr told him to focus on getting me to the warehouse. Said as long as he came through, they’d be reunited.”
Seeing that he’s finished, the others waste no time laying into him.
“And you just took it upon yourself to do this?” Richard asks.
“This should have been discussed,” Lynn says. “I’ve given you a lot of credit, but this affects us all.”
“After all your talk of trust, you go and do this behind our backs?” Byron asks venomously.
More outbursts follow. More calls that Morgan was out of line. It’s not just people like Byron who are resentful either. Even among the family, there are looks of betrayal. This is the backlash I feared. And I’ll admit, I felt it myself. When he summoned me from here and told me what he’d done, I thought he’d lost it. To put so much stock in someone we can’t be sure of? Someone who’s betrayal might have led to our deaths? It seemed absurd. Part of me still thinks so. But the dye has cast. Morgan did what he did because he believed it gave us the best opportunity to get Barr. He followed his gut. And I trust it.
“Maybe if you gave him a chance to explain, he could,” I snap, rising to my feet. I look around the table, eyeing them till there is quiet. “When has Morgan ever done anything he didn’t feel was for the best of all of us? He’s more selfless than anyone here. The least you can do is hear him out.”
I feel his hand cover mine, his gratitude said through the squeeze of his fingers. Only once I’m seated, does he rise.
“I know some of you are angry with my decision,” he says. “I assure you, it wasn’t an easy one to make. But I did it because I believe Owen. He hates Barr as much as any of us. He wants to stop him. So I made the choice to accept his help.”
“Behind our backs!” Byron says.
“Yes, behind your backs!” Morgan snaps, losing his composure for the first time. He regains it almost immediately. “Look, I did what I did because I wanted to avoid this. If I came back here and explained what we discussed and what I suspected, you would still be skeptical. You’d dissect and pick it apart, and we would end up debating this in circles until we decided to question him again, or God forbid, torture him. What would that have accomplished? Nothing! It would only waste precious time. Or do you disagree that Barr might find it suspicious if Owen never reported back to him?”
He leans forward, his stare earnest and resolute.
“I get it,” he says. “Owen’s done horrible things under Barr’s orders. Unforgivable things. I’m not defending any of it. But the simple truth is that we have a chance, a real chance to end this once and for all. To see that happen, I’ll ally with whoever I must. Right now Barr thinks he has our number, that I am walking into a trap he’s set. Well, I say we set a trap ourselves.
“I’m tired of letting him dictate everything. At midnight, I will lead an attack on the warehouse. Your support would be invaluable. But I’ll do it alone if I must.”
I rise from my chair so we’re standing side by side. He turns, and when he meets my eyes I speak only to him.
“I already told you, you’ll never have to do this on your own,” I say. “I’m with you.”
He graces me with the smallest of smiles before turning to Felix who rises across the table from us.
“You’ve always had my back,” he says. “I’ll always have yours.”
Unsurprisingly, Leon and Emily stand beside him. “You already know where we stand,” Emily says.
Leon nods. “Damn straight.”
More of the family stand. His parents, Richard, Frank, Vince; none of them holding a grudge over what Morgan did. It’s not just family who support him either. Angela, the fiery Animal whose been with us since the farm rises, a look of excitement burning in her eyes.
“About damn time!” is all she says.
Her enthusiasm is not widely shared, the others not quite so quick to forgive as the family. Still, many recognize the opportunity before us and accept the situation as it is.
“Aye,” Lynn says, remaining seated. “You haven’t given me much of a choice. Our fates have been entwined since we agreed to help you take this place. We’ll see this through.”
The Animals are the most hesitant. Not surprising considering what they’ve been through. Owen wasn’t just one of them, he was one of their leaders. And then he went and cut down those who followed him. That’s not a wound that
will heal so quickly. If ever. Still, there are some who agree to help, their hate for Barr outweighing that of Owen. There won’t be unanimous support among them, but every bit will help.
Noticeably silent is Lylette and Byron. A half dozen Ranchers have been gathered for this meeting, but it’s those two who they look to. Surprisingly, it’s Lylette who speaks first.
“You should have brought this to us,” she says.
Funny how such a small girl can demand so much respect and attention. Not only from her people but those who’ve traveled with her as well. Morgan nods at this, waiting for her to continue.
“But what’s done is done,” she says. “No sense bitching about it. I don’t trust Owen, but I trust you. If you’re set on this plan, I’ll stand with you.”
“Thank you,” Morgan says. He holds her gaze for a moment and then switches his attention to Byron. He sits as would a statue, rigid and unblinking. He looks at Lylette who meets his gaze, daring him to question her decision. With a snort, he turns his attention to the several Ranchers who stand behind the two of them. Even at a glance, one can tell they side with Lylette on this matter.
“I don’t agree with this,” he says. “I think it’s a mistake to trust Owen after what he’s done. But if my people are going, I’ll stand with them. That’s the only reason.”
“Appreciated all the same,” Morgan says. Byron spares him a cutting glare but doesn’t respond otherwise. Probably for the best. With Byron agreeing to join us, Morgan turns his attention to the room at large once again.
“You were all chosen by your people to discuss a path forward,” he says. “One has been chosen. Tell all who will join, that we leave at midnight.”
The word spreads fast. It’s not long before the whole place is abuzz with rampant emotions. Fear. Nervousness. Anger. Excitement. I sense it all. It’s written on their faces. Ringing in their voices. I feel it rise within myself as the hour draws nearer. Around me are those I love most. The scene has become all too familiar. Gathering before setting out on some dangerous mission. Offering one another whatever comfort we can before we are thrust into the thick of things. Many will join me, but not all. I try not to think of what is to come. Even with superior numbers, Barr is still a formidable foe. It’s hard to imagine we all come back from this.
Echoes of a Dying World (Book 3): A Dream of Tomorrow Page 27
