He gives me a rueful smile. “Because you're a smart kid, Milo,” he says. “Yeah, we've had our run-ins over the years, and you've always been a bit of a pain in the ass, but I know you're a sharp kid. Now, don't take this wrong, but of all the boys in your family, if anybody's gonna make somethin' of themselves, it's you. Nothin' against Quentin and Dalton, I don't know them too good. And I can already see Zachary is content to follow the path your dad lays out. I see somethin' different in you though. And I see somethin' different for you.”
Burns' words strike a chord within me. Something that resonates deeply. I've always felt different from my brothers. Not that I'm better than them or anything, just that I'm different. I've never been content with the status quo in the family and have always questioned everything – something that's pissed the old man off to no end.
I guess there's something in me that's always wanted more. Longed for it. I'm not content to live out my life in Folson Forge, being a fucking bourbon magnate. I want to live life on my own terms.
It's odd, but until this very moment, listening to Sheriff Burns speak, I hadn't been able to articulate all of that. Not even to myself. It's always been a vague notion in the back of my mind. Like seeing a shadow from the corner of your eye. You know it's there, but when you turn to look, it's gone. Like it had never been in the first place.
This conversation with Burns though, it turned on the light and let me get a look at that notion, at that – thought – that's been running around in my head for so long. But, it inevitably leads me back to the question – now that I definitively know what it is, do I have the strength and courage to act upon it.
Burns clears his throat and looks at me, his gaze steely and intense. “I'm tellin' you all of this because somethin' bad is comin', son,” he says. “The Longstreets ain't gonna be happy with this whole video nonsense. Fact is, they're gonna be more upset about the video than the fact that you deflowered their girl –”
“I didn't deflower –”
He holds up his hand. “Don't matter. Point is, they'll be lookin' to settle the score,” he goes on. “I know the hate between your two families goes back a long way. And I know it's as powerful today as it was back then. They're gonna be lookin' to take their pound of flesh, son.”
“It's not like they can shoot me in the street, Sheriff,” I say. “Time's have changed.”
He nods. “True. But that hate hasn't,” he said. “That's the thing about blood feuds, son. They're timeless and eternal. I don't know if it'll be today, tomorrow, or two years from now, but I know that the Longstreets will come for you. And my fear is that when they do, somethin' really bad is gonna happen. Either they're gonna do something to you or force you into a position where you have to retaliate. My fear is that you're gonna end up in a prison cell or a pine box, son.”
I drain the last of my beer and set the mug down on the bar, letting the Sheriff's words wash over me. It's not that I hadn't thought about this stupid blood feud between our families before. Hell, the old man raised us on stories of the past, stoking our bitterness and hate for the Longstreets.
Zach was enthralled with it. Completely indoctrinated into the Sheridan cult. I wasn't. Or at least, not nearly to the extent of my brothers. I like fucking with Clyde and pissing him off, sure. I had a natural rivalry with him and didn't like him in the least. Didn't like most of the Longstreet men I'd met, simply because I knew they'd been raised on the same kind of poison in their clan that the old man had poured into our ears growing up.
“Think it's that serious, Sheriff?”
He nods. “I do indeed,” he says. “And I'd hate to see you end up either way. You got a lot of potential in you, son. I can see you doin' great things in your life. But, you gotta get away from this place. Folson Forge may be home, but right now, it's only an anchor dragging you down to the bottom of the pond. You gotta break free. Of Folson Forge and your family. Live your own life. Make your own way.”
“And you think joining the Corps is the way to go?”
He shrugs. “It's one,” he replies. “There's a lot of other ways you could go though. You just gotta figure out which way is best for you. But, the one thing I need you to do more than anything, is get the hell out of here.”
I let out a long breath and look at the sheriff. He's a good man. Somebody whose word I can respect. And he's given me a lot to think about.
“Thank you, Sheriff,” I say.
“Good luck, son,” he replies.
I nod and slide off the stool. My mind is spinning in a million different directions and I can't make heads or tails of any of it at the moment. I figure there would be some blowback for that video. Hell, there's going to be blowback in my own house later tonight, because I'm going to tear my brothers a new asshole.
But, is the sheriff right? Could the Longstreets be gunning for me? Brawls between us were one thing. Boys will be boys and all that. But, to take a shot at me? To try and kill me? That is something else entirely.
I don't know if Burns is right or simply being paranoid about the possible repercussions of what I did with Bree. The only thing that seems clear to me right now, however, is that I have some decisions to make.
And making the wrong decision here could have a very big impact on my life moving forward.
It could possibly even cost me my life.
See how Milo and Bree’s story unfolds. Get Rebel HERE
His Property (Sample)
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Brutal Billionaire. Vengeful Kingpin. Fierce Protector.
The mafia made me what I am.
I take. I destroy. But it’s time to go legit.
I’m the one in charge now.
Men bow down to me.
Women submit to me.
Harper was supposed to be collateral.
Now she’s my property.
A strawberry blonde virgin with curves that could kill.
If my enemies aren’t careful, I’ll do just that.
They want to sell her, but I already own her.
They said they’re coming for me.
Well, let them come.
I can lose my life.
But I won’t lose her.
When I’m through with them, they’ll wish they were dead.
Who will still be standing when the bullets fall?
Chapter One
Rob
Los Angeles
The car pulls to a stop and Miguel Nunez, my driver and one of the two bodyguards I'd brought along with me, lets me out of the back of the SUV. I step onto the curb and look around at the dirty, dingy neighborhood. Large apartment buildings looked more derelict than inhabitable, with all the broken windows, broken security bars, graffiti, and holes in the walls.
In my well-tailored designer suit, I stand out in this place like a sore thumb. I see people on their porches staring at me – some curiously, some with open hostility. I do my best to ignore them and shut them out. They don't interest me and aren't why I'm here.
There are small houses mixed in with the apartment buildings – but they look just as shabby. Lawns, if they have them at all, are overgrown with what's now, dry, dead grass. There are rusted out cars on blocks in every other driveway it seems, and large appliances, like refrigerators, sit on the sidewalks.
The area bills itself as a working-class neighborhood but given the amount of poverty I see around me, I doubt there's a lot of work being done in the area. At least, legal work. I have no doubt that if I want drugs of any flavor, I can find them in this neighborhood.
The darkness of night might be able to mask some of the warts and scars of this neighborhood, but standing here in broad daylight seems to amplify them.
“You okay, boss?” Miguel asks.
I nod. “Yeah, fine,” I reply. “I was just thinking that this neighborhood could use a remodel.”
“That's a nice way to put it,” Miguel says. “I grew up around here and can tell you the whole area needs to be burned to the ground. The trash and the thugs need to be driven out and this place needs a complete do-over.”
“I didn't know you were a local boy,” I say.