NOLA
Marcus steps behind the head of the stretcher, his oily smirk widening as he rests a hand on the metal bar. In his other hand, he holds a sleek, black handgun. He does not point it at us. He presses the cold barrel directly against my dad’s temple.
"Dad!" I cry out, my voice breaking the stillness of the clearing. I take a step forward, but Rhett’s arm shoots out, his hand catching my shoulder like a vice.
"Don't, Nola," he warns, his voice a low, vibrating growl that barely sounds human.
"Look at him," Marcus says, his voice dripping with mock pity. "The great Lawrence. The man who built an empire on the backs of secrets. He looks a little less impressive now, doesn't he? I wonder if he knew his chosen protector would be the reason he ended up in a logging camp in the middle of t
