"Don't move!" Logan yelled, his rifle trained on the remaining two bikers, who immediately threw their hands in the air, their faces pale with shock.
I kept my pistol locked onto Thorne's chest. The developer had fallen back against his mahogany desk, his face completely drained of color, his expensive cashmere sweater shaking with a violent tremor.
"Arthur," Thorne stammered, his voice high and desperate. "Put the gun down. We can make a deal. I'll give you the ranch. I'll give you a million dollars. Just don't shoot."
"You killed my son," I said, my voice deadpan, cold, and empty of all mercy. "You ruined his business, you forced him to enlist, and you let him die in some dusty ditch halfway across the world just so you could steal our water. You're not making any more deals, Thorne."
My finger tightened on the trigger, the weight of three years of grief and anger pressing down on the steel curve. I wanted to pull it. Every fiber of my being screamed at me to end his miserable life right there on his expensive hardwood floor.
But then I felt a soft, warm hand touch my arm.
I looked down. Chloe was standing beside me, her small, tear-stained face looking up at me with wide, innocent eyes. She wasn't looking at Thorne; she was looking at me, her grandfather, the man who had always represented safety and love in her world.
"Grandpa," she whispered. "Please."
The cold, suffocating rage in my chest suddenly cracked, replaced by a deep, overwhelming wave of warmth. I looked at Sarah, who was holding her daughter, her eyes filled with a quiet plea for peace. If I pulled this trigger, I would be no better than the monster who had destroyed our lives. I would be leaving Chloe with the memory of her grandfather committing murder.
I took a deep, shuddering breath and slowly lowered the pistol, though I kept my eyes locked on Thorne. "You're not worth it," I spat.
Suddenly, the heavy glass windows of the living room shattered inward in a spectacular explosion of glass and tactical light. Flashbangs detonated in the courtyard, their deafening cracks echoing through the lodge.
"Federal agents! Get on the ground! Now!"
A dozen heavily armed tactical officers in black gear poured through the doors and windows, their weapons trained on Thorne and his remaining men. Logan's partner, Miller—who had escaped his captors and alerted the task force—led the charge, his face grim but relieved as he saw us standing.