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"I feel sorry for poor Mario, standing out there in the hallway, having to guard us," Nathan murmured, in Micah's ear. "He keeps groping himself, as if he wants to be in here with us, and all we've been doing is kissing." As Nathan finished speaking, Scott Chen relieved Mario, and nodded toward the adjoining bedroom, a signal usually meaning for the relieved guard to grab a few hours sleep. "Mario," Nathan called softly. "C'mere for a sec." The curly haired, stockily built man, with the ready smile and dancing eyes, approached the bed where the two younger men lay naked on top of the sheets. "Sirs?" he asked. "Wanna watch?" Nathan nodded toward a nearby easy chair. "You could drag that chair over to the edge of the bed, strip out of those jeans, and jerk off, and watch Micah and me." When Mario opened his mouth to say something, Nathan continued speaking. "I've been watching you grope yourself, as you stand in the hallway. Looks t'me like you're turned on by what you see. This way, we're giving you a chance to watch close-up." "Besides," Micah added. "Both of us think you're hot. We'd like to watch you as much as we'd like you to watch us." Mario thought a moment, wondering if he'd be breaking some sort of rule against doing this sort of thing with someone it was his job to guard. 'Prob'ly is a rule against it, if I were on duty. But, I'm not. 'Still, I'd have to deal with what Scott and the other guys would think. Robert, he'd be no problem. After all, I sucked him off. Ernst wouldn't like it, but he doesn't like people even mentioning the word, sex. Scott . . . I don't know, and he's the man at the doorway. I'd have to tell him what I was doing.' "Um . . ." Mario murmured, as his thickening penis threatened to become very uncomfortable, very quickly. He looked from one of the young men to the other, in the light cast by the surrounding buildings. 'Damn, these guys are hot. Whether I shoot a load in here . . . with them watching . . . or in the bedroom, I'm going to shoot. Hell, I'm going to go for it!' "Um . . ." he repeated, nodding slightly to the man who was standing in the hallway. "If Scott doesn't have a problem with it, it's a deal. But . . ." he hesitated, "Would you guys shoot your juice in my mouth? I'm not asking to suck you off!" he quickly added. "It's just . . . damn . . . I love tasting a guy's spunk! I'd love watching you do whatever it is you want t'do; but, when you're ready to pop, would you shoot your load into my mouth?" Micah answered immediately. "Geez . . . damn right we will! Go ahead, talk to Scott." Mario nodded, took a deep breath, then returned to the doorway. "Fuck, this is exciting," Micah mumbled to Nathan, as Mario spoke to Scott, the lead guard. "I've always enjoyed guys watching me, especially in the showers, back in high school, or at the gym. It's especially hot if I'm half-hard." He glanced at Nathan, who was watching him, with wide eyes. "A couple times, when I've been especially daring, and there've been only a few guys watching, I'd lean against the wall, spread my feet a little, close my eyes, and run my hands over my chest, playing with my nips until they're nice n'hard . . ." "Like this?" Nathan asked, as he gently stimulated a nipple of the man lying next to him. "Oh, yeah. Just like that. Uuuu, that's great." "Then, what do you do?" Nathan asked. "It doesn't take long before both my nips and dick are hard. There's no need to open my eyes to see what the other guys are doing. In fact, I think it's more exciting if I don't know. "Then, imagining that the other guys are all hard, and jerking off, while they watch me, I'll begin masturbating . . . real slow . . . Yeah . . . like that." Both Nathan and Micah looked up as Mario returned. He gave them a thumbs-up gesture, accompanied by a bright smile, then turned and dragged the big chair close to the edge of the bed. He positioned himself, with his legs touching the bed, spread his feet, and made a show of groping himself as he slowly rocked his hips. "Y'guys like?" he murmured, in a voice barely loud enough to be heard. It wasn't a question meant to be answered. When the two younger men scooted closer, and breathlessly watched as he lowered his zipper, he didn't need an answer. "Oh, yeah," he sighed. He thrust his hand beneath the denim fabric, and continued groping himself as his breathing deepened. "C'mon, man," Micah urged. "Get naked for us. I'm so worked up I could shoot right now . . . without touching myself." Mario merely smiled, and worked his jeans down his legs, until he finally stepped free. He turned his back to the two men on the bed and leaned forward as he slipped his red underwear down his legs. "Wanna see it?" he asked, as he ran a loving hand over one of his own ass cheeks. "My hairy, Italian asshole, I mean. Bet'cha you both would love to slide in'ta me, wouldn't you?" he murmured, just loud enough to be heard by the men on the bed. "No one's ever had their thing in me. You'd be the first." "Oh, yeah . . ." Micah groaned, as Mario spread his cheeks, exposing the hairy cleft, and the pucker, which tightened a couple times, as if in invitation. Between the guard's legs hung an impressive set of nuts, and a thick erection which moved with each of the guard's movements . . . ready for some action. "Now . . . for the main event," Mario teased, as he turned around, displaying his veiny dick to the two men on the bed, both of whom seemed entranced by the thick strand of pre-cum dangling from the end. "Uuuuu," he moaned, stepping close enough to the edge of the bed, that his legs touched the mattress. "Little Penne is glad to see you guys. He's got a gift, so you both can know what he tastes like." The guard thrust his hips forward, and smiled, as Micah ran a finger over the end of the guard's cock, gathering up the clear juice. He watched as Micah wiped a finger over Nathan's lower lip, then pulled Nathan close for a kiss, sharing the guard's gift. "That's it, boys," Mario murmured, as he sank to the chair and scooted forward, until he was at the edge of the cushion. He sat back, spread his legs wide, and braced himself by placing each foot on the edge of the bed, lewdly displaying himself to the two onlookers. "And here's a taste of our juice," Nathan smiled, climbing to his knees and wiping a finger, with some of his and Micah's pre-cum, over the surprised guard's lower lips. "Is that what you were asking for?" Micah asked. Mario slowly ran his tongue over his lips, then smiled. "Oh, yeah. That's a good start. Lemme see you guys fuck." "You heard the man," Micah murmured, with a laugh in his voice. He lay back on the bed, his legs hanging over the edge, one of the guard's bare feet on either side of him. Nathan straddled his brother, turning his back to the wide-eyed man. "Ever seen someone fucked, close-up?" Nathan asked, as he slapped his own pale-skinned butt cheeks. Mario mutely shook his head. "Then, you've never seen a freshly fucked asshole?" Mario licked his dry lips and shook his head. 'Only a couple minutes ago, I was in control. Now, it's the boys who have me panting.' "Micah fucked me, earlier," Nathan said, as he leaned forward, resting his head on his brother's chest, and relaxing his sphincter. He smiled at the guard's sharp indrawn breath when some of the trapped sperm oozed out and began to run over his perineum and nuts, then dripped onto the bed sheets. "C'mon, Nathan," the guard said, in a breathless voice. "Sit on your brother's big dick. I wanna see it stretch your slimy hole as he pushes it inside." "Hurry up," Micah urged. "Sit on it. It's not gonna take but a couple minutes before I'm gonna be ready t'shoot in the guy's mouth. That's what you want, isn't it Mario? You've been standing out there dreaming of Nathan's and my thick . . . creamy . . . sperm . . . blasting into your mouth and coating your tongue." Mario tightly squeezed the base of his cock, willing himself not to shoot, as Nathan's sphincter slowly relaxed, and Micah's thick cock head pushed inside, using his own spunk, from an earlier fuck, as lube. He winced, imagining the pain, as the thing disappeared into Nathan. "Feel his ass-ring," Micah ordered the guard. "Feel how stretched it is." 'Holy . . . fuckin' . . . damn,' Mario thought to himself, as he leaned forward. 'This is waaaay hotter than I ever imagined it could be.' He lovingly ran both hands over Nathan's flawless ass cheeks, then ran a finger of one hand around the stretched asshole; at the same time, he cradled Micah's nuts with his other. "C'mon, Nathan," he said, in a husky, low voice. "Ride it for me. Nice n'slow," he murmured, as Nathan rocked forward, exposing the juice-covered length of Micah's erection, only to sit back, until the entire length had disappeared. "My hole," Micah murmured, as Nathan continued to ride his cock. "Play with it, too." Mario ran a finger beneath Micah's balls, and found the younger man's asshole. 'Holy fuck,' the guard thought, imagining what it would be like to slide into the younger man and have his cock milked by the tight ring of muscle. "I'm 'bout ready t'pop," Micah muttered. Mario sat back, all thoughts of fucking Micah disappearing, as Nathan pulled free. Both young men slid off the edge of the bed, and stood before him, slowly masturbating themselves. He sneaked a look upward, and saw both men breathing through their mouth, with their eyes closed. Nathan groaned, and thrust his hips forward. Mario extended his tongue, and, a moment later, the younger man's semen splashed onto his tongue and hit the back of his throat. 'Holy . . .!' Mario thought, as he involuntarily swallowed. The first shot was quickly followed by a second and third . . . with less force, but an equal amount of juice. "Oh, fuck!" Micah groaned, moving closer to the sitting man. Micah's first shot, less well aimed than his brother's, splattered against Mario's nose and upper lip. The second and third shot, however, coated the guard's tongue, while the fourth oozed out and coated the standing man's hand. Mario tightened his fist around his erection, bucked his hips, once . . . twice . . . and then, with exquisite slowness, a third time, blasted his own semen into his waiting hand, jerking with each pulse as it erupted from his penis. "Hooooleeey," Nathan murmured, as both he and Micah sank to the edge of the bed. "This is waaaay better than jerking off in front of the guys in the shower," Micah murmured, as Mario tilted his head back, held the sperm-filled hand above his mouth, and let the slimy liquid slide off his hand in a thick strand, to join that of the two younger men. Nathan and Micah watched in rapt attention as Mario closed his mouth and savored the taste of the three loads before swallowing. He smiled, as he opened his eyes. "Many thanks, men. All I can say is that that was massively awesome. Something definitely worthy of writing home about." He licked across the palm of his hand, chuckled, then pushed himself to his feet. "Whew!" He shook his head in disbelief, as he gathered up his clothes and sauntered from the room, nodding once to his colleague, who watched his bare-assed buddy disappear into the nearby bedroom. * * * "I wonder why the old man hasn't been calling to hound us," the driver of the car wondered aloud. "Maybe he's got too many other things on his mind," the passenger suggested. "Such as arranging to have us taken out, after we finish our job. From what I've heard, that'd be just like him." "Y'think?" The driver shook his head. "This whole thing, with the Pruitt woman, has been weird from the start. If you hire someone to have an enemy killed, allow the people you've hired to do their job! That's what I think. Y'don't fence them in with all sorts of conflicting instructions . . . 'follow her, terrorize her, but don't kill her, and, when you do kill her, let her know who arranged it, and ask her if she'd like a few minutes to fix her make-up before you blow her brains out.' "I've never been given rules like that. Mostly it's just get in, and get the job done; no mess, just take care of business. Not with Old Man Winton, though. He's a controlling bastard; yet he doesn't want to get his hands dirty." "Why do you think the Pruitt woman's on his shit list?" the passenger wondered. "He blames her for starting his downfall, is all I know. He has to blame someone. T'me, the two of 'em . . . him and the Pruitt woman, sound like brother and sister. They're always blaming someone else for whatever happens to them." "I still think it'd be better for us to call this whole thing off . . . right now . . . and go our own way. Hell, for all we know, the old man has been hit by a car, or something. If that's the case, we're never gonna get paid, and we'd still be doing his dirty work." The driver sighed. "Yeah, well, what happens if he hasn't been hit by a car, and sends someone after us?" "Whatever's gonna happen, though, is gonna happen quick. If this Riverton place is the place she's headed, this is where we'll do what we're being paid to do." * * * "Hi'ya, Owen!" Opie Carver sauntered into the library and greeted her brother with a quick hug. "How's the library business?" "Hey, Opie! Business is . . . quiet. That's how I like it. Nicky's supposed to show up in a little bit; that should add a bit of excitement. He's gonna be one of those genius-type kids y'read about." Opie made a face. "He doesn't play nearly enough. What good's being smart if you don't know how to play, too?" "You're asking the wrong person about that," Owen murmured. "How're Mama and the babies?" Opie's mobile face scrunched up. "Oh, Mama and Daniel are fine. It's Abigail and me who are goin' crazy." The young girl leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "Did you know babies never sleep? They're always crying, eating, or making a mess in their diapers! Y'know, they even . . ." Opie stopped speaking as a woman she'd never seen before strolled into the library, acting as if she owned the place. "Opie," Owen began, his voice low. "Why don't you . . ." "Are you Owen?" the woman interrupted, in an accent Opie had never heard. "A fat woman, down the street, at what one could charitably call a store, told me I'd find someone named Owen . . . in this . . . place." She looked around, her lips curling into a sneer. "She called this a library. Hmph." Her gaze raked Opie, instantly dismissing her, and settled on Owen. "So . . . are you him?" "Yes, ma'am, I'm Owen, and yes, this is a library." He slowly pushed his chair back and stood, instantly recognizing who the small woman was. 'I was right about her coming to Riverton!' One part of him wanted to run . . . to escape. Another part seethed at the idea that this woman wanted to kill her own children. 'Not even Pops contemplated that,' he thought, as he fought to control his breathing. He gripped the back of the chair he'd just abandoned, and stood his ground. "It may not be as fancy as ones you're accustomed to back in . . ." he caught himself," but . . . . " Owen jerked, suddenly recalling his young sister, as she interrupted. "It's a great library! One of Owen's friends gave it to him, for free!" The woman's lip curled. "How nice." "What may I help you with, ma'am?" Owen asked, while, at the same time, he tried to put himself between his sister and the woman. "Owen," Opie complained, as she stepped aside, pulling her arm free of her brother's grip. "What are you tryin' t'do? Lemme see!" The woman bit off each word, attempting to intimidate Owen as she'd been able to do with almost every servant she'd ever met. Strangely, he didn't flinch. "I'm looking for my sons. They've always been . . . headstrong . . . always wanting things their own way. Well . . . their father and I want them back home to accept some of the responsibilities of the family business. We rich people have responsibilities I'm sure someone like you could never imagine." "You? Rich?" Opie crowed, in disbelief. "Opie!" he snapped. "Now's not the time. This is not a game! Stay put!" "But . . ." She looked up, then quieted, as she saw her brother's determined expression. "Anyhow, the fat woman told me you'd be able to tell me where to find them." "I can't imagine why she'd think I'd tell you anything. You may not be aware of it, but folks around here won't be impressed by . . . you, no matter how rich you claim to be." Opie's eyes widened. 'Owen sounds just like Pops!' She glanced up. His face was calm, but he was gripping the back of the chair so hard, his knuckles were white and his hands shook. "By the way . . . Elizabeth . . . that woman's name is Millie." * * * Millie hustled to the back of the store. "Hank! Hank McCorkle!" she called. "Trouble's brewing, and I can't find Art! Lucas' truck isn't in front of his place. No tellin' where he is. I'm figuring Sam must be attending classes over in Evanston, and worst of all, Owen's prob'ly at the library! "Ohhhh, this is awful, just awful!" Millie wrung her hands. "Millie! Slow down! None of those things qualify as trouble brewing! Easy, woman. You look like you've seen a ghost. Here," he guided her to a chair. "Sit! Take a couple deep breaths and tell me what's happening." Millie sat, then immediately sprang to her feet. "We've got'a call the cops! Owen's gonna need help!" She pointed a shaking finger in the direction of the library. "Remember the boys who were visiting, not too long ago . . . Riley, Nathan, and Bailey, the one who loves my ice cream?" Hank nodded. "Well . . ." Millie's voice rose. "Their mother . . . the woman who they were hiding from, is here . . . in Riverton!" Millie looked one way, then the other, as if torn between running to find Art, or . . . something. "I can't fail him again!" She held out a hand. "Hank, your phone! I don't have time to go searchin' for mine. Now!" Hank hurried to her side and handed her his phone. "Who are you calling?" "The police! They're way over in Evanston, fourteen or more miles away! Then I'm callin' Bea and Daniel. They're in Evanston, too, having the babies looked at," she continued speaking, as she dialed a number. "Hello! This is Millie Wolston, over in Riverton! There's a crazy woman in town, intent on killing her boys! Hurry! She's over at the library! I don't know how long Owen can handle things! Now, for heaven's sake! "Hank!" she said, as she called Bea and Daniel. "Go find Art! Now, man . . . NOW!" * * * "How?" Elizabeth growled, as she digested the young man's words. "How'd you know my name?" Owen released the chair back and stepped closer, causing Elizabeth to retreat a step; then, after seeing the expression on his face, another step. 'This boy's not quite sane,' she thought, mesmerized by the muscles of his shoulders and arms, bunching as he flexed his hands. His nostrils flared, his grey, flint-like eyes glinted, and his wintry smile, made her flinch. She retreated another step, cursing her pounding heart. "You . . . you wouldn't touch me . . . a poor, defenseless woman," she mumbled, fear blossoming in her eyes. She took a shaking breath, doing her best to show the strength she'd always been so proud of. 'No one's ever challenged me, like he is,' she thought. 'He doesn't know I've got a gun. I'll blow the bastard's brains out and claim I was in fear of my life. I've got nothing to be afraid of. He can't do anything to me. I've got a gun.' She straightened, realizing the young man had moved closer, while the young girl had moved back, her eyes jerking from the door to the library, and the blond man. "Riley and his brother. They're here . . . aren't they?" Elizabeth looked around the library, as if her sons might be hiding beneath one of the tables. "Where are they . . . little man?" she asked, in a moment of bravado. "Where are you hiding them?" Owen's lips twitched. 'Watch it!' a silent voice chided. 'You're approaching a precipice. This is the moment you've always feared. This woman's dangerous to you in more ways than one. Be careful!' The thought came and went in a flash, replaced by the voice of his father. "She's afraid of you! Her fear makes you strong. Now's your chance to show her how strong. Hurt her! You know you can. She's yours! She's threatening you. You can't let her win! Hurt her!" "Owen?" Opie whimpered. Her eyes flicked from her brother to the door, and escape; then, back to her brother, whose voice had lowered, becoming even more menacing. 'He sounds just like Pops did, right before he was set t'explode. This isn't like him,' Opie thought. 'It's like he's itchin' for a fight, or something.' 'The time is here, Owen.' The calm voice interrupted that of his father. 'It's time to make a choice. The next few moments will change your life, profoundly. What you become is your choice, not your father's . . . yours! Remember, though, that once you make a choice, you will never be able to change it. You will be forever known either as . . . Owen . . . or . . . Jonathan's son.' "You've gone to a lot of trouble, crossing the country n'all, for no reason, Elizabeth." 'Just like Pops!' Opie looked toward the library's open door. 'Where is everyone? This is all happening so fast!' "The guys were here, but, now . . . they're," Owen made a vague gesture. "gone." He barked a rough laugh. Elizabeth flinched. She moved away from the wall, and stood with her back to the open door. "You!" she growled, as her face flushed an ugly blotchy red. "You've been in touch with them, haven't you? You know how to reach them!" Owen smiled. "That's right. I speak with them two or three times a week. I'm sure you'll be pleased to know that your ex-husband, and three sons, are all doing great." 'Easy, Owen . . .' the quiet voice within his head warned. "You must decide. What's it going be? Who are you . . . Owen . . . or Jonathan? Choose!' "Opie, why don't you go get Art and tell him the woman who's been trying to kill her sons is . . . visiting? I'm sure he'll be happy to call the police." "Why you scummy bastard!" Elizabeth roared. "It's all your fault! You're probably one of Riley's fag friends!" she bellowed. "You . . . you warned him of me coming." 'Owen!' the sharp voice inside his head warned. 'You're taunting her! What is it you want to happen? Do you want her to attack, just so you can demonstrate how strong you are? Well . . . do you? If not, what are you doing? Who are you . . . Owen . . . or, Jonathan?' Owen openly laughed. "Yep. That's me, one of his fag friends. Don't think you're gonna bother me by callin' me names . . . Liz. I've been called names by a pro. You're nothing but a half-rate amateur." He leaned against one of the heavy wooden tables and casually crossed his arms, in a semblance of relaxation which had no similarity to how he actually felt. "Nathan always did say you never won any awards for subtlety. I can see what he means." "Owennnn," Opie moaned. "You're talkin' all funny." "That's because he's a back country hick!" Elizabeth screeched. "He's a nothing . . . a loser! Anyone who lives in a hole like this, is a loser!" Owen shook his head. "What is it you want . . . Liz? Your sons are back in Atlanta . . . all three of them. You've lost. Quit. Leave Riverton and start a new life, somewhere." "What!? You impertinent bastard! You have no idea how I've suffered because of them." "Not again!" Nicky told himself, as he approached the library for his daily reading lesson and heard the sound of a woman shouting. Strangely, the sidewalks were empty. 'If she's been yellin' for long, someone should'a come to find out what's going on. 'Who's doing all the yelling?' he wondered. 'It's not Miss Maxine.' He quietly climbed the few steps leading to the open door. "Why you . . ." Elizabeth screamed. Owen grabbed her as she reached for her bag. At the same moment, Opie saw Nicky sneak a look into the library. "Nicky!" the little girl shouted. "Run! Get help!" "Opie!" Owen barked, distracted by his sister's shout. He looked over his shoulder, to where the wide-eyed little girl stood. "Run! Get out of here!" he roared. "I . . . I . . ." Opie stuttered, unable to move. Elizabeth twisted, freeing herself from Owen's grasp, and dropped her purse, falling to her knees, as something hit her in the back. She scrambled for her purse and pulled out a gun, then shrieked, and pulled the trigger as the blond man lunged. There was a sharp crack of sound, and an instantaneous scream, as Opie was flung backward. She slammed onto a library table, then onto a wooden chair, and, finally, onto the floor, where she grabbed her bleeding leg. At the same moment, Owen kicked the gun out of Elizabeth's shaking grasp, sending it flying across the room to bounce off the wall. Nicky saw the book he'd thrown, like a toy Frisbee, hit the woman in the back. He heard her shout and saw her fall; then, in a flash, he'd flown down the steps and was running down the road, screaming for help. At the sharp crack of a gunshot, he tripped and fell flat, then began crying as he climbed to his feet, and raced as fast as his short legs would carry him, toward the apartment, screaming that Owen needed help. "You better be okay, Owen!" he sobbed. Owen spared only the briefest glance over his shoulder, and saw his sister scooting away, clutching at her bleeding leg. At the sight, an anger unlike anything he'd ever experienced, swept over him. "You just shot my sister!" he screamed, his voice rough with fury. Elizabeth, wide eyed with fear, tried to roll aside. She madly reached for the gun, but slipped, as the man kicked her shoulder. She screamed with pain and fell onto her back. Blood surged behind Owen's eyes, keeping time with his hammering heart. Elizabeth watched, as if in slow motion, as he raised a foot and brought it down on her forearm, shattering the bones with an audible crunch. The woman writhed, screaming in pain, as he ground his foot against her damaged arm. Then, in one motion, he grabbed her by her jacket, lifted her from the floor, and slammed her against the wall of the library, lifting her as easily as he would have lifted a child. "Please," she wailed, thrashing about, one arm hanging useless, as her feet sought the floor. "I'm an old woman. What do you want? Name it!" 'She's yours,' the voice in Owen's head crowed in triumph. 'She's helpless!' An equally loud voice shouted, 'Are you Owen or are you Jonathan? Choose now . . . NOW!!!' Owen glanced at his fist and the knotted jacket; then at the terrified woman's face, only inches from his own. His stomach twisted and acid rose in his throat at the thought of what he was tempted to do. Owen imagined his father's voice, his angry face, and the feeling of helplessness and humiliation he felt each time he'd been beaten. "Now!" the specter of his father screamed. "She's yours! She deserves to die! DO it!" Elizabeth spit, distracting him from thoughts of his father's shouts. "Oh . . . Liz," Owen hissed, tightening his grasp on the front of her jacket, causing her to gasp, as she struggled to breathe. "That was not a smart thing to do to a man who could . . . easily . . . snap your neck." 'NOW! CHOOSE! OWEN, OR JONATHAN! CHOOSE! 'You'll never have another chance to do the right thing,' the voice continued. 'What you do here, will forever change your life. Only you can decide.' Elizabeth spat, again, unknowingly egging him to strike her. 'It would be so easy.' He lifted her farther from the floor, and tightened his grasp on her jacket. Her face was red. Soon, it would be blue. Then, she would be dead. "Owen," Opie whimpered, from where she sprawled, in her own blood. 'What will it be, Owen? Are you stronger than your father, or are you weak, just like he was? Now's the time. Decide.' The voice faded, leaving behind only a calm, like Owen had never experienced. And, in that moment, he knew he'd defeated his father. 'I don't need to hurt someone to show the world how strong I am. Hurting someone does not prove anything. All it shows people is that I'm a weak bully, attacking folks who are defenseless . . . no different from Pops or . . . Maxine. I am not my father. I will not treat someone else like he treated me! I will never be my father. I'm nothing like him. I am not Jonathan.' "I am OWEN!" he wanted to shout with joy. He blinked, as if awakening from a lifelong nightmare. The tidal wave of anger, which had hurled him to where he stood, before the helpless woman, was receding, leaving behind a sudden clarity. The eyes of the woman, who had caused others untold misery, were filled with fear and pain. She was waiting for him to hurt her. She expected to be treated badly. Instead, all he felt was . . . contempt. He lowered her, until her feet once again touched the floor, and loosened his grip on her shirt, allowing her to breathe, then shook his head like someone who had just taken a hard blow, and laughed, his voice returning to normal.
"Thank you, Elizabeth!" he managed to say, as emotions threatened to overwhelm him. "You pushed me right to the edge . . . something I've always feared; and while I was standing there, with my father shouting at me to kill you, I realized that doing what he wanted, and what you expected, would make me no better than him, or you. Unlike you, though, I chose to be better than my worst self . . . t'be better than my father . . . better than you." "You're crazy!" Elizabeth screamed, her voice sliding upward. "You broke my arm! Help!" she screamed, as Sam and Art, followed by Nicky, pushed past the gathering crowd outside the library. Sam took in the scene in a flash. Opie was on the bloody floor, and Owen held a helpless woman against the wall, with his fist clenched at her throat. One arm hung limply at her side, broken, Sam guessed. He fished his phone out of his pocket and called Bea, then Lucas and Jonah, who were at the greenhouses. At the same time, he held out an arm, to prevent Art from going to Owen's aid. "No," he muttered. "Let Owen handle it. He needs to, Art. He needs to know he has the strength not to be his father." "But . . ." No sooner had Sam finished speaking than Corey ran up the steps and skidded to a halt. "What's going on?" he panted. "Someone said something about Owen being hurt!" "Corey," Owen said, in almost a conversational voice. "Would you see to Opie? She was shot by this . . . woman. This is Elizabeth . . . Riley's and Nathan's mother." "What? Shot?" Corey edged around Owen and hurried to the young girl's side. "Hey, Little One," he said, as he knelt and tenderly examined her leg. "Corey!" She gripped his arm. "Owen was actin' just like Pops, but now . . . he's not! He was actin' like he was gonna kill that lady. Is he gonna be okay?" "I'm sure he will be, Little One," Corey assured her, feeling better, knowing that the wound to the young girl's leg did not appear to be much more than a deep scratch. It was bloody, but, to his untrained eye, looked worse than it was. "Now, you just lie still." He quickly stripped off his T-shirt and tied it tightly around the little girl's leg, then propped her up against one of the library table legs. "You just sit here, and don't move. I'm sure Daniel's on his way." He glanced toward Sam, and received a nod of confirmation. "What do you want? Money?" Elizabeth's voice rose, as she desperately searched for a way to get away from the man who suddenly seemed so calm, but who still had control of her. Somehow, his calmness was more frightening to face than his anger. "I can get you what ever you want. "You can get away from this mud hole of a town," she continued. "Whatever you want is yours. Take my word." Owen laughed. "Your word?" He shook his head in disbelief. "I'd sooner believe a snake. It's not gonna work . . . Liz. Y'see, I don't want to leave Riverton. I love it here. The people I love are here, and the people who love me. You cannot buy me." "Everyone has a price," the woman sneered, her face turning white with pain, as she tried to twist free. "No one is pure. Everyone can be bought. You are no different. Tell me what you want!" She struggled, sneaking a look at the two men and child, who were standing nearby, one of them with a telephone held to his ear, speaking softly. "Millie's already called the police. They should be here in a minute," Sam shouted. He and Art crossed the room to stand at Owen's side, Art's bulk adding to Owen's . . . already formidable presence. Nicky stood back, close to the door, in case he needed to run. He'd seen what the woman had done to Opie, and wanted nothing to do with her. Corey remained at Opie's side, holding her hand, dividing his attention between her and her brother, while outside, townsfolk craned their necks to see inside. "What? Police!" Elizabeth shrieked, her eyes shifting from side to side. "I've done nothing wrong!" Her squirming became as frantic as her broken arm would allow. "Then you have nothing to worry about, do you?" Owen said, in a smooth voice, tightening his grip, threatening to lift her from the floor, just as he'd done earlier. "You tell her, Owen!" Nicky shouted, pumping an arm in the air. Elizabeth jerked a look over her shoulder, toward the young voice, radiating hatred. Nicky gulped and took a step closer to the door, and an escape route. "You'll be sorry you ever messed with me, Mister!" Elizabeth hissed, renewing her struggle to escape Owen's muscular grip. "I've got friends . . . important friends. When they find out what you've done to me, what's going to happen to Riley and the other two, is nothing compared to what's going to happen to you." " Uuuuuuu, look at me. I'm really scared," Owen laughed, in her face. "Before you plan on what's going to happen to me, maybe you should consider what's going to happen to you. I hear the FBI are after you . . . Liz. Embezzlement, attempted murder, conspiracy to commit murder. Shooting . . . my . . . sister." He shook his head. "Nasty business. I'm sure you'll have plenty of time to think about it while you rot away . . . in prison." "What? Prison? Me?" Her attempted laugh more closely resembled a croak, which was cut short, as two suit-clad men shouldered their way past the library's crowded lawn and porch, then past Sam and Art. They flashed what appeared to be some sort of identification, as they approached Owen. "We'll take her off your hands, young man. We've been following her all the way from Atlanta. You've done us and her family a great service." "The police are on their way," Art said, his gravelly voice breaking the silence, as Owen reluctantly turned over the wide-eyed woman to the two men. "Wait!" Elizabeth sputtered, turning from Owen to the newcomers, then back. "Don't let them take me away! They're going to kill meeee!" she wailed, kicking out, heedless of her broken arm, or the men's grip. The taller of the two men sadly shook his head. "We'll give her a little something to calm her down." He gave a lazy salute to those who were watching, pausing before he left the building. "We'll radio the police, and let them know we've got everything in hand," he said, as he joined his colleague and struggled to get the woman into the backseat of the car. "Something's not right about this." Corey muttered, as he left Opie's side and went to the front windows of the library. He looked to the others, who were now gathered around a . . . wilting . . . Owen. "Shouldn't they have asked questions, or gotten evidence, or names, or something?" he asked, glancing from Art and Sam, back to the men, one of whom continued to struggle with Elizabeth. 'No real law enforcement folks would hustle someone away like that,' he thought, as he aimed his phone's camera and snapped a couple pictures of the men, the woman in the back seat of the vehicle, and the car's license plate. Now that Elizabeth was no longer a concern, Owen stumbled to his sister's side and collapsed onto his knees. He looked from the bloody fabric bandaging her leg to Corey's bare torso, and smiled. 'He'll do anything to let folks see his chest,' he thought, as his sister grabbed his arm. "Look, Owen! I've been shot!" Opie cried, in excitement. She held up her hand, turning it one way then another. "Look, real live blood," she announced, as she held out a bloody hand for him to examine. "I'm not even eight years old, and I've been shot! Isn't it great? Boy, am I gonna have stories to tell!" Everyone turned from Owen and his sister, as Jonah and Lucas burst into the library, practically knocking Art over as they came to a skidding stop. "Owen!" Jonah wildly looked around, finally focusing on his brother. He ran around the table and knelt at Owen's side, wrapping him in a tight embrace. "You're okay?" He backed up a moment, then hugged his brother again. "Geez . . . if anything had happened to you," he choked. "S'okay, Jonah," Owen answered, patting his brother on the back and blushing furiously at the attention. "Everything's fine. We've just had a little excitement, but everything's taken care of. C'mon," he urged, "get off your knees. We're all okay, except Opie. She's the one you should be worried about." "Opie!" Jonah helped Owen stand, then knelt at his sister's side. "Who did this to you? Are you gonna be okay?" he cried, as he held his sister in a tight embrace, intent on protecting her should danger return. "Jonah!" Opie loudly complained. "Your hug hurts more'n my leg! Ease off! I can't breathe!" "Owen?" Lucas joined Sam at his lover's side. "Are you okay . . . truly?" "Yes, Handsome," Owen murmured, nuzzling Lucas' hair and kissing his cheek, heedless of who might be watching. "And, Sammy," he murmured, repeating the kiss, as he held the two men, as much for support as in affection. "Pops is gone." His voice caught. His smile lit his face like the sun, for a brief instant, before weariness seemed to overtake him, and he leaned on Lucas' shoulder. He pulled Sam closer, and appeared to envelop himself in quiet happiness. "Oh, I love you both," he murmured, looking from one man to the other, as Art deftly tried to divert attention from the three men, allowing them a moment's privacy. "After dinner, what d'ya say the three of us head down to our meadow and spend the night. Just us." "Nicky!" Peggy Saunders shouted, shoving her way past Art. She frantically looked for her son in the crowded room. "I heard gunshots! I've looked everywhere! Are you . . .?" "Opie!" she called, her eyes widening, as she saw the girl sitting in a pool of blood, her leg wrapped in a clumsy bandage. "For heaven's sake! Someone call Bea and Daniel!" "We have," Sam shouted, over the sound of voices outside the library. Peg Saunders glanced to Sam, then turned, as Opie spoke. "I'm okay, Mrs. Saunders," Opie scooted a couple inches away from her brother, giving him an irritated look. "Now that Jonah's let go of me, that is. "I was shot! Look! Blood!" "SHOT?! SHOT!" Peg Saunders' voice slid upward, in disbelief. Nicky ran to his mother, from near the door, where he'd stayed close to Millie and Hank. He grabbed his mother's hand, bouncing excitedly. "There was a bad woman here, Mama. She shot Opie! I threw my book at her." Nicky smiled, nodding his head, as if confirming what he'd done. "Owen held the woman, kicking and squealing, 'til those guys showed up. I helped!" The little boy added, with pride. "I ran n'got Sam n'Art." "Nicky saved the day, Peg," Owen said, in a voice devoid of emotion, as Peggy Saunders turned a disbelieving look in his direction. The blond man slumped into the nearby chair, and shook his head in disbelief, as Lucas and Sam stood behind him, resting their hands on his shoulders in silent support. "Sheesh, when the adrenaline wears off, it's sort'a awful." He tiredly smiled at Nicky, who shook off his mother's grip and ran to his friend's side. Owen wrapped an arm around the boy's waist, and held him close. "You're my big brother," Nicky announced proudly, standing close, laying an arm over Owen's shoulders. "We help each other. That's what brothers are for. Right?" he asked. "That's right," Owen smiled, crookedly. "And, it'd be hard t'have a better little brother than you." Owen turned an exhausted smile on the little boy's mother. "You should be proud of him, Peg. Without him gettin' Art and the guys, I'd still be standin' here holding on for dear life, and wondering what to do next. All I did was hold her still until someone showed up to take her off our hands. Nicky's the one who ran for help, n'all." "You're a good boy," Art grinned, giving the beaming child a gentle pat on the back and winking at the boy's incredulous mother. "It's just as Owen said, Peg. Nicky saved the day." "But . . . Owen . . ." Peggy Saunders began, studying the exhausted man, sprawled on the library chair. Owen caught her watching him. "It was Nicky, Peg, not me. I just held tight. He did all the work." "Leave it, Peg," Art murmured. "Be proud of your little boy. Let Nicky be the hero."
A car screeched to a halt, followed a moment later by Bea's frantic voice. "Owennnn!" she called, over the voices of the crowd, all anxious to hear what had happened. "Aw, geez," he groaned, pushing himself to his feet. Bea braced herself with one hand against the door to the library, breathing heavily, radiating an equal mix of anger and relief, when she saw her uninjured son. "Why am I the last to know that you are not lying on the floor in a pool of blood?" she asked, in righteous indignation. "Next time you pull something like this, young man, I expect to be the first to know that you're okay! Understand me?" she asked, with a catch in her throat, before her eyes flew to her daughter. "Opie!" She rushed past Owen, and took Jonah's place, with Daniel one step behind. "I've been shot, Mama! Look! It's blood!" "Shot?! And you're excited!?" She gathered her daughter to her, reluctant to let anyone, even Daniel, touch her. "Who shot your sister, Owen?" Bea cried, frantically searching the room for the would-be murderer, ready to exact maternal vengeance. "The crazy woman!" Nicky shouted, radiating excitement. "I threw a book at her. She was ready t'shoot Owen. Those guys in black just hauled her off to the slammer!" "Slammer? What?! Crazy woman?" "Riley and Nathan's mother. She came to Riverton, ready to kill her sons," Owen sighed, raking his fingers through his short hair, leaving behind smears of his sister's blood on his forehead. "Owen stopped her!" Nicky shouted, pumping an arm in the air. "He broke her arm! Wooohoo! Just like on TV! I bet'cha she's gonna get locked up, just like Miss Maxine." He grabbed Owen. "Y'think they might lose the key?" He rubbed his hands together. "That'd be soooo cool." "Nicky," his mother warned, drawing out the word, for emphasis. "You didn't see her, Mama. She was baaaad." Art caught Peg Saunders' eye and nodded, agreeing with the little boy. Bea finally had too much. She sat on the library floor, appearing stunned, as Daniel tended to the young girl, who was excitedly telling him how she'd been shot and how much she hoped she'd have an awful scar, for the rest of her life. All Daniel could do was shake his head in resignation, as he untied the blood-soaked shirt from around her leg. "It's Corey's shirt!" Opie announced, reaching for the bloody garment. "I wanna keep it!" Owen knelt and took his mother into his arms, as she reluctantly released her daughter to Daniel's care. "It's okay, Mama. Everything's okay. Daniel'll fix her up." He held his mother away from him, at arm's length, and looked into her blue eyes, speaking in a low voice. "Mama! For the first time in my life, I'm really okay. I know, for sure, that I'm not like Pops. For a second there, when I had Elizabeth pushed up against the wall, it was like I had a choice of which road to take. "I realized I've been creating my own version of Hell, allowing him to control me, even though he's dead. He wasn't torturing me; I was doing it to myself. Jonah and the guys tried t'tell me, but . . . I didn't listen. It took someone more evil than Pops to . . . test me . . . to make me realize I'm not him, and that I never will be. He's never gonna haunt me again, Mama! I'm free of him. It's like . . . It's like I've got a new beginning." Bea studied her son, then wrapped him in a joyous embrace. "Oh, Sweetheart," she murmured, close to his ear. She held him close, fighting to hold back the tears. "My little boy." "The cops are here!" Nicky cried, as he ran to the door and frantically waved both arms to attract their attention. Two police cars, with sirens wailing, skidded to a stop, disgorging four officers, each with a drawn weapon. "Whoa!" Nicky squawked, in surprise, at the sight of the guns. He jumped out of the way as four uniformed men burst into the room. "Just like TV!" he shouted, in excitement, looking up at his mother, Millie, and Hank, who hovered just inside the library's doorway. "She's gone!" Sam told the officers, who appeared puzzled. They turned one way then the other, trying to decide who of those present needed to be taken back to Evanston. Sam continued. "Officers! The woman you came here for was taken away by two men who identified themselves as being FBI Agents. They said they'd be contacting you." "Haven't you heard from them?" Lucas asked. At a word from the officers' leader, the men stowed their weapons. Two of the police officers proceeded to gather names and information, while a third gingerly retrieved Elizabeth's bag, and the gun, which lay on the floor, where Owen had kicked it. The remaining officer spoke with Corey. "I knew they weren't what they said!" he told the officer. "I knew it! If they were the real deal, they wouldn't have just run off with her. They would have at least taken her bag and the gun, or gotten people's names n'all, just like you guys are doing. All they did was secure her hands, and haul her out'a here, tossing her in the back seat of the car . . . even with a broken arm n'all. I knew it! Those guys weren't the Feds!" Daniel, Bea, and Opie, who appeared to be strangely drowsy, were allowed to leave. "We've got to get back to Evanston," Daniel told everyone . . . "both to get Opie checked out, to pick up the babies, and Sam's mother." "She's over at Daniel's sister's house, taking care of them," Bea explained. Before she left, she embraced her oldest son. "I'm so pleased for you, Sweetheart." She glanced at Owen's two partners, who were hovering nearby. "I'll turn you over to Sam and Lucas. They'll take good care of you. Won't you?" she asked, in a question more resembling an order, to which both men nodded, as they moved to Owen's side. "Owen?" Jonah said, from close-by. "May I?" he asked, holding out his arms. "Of course!" "I wanna say how sorry I am to have embarrassed you, like I did." He buried his face in his brother's shoulder, and held him tightly. "I . . . I . . . I just." He looked up, his cheeks blotchy. "Owen, try t'stay away from excitement for a while, okay? You're driving me crazy with worry. I never know what's gonna happen next." His mouth worked, and finally he was able to speak. "I don't know what I'd do if you weren't around. So . . ." he continued, "please don't make me find out . . . okay?" "And, I love you, too," Owen said. He nodded toward the Evanston police officers. "After we're all finished talking to these men, I'm gonna be spending the night with Sammy and Lucas. I'll visit with you tomorrow."
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