Cody staggered, blood seeping between his fingers as he clutched his neck, but he didn’t back down. With gritted teeth, he raised his right hand, pulling out his revolver and firing off three rounds. George barely had time to react,the bullets aim for his stomach but luckily in the nick of time George had block the bullets with his arm taking all three bullets to his arm with a grimace, but he didn’t falter. Cody was breathing hard, the pain blurring his vision, yet he held his ground, defiant. But then George raised his own gun, calm and unhurried, and fired back, each shot sharp and deliberate.
The first two bullets tore into Cody's leg, dropping him to one knee. The third hit him square in the arm, forcing the revolver from his grip. Cody hit the ground hard, gasping, his strength fading.
George walked over, shaking his head slightly as he pressed a bloodied hand to his chest, his tone cool, almost amused. “Mr. Cody, I could’ve killed you right there, you know. And believe me, if I’d chosen to send my little ‘friends’ after you…” He smirked darkly. “…it would’ve been a whole lot worse.”
Cody's vision swam, his breaths shallow as he looked up at George. “Why? Why’d you kill all those people?” he choked out, his voice a strained whisper.
George paused, clutching his arm where one of Cody’s bullets had grazed him. He looked down, the memory flickering in his eyes as he replied, “Why? You really want to know?” He chuckled, cold and distant. “Well… it all started a few years back.”
The scene shifted to 5 years ago a quiet room bathed in warm lamplight. George sat at a desk, a heavy book in his lap. He was 24, softer around the edges, lost in thought as he read about philosophy and the pursuit of inner peace, his gaze calm and intent. But his focus was interrupted by the creak of the door, and he glanced up to see his younger sister, Dallas, slipping into the room.
“Brother, I’m back!” she called, her voice bright as she ran over and threw her arms around him.
George hugged her back, pulling away to look at her with a mix of relief and concern. “Dallas, it’s ten o’clock. Why were you out so late?”
Dallas shrugged, her grin unapologetic. “I was with Rylan and his friends. They’re cool. A little rough around the edges, sure, but that’s what makes them exciting, you know?”
George’s face darkened slightly. “Rough around the edges, huh? And by ‘exciting,’ I assume you mean they’re out there picking fights, drinking too much, and causing trouble?”
She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. They’re not that bad. Yeah, they slap each other around, maybe start a scuffle or two, but they’re harmless.”
George’s patience was wearing thin. “Harmless? Dallas, these guys are a gang, aren’t they? What’s their name? ‘The Boys’ or something ridiculous?”
Dallas shrugged, unfazed. “Yeah, *The Boys Gang.* And so what? Rylan wouldn’t let anything bad happen to me; he’s strong. And… well, you know… he’s kind of…” She hesitated, blushing slightly. “Hot.”
George sighed, pressing his hand to his forehead. “Listen to me, Dallas. I don’t care how ‘hot’ he is or how ‘strong’ you think he is. Those people are dangerous. They pull you into their chaos, and before you know it, you're too deep to get out. What if one of them kills someone? What if they pull you into something you can’t walk away from?”
Dallas’s playful expression hardened slightly. “George, you worry too much. You’re acting like I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m eighteen—I can make my own choices.”
George looked at her with a blend of frustration and desperation. “I’m telling you this because I *care.* You’re my sister, Dallas. You might think I’m just some overprotective, ‘boring old man,’ but I’m trying to keep you safe. One mistake, one wrong person, and your whole life can be ruined.” He paused, his voice softening. “You may think what I’m saying is just me being strict, but I’m not. I’ve seen what people like that can do. I’ve seen what happens to people who trust the wrong crowd.”
Dallas’s expression softened, and for a moment, she looked down, contemplating his words. Finally, she sighed, crossing her arms again but with less defiance. “I don’t think what you’re saying is useless or boring, George. I know you’re just looking out for me… But I’m not a little girl anymore. I can handle myself, and you can’t control everything.”
George’s jaw clenched, but he nodded. “Maybe I can’t. But I hope, at the very least, you’ll remember this conversation when things get rough.” George pulled Dallas in for a hug, feeling the weight of his protective instincts intensify. After a moment, he pulled back and looked at her, his voice gentler. “Let’s go out back, pay our respects to Mom and Dad.”
Dallas nodded, her usual defiant spark dimmed for a moment. Together, they walked quietly to the backyard, where two simple graves lay under an old, sturdy tree. They knelt before the markers, hands clasped, and George’s voice came out in a low, steady murmur.
“Dear Mom and Dad, I hope you’re at peace up there, together. And damn the war for taking you both from us,” he said, his voice catching ever so slightly. Dallas echoed his words, voice softer but carrying the same deep hurt. They both bowed their heads, and the silence that fell over them felt heavy, yet oddly comforting. Finally, After their somber moment at the gravesite, George and Dallas made their way back inside. The weight of their shared grief and the day's events left them both drained. George gave Dallas a gentle squeeze on her shoulder before they parted ways to their rooms, each retreating into the solace of their own thoughts.
“Goodnight, George,” Dallas murmured as she entered her room, giving him a faint smile.
“Night, sis,” he replied, watching her door close before finally heading into his own room. He took a deep breath, the day’s tension settling in his bones, and fell onto his bed, staring at the ceiling. Tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow would be different.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
The next morning, sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over George’s room. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and glanced at the clock. Nearly eleven in the morning. He sighed, letting the realization sink in. “Damn, I slept in.”
With a stretch, he got up and made his way down the hall to check on Dallas. He gave a light knock on her door, waiting, but there was no response. Frowning, he pushed the door open, only to find the bed empty. He looked around, noticing her boots were missing, and sighed deeply. “This girl never listens…” he muttered, more out of exasperation than anger.
Knowing his sister’s stubbornness, George went to the kitchen to make himself a simple breakfast. He put on a pot of beans and spooned some onto a plate, taking them back to his room while he read and kept an ear open for the door.
George got up and opened the door, his heart sinking as he saw Dallas standing there, face pale and eyes rimmed with red. A fresh black eye was darkening on her face, and she looked shaken, her usual fire replaced with something almost vulnerable.
George’s eyes hardened, but he kept his voice calm. “Dallas. What happened?” He stepped aside, gesturing for her to come in.
She shuffled in, casting her gaze downward. “It’s nothing. Just… Rylan’s friends thought it’d be funny to rough me up a bit,” she muttered, her voice wavering despite her best efforts to sound nonchalant.
George’s jaw clenched, his expression dark. “Funny?” His voice was low and steady, but there was an unmistakable edge to it. “They gave you a black eye, and that’s ‘funny’ to them?”
Dallas shrugged, avoiding his gaze. “They were just… playing around. It got out of hand, but it’s nothing.”
George took a breath, forcing himself to stay calm. “Nothing?” His voice held a dangerous calm. “Dallas, this is exactly what I warned you about. These people—they don’t care about you. They’re not ‘cool’ or ‘exciting.’ They’re reckless, violent. And they’ll drag you down with them if you let them.”
Dallas finally looked up, her eyes flashing with a mix of shame and anger. “I can handle myself, George. I’m not a kid.”
“Handling yourself doesn’t mean letting people like that put their hands on you,” he retorted, his tone sharper now. “And it sure as hell doesn’t mean letting them get away with it.”
She swallowed hard, and for a moment, George saw the vulnerable girl beneath the tough facade. “What would you have me do, then?” she murmured, almost as if she didn’t expect an answer.
George’s gaze softened, but his voice remained firm. “Stop hanging around with people who don’t respect you. You’re worth more than that, Dallas.”
She looked down, nodding slightly, the fight draining out of her. “Yeah… I know.”
After a moment of silence, George placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Come on. Let’s clean you up. And tonight…” He hesitated, a rare, warm smile breaking through. “We’ll make dinner together. Something good.”
Dallas managed a faint smile, the pain in her eyes tempered with gratitude. “Alright… But only if you don’t burn the beans this time.”
George chuckled, guiding her towards the kitchen. “I make no promises.” George cooked the beans slowly, his hands steady but his mind distant. The gentle bubbling of the pot filled the silence of the small, dimly lit kitchen. As he ladled the beans into a chipped bowl, he carried it carefully to the table and placed it in front of Dallas, who sat slumped in her chair, bruised but defiant.
“Here you go,” he murmured, meeting her eyes for a brief moment. “Eat up.”
She picked up the spoon, stirring the beans absentmindedly. She had her usual spark, but George could tell that her pride was stinging more than her black eye. Her silence said more than any words.
“I’m heading to town to get more supplies,” George said, watching her reaction carefully. He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “And while I’m at it, I’m gonna… talk to those boys.”
Dallas glanced up, her bruised face flickering with worry. “Just… be careful, alright?”
George gave her a small smile. “Don’t you worry. I’ll be back before you know it.”
He took a deep breath, stepping out into the fading morning light. The ride to Grant’s Pass was a familiar one, but today it felt longer, the weight of what he’d seen—of Dallas’ bruised face—pressing down on him with every mile. What kind of brother would I be if I didn’t stand up for her? he thought grimly, gripping the reins as Apollo, his loyal horse, trotted ahead with a steady rhythm. Mom and Dad would expect better.
When the small town finally came into view, George’s senses sharpened, his gaze scanning the streets. A few townsfolk gave him curious glances, but he paid them no mind. He wasn’t here for idle talk.
It didn’t take long to spot them. Rylan and his gang were standing near a general store, harassing an elderly Chinese man with weathered skin and trembling hands. George could see the fear in the old man’s eyes as he pressed himself against the wall, trying to avoid Rylan’s knife, which was leveled at his ribs.
“Please, s-sir,” the man stammered, clutching his side as Rylan jabbed the blade a little closer. “I will pay you back… just need a little more time.”
“That’s too long, old man,” Rylan sneered, pressing the knife deeper. One of his lackeys laughed, reaching out and slapping the man across the face, sending him reeling.
George’s blood boiled. He dismounted from Apollo, his boots hitting the ground with a thud as he took purposeful strides toward the gang. His voice rang out, loud and firm.
“Rylan!” The name cut through the noise, and the gang turned to look at him, sneers falling as they took in George’s presence.
Rylan cocked his head, smirking as he sized up his new opponent. “Who the hell are you?” he drawled, clearly amused.
George didn’t blink. “Name’s George,” he said, voice as steady as his gaze. “And I know you gave my sister a black eye.”
The smirk on Rylan’s face didn’t waver. “Oh, so she told you that, huh?” he sneered, his tone mocking. “Guess she’s got a big mouth. Well, big brother, what’re you gonna do about it?”
Without a word, George walked forward, ignoring the jeers of the other men as he squared off with Rylan. Before Rylan could react, George’s fist shot forward, connecting squarely with Rylan’s face. The impact sent blood splattering from Rylan’s mouth, but he barely flinched, a twisted grin spreading across his lips.
“That all you got, fool?” he hissed, before swinging back with a savage blow to George’s gut.
George doubled over, gasping for breath as Rylan’s cronies closed in, fists and boots raining down on him in a brutal, unrelenting barrage. Pain exploded across his body—his ribs cracked under heavy blows, his face split open, his vision swimming as they kicked and punched, dragging him down into the dirt. He tried to fight back, but it was like fighting against a tide, each blow sapping his strength until he was nothing more than a battered, broken mess.
Hours passed, or maybe only minutes—it was impossible to tell in the haze of pain and darkness. He was already passed out when the gang finally dispersed, laughing as they wiped their bloodied knuckles on their pants, George lay motionless on the ground. His breaths were shallow, his mind drifting in and out of consciousness as the fading light cast long shadows across the street.
When he managed to open his eyes, he was greeted by a blurry view of Apollo standing faithfully nearby. With an agonizing groan, he forced himself to move, crawling toward his horse and clinging to Apollo’s reins as he pulled himself up onto its back. He didn’t know how he’d make it home, but he knew he had to try.
The ride back was a blur of pain, every jolt and sway of the horse sending fresh waves of agony through his battered body. By the time he reached the house, it was well into the evening, the sun casting a faint, dying glow over the land. George slid off Apollo, stumbling toward the house with his last scraps of strength.
“Dallas…” he called weakly, his voice barely more than a whisper as he staggered through the doorway, blood leaving a trail behind him. The silence was deafening, a hollow emptiness that filled him with dread. “Dallas!”
He limped down the hall, his heart pounding as he noticed a trail of blood leading toward her bedroom. Fear gripped him, but he forced himself to follow, each step feeling like it would be his last.
When he pushed open her door, the sight that greeted him was beyond anything he could have imagined. Dallas lay sprawled on the bed, her body a horrifying mess of blood and gore. Forty stab wounds covered her from neck to waist, her eyes had been gouged out, her tongue was missing, her teeth shattered, and both legs had been cruelly severed.
George’s legs gave out beneath him, and he fell to his knees beside her, pulling her lifeless body into his arms. His fingers brushed over her blood-streaked hair as he cradled her, his face a mask of grief and fury.
“No… Dallas…” His voice was raw, choked with the weight of unshed tears. He buried his face in her hair, whispering broken apologies. “I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry I wasn’t here…”
The reality of it crashed over him like a wave—he had failed her. He had tried to protect her, to keep her safe, and yet here she was, her life ripped away in the most brutal, senseless way imaginable. And the image of Rylan’s smirk flashed in his mind, a reminder of the cruelty he had just barely survived.
His heart hardened, his tears drying as a cold, dark resolve settled within him. There would be no forgiveness, no mercy. What they had done to her—what they had taken from
him—could never be undone, but he could make them pay.