Today had been a long one. Turner knew it was one he would never forget. He’d lied on camera to protect the life of an innocent young woman, and had done so without flinching.
Now he just wanted to be alone at his house to think. Trevor had offered to come stay with him tonight, to talk and take his mind off things. Turner had almost taken him up on that offer, but had decided that it was better for his brother to stay with Houghton.
With Delancey McKellen, rather.
He wanted as many people he trusted around her as possible.
Turner knew he had screwed up with that decision the instant the two men shot out at him from his own driveway. He hadn’t seen them until then. At first, he’d thought it was his brother and cousin. That something had happened to Delancey—or the nurse who was staying with her for a few more hours.
It was time, he and Elliot agreed, to challenge the bastards running the criminal ring publicly. That was Turner’s role in all of this.
He was starting to think today hadn’t exactly been the best day to do that.
One of the sons-of-bitches lunged at him. Turner was ready, braced, and going to give even better than he got.
A fist slammed into his face, and Turner’s eye exploded with pain. He grabbed his attacker’s head, ripping the face mask from the other man.
Who wore a damned face mask in Texas in August? Someone who was seriously up to no good. Turner wasn’t going to die today. There were only two of them, and both were smaller than Turner.
And he hadn’t exactly been raised to be a pansy-assed wimp.
He’d routinely gotten the crap beaten out of him by wrestling with his brothers and cousins as kids. Houghton and Alex would often gang up on him and Mac just for the hell of it. Tucker and Porter, almost a decade younger than Turner, hadn’t stood a chance against the two older cousins, either. Turner, Trevor, and Hendrix would have to step in to protect their younger brothers when needed.
He ducked when the smaller one came at him again.
No one grew up with his cousin Clay and didn’t learn how to fight back, either. Clay had insisted on it, giving all the boys instructions while in the midst of the fights each time.
And then Clay had taken little Powell out whenever he could and taught her how to protect herself, too.
Turner shoved his own fist down the taller guy’s throat. His knee caught the other in the gut.
After that, it was on.
Turner kept going, until someone shouted. The smaller guy rolled, then climbed to his feet. He took off toward the street behind Turner’s property.
The other guy was gone when Turner turned around.
“Who the hell did you piss off this time, Turn?”
Turner rolled to his back and cursed. A face very similar to his own stared down at him. It was like he’d come out of nowhere. In the nick of time. His youngest brother stared down at him, eyes filled with concern. “I haven’t got a damned clue. But someone’s using the city and the storm to fill their damned pockets.”
He took his younger brother’s hand and let Tucker help him to his feet. Every muscle, joint, nerve, and cell in his body protested.
Tucker gave a more colorful curse than Turner’s and grabbed Turner when he listed to the left. “Only place you’re going is to the ER. I got my car outside the gate.”
“What are you doing here, anyway?” Turner said. To hell with manly pride, it hurt to even walk or breathe right now. Time for yet another trip to FCGH. He was about to set up residence in the basement there, or something. “I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.”
“I came home early. Finley Creek is home. Trev called this morning. I heard Clay was missing for a while, you were trapped, Powell was hurt, Mac lost his house, and Alex and Uncle Mason lost their place of business. I figured I was needed here more than in California. Looks like I got here just in time.” Tucker led the way to his car. “Let’s get you to the ER.”
“Finley Creek General. I have friends there. Trev’s at Houghton’s.”
“Whatever. I just want someone to look at your face. You always did have a glass jaw. And you suck at fistfights. You always have.”
Turner let his younger brother load him into the car, then pulled out his phone. Signal was finally mostly reliable again. He dialed Elliot’s number as his younger brother drove through the still mostly unrecognizable streets of Finley Creek.