"Come on," Dak said. "Drive another five hundred feet and I'll get out. Remember, don't interfere. I can't risk anything happening to Nicole."
"I know. I know."
Will wanted to tell him that she was probably already dead, and if she wasn't, she would be after Bo executed him. He didn't for a second believe that the villain would keep his word, that he would face Dak like he said in the note.
He did as Dak requested and drove a little farther down the road before stopping when more of the farmhouse driveway came into view.
"Good luck," Will said, unwilling to meet his friend's gaze.
"Hey, it's going to be okay." Dak slapped him on the shoulder and stepped out of the car. His boots crunched the dry dirt and gravel underfoot.
"Hey, Dak," Will said.
Dak was about to close the door. He held the top edge and waited. "Yeah?"
"Kick his butt."
Eighteen
Ulupelit
Dak walked on the gravel verge next to the ancient asphalt road. He kept his eyes forward as he lumbered toward the driveway. The farmhouse came into view on the right, forty feet away, tucked back into the corner of the property. The dark brown barn on the left stood next to a rolling field. Tall grass wavered in the breeze in the unkept pasture. It looked like it hadn't been maintained in years. A weathered wooden fence wrapped around it with rotted wooden pieces dangling precipitously from posts in multiple places.
Birds squawked and chirped in the trees, but he couldn't see the animals. Their songs mingled with the wisp of a warm breeze that brushed against his hair and ears, tickling the back of his neck.
Dak kept his breathing at a steady cadence as he ambled up the driveway and toward the farmhouse. The gentle slope leveled off and Dak noticed a sedan parked behind the farmhouse.
He kept walking toward the derelict home. Some of the windows were cracked, or shattered entirely. Several shutters hung crookedly. The faded paint peeled and cracked like a dried skin around the building. It was evident no one had lived there for some time, or if they did, the tenants didn't care much for its upkeep.
"That's far enough," a sickeningly familiar voice shouted across the gravel parking area.
At least he didn't shoot me without saying a word, Dak thought. Part of him wished Bo had just shot him. No bull. No banter. Now, Dak had to listen to his monologue.
He turned his head toward the barn, where the sound of Bo's voice had come from, to see a second-floor window-door swing open with a loud creak. Bo stood just inside the opening. Another figure sat close by in an old wooden chair. There was no mistaking who struggled against the bonds wrapped around her arms and torso.
Nicole stared back at Dak with pleading, apologetic eyes.
He felt a familiar, sickening feel drop into his gut like a bomb. His heart pounded, as if attempting to leap out of his chest with every heartbeat.
Dak sighed, averting his gaze to the pistol in Bo's right hand, hanging next to his hip.
"So, you get to have a gun but I don't?"
Bo looked down at the weapon, raising it above his waist. His eyes roamed over it momentarily, as if he hadn't seen the pistol before. "Oh, you're right. I'm sorry, Dak. I forgot I had this. Silly me."
Dak glowered at the man, but said nothing. In his flashing moments of fantasy, he envisioned leaping up to the second story and snapping Bo's neck.
"Down on your knees, Dak," Bo commanded. Even at this range, Dak knew his ex-teammate would be lethal with the pistol.
"That's it?" Dak protested. "I thought you were going to face me in a fair fight."
"Oh, yes. I am. Terribly sorry," Bo hissed. "But before we do that, I have to come down this ladder back here." He motioned to a rickety wooden ladder that led down to the barn's main floor. "See?"
Dak rolled his eyes. "I don't like the idea of getting on my knees for anyone, Bo."
"Fine. Turn around."
Dak huffed at the continuing awkward moment. "So you can shoot me in the back? What's the difference?"
"I’ve already told you," Bo exclaimed. "If I were going to lure you here to shoot you, I'd have already done it. I want to kill you with my own hands, Dak. The old-fashioned way, hand-to-hand combat. Sure, you could get lucky and beat me. But there's something pure, and at the same time barbaric, about two men fighting to the death. I haven't had the pleasure in so long."
The words sickened Dak. Perhaps he'd underestimated the level of evil that possessed Bo. Maybe he was just trying to be intimidating. That came next.
Bo turned the pistol to Nicole and pushed the muzzle into the side of her skull. "Look, Dak. You're going to die one way or the other. She doesn't have to. So, please, pretty please, turn around and stop being an idiot."
Dak stared into her frightened eyes. No tears formed, but she looked tired, more than he'd ever seen before. And he'd worn her out emotionally on several occasions—usually when being stubborn.
"Fine," Dak surrendered. He turned around slowly with his hands in the air. Three thumps of boots on wood, followed by a slightly different thud, reached Dak's ears. He looked over his shoulder to see Bo was already on the ground and walking toward him, pistol leveled.
"You can turn around now, Dak."
Dak pivoted around until he faced his old teammate. He lowered his hands to his sides, knowing Bo had already checked for firearms, simply by analyzing Dak's form. Had he been concealing a weapon, Bo would know it, and Dak would probably already be dead.
"I don't blame you," Bo said as he slowed to a halt a mere ten feet away from Dak.
"For what?" Dak sneered.
"Wanting revenge. I mean, if I were standing there in your shoes, I'd want the same thing. Me and the guys, we probably deserve the vengeance you're looking to mete out."
"You killed Billy."
Bo
