“They’re sharing it already,” Dre reported. “People are watching this live.”
Otis leaned against the wall for a moment.
Every bruise and injury seemed to arrive at once now that the immediate danger was passing.
His arm throbbed.
His ribs hurt.
His jaw was swelling.
But the farm was still standing.
And so were they.
“They’ll be back,” Dre said.
“Maybe.”
Otis looked through the damaged doorway toward the darkness where Wade’s vehicles had disappeared.
“Pride’s expensive.”
He breathed carefully.
“Tonight cost him plenty.”
Morning revealed what darkness had hidden.
Broken glass covered the farmhouse floor. Bullet damage marked walls and outbuildings. Burned areas of the property still smoked in the early sunlight.
Otis sat heavily at the kitchen table while Shirley cleaned the injury on his arm.
“Hold still,” she muttered.
Otis flinched when the antiseptic touched the wound.
“These need stitches.”
“Later.”
Dre stood near the window.
His clothes were dusty from the fighting, and exhaustion had settled into his face.
Suddenly, red and blue lights flooded the kitchen.
Three police cruisers came up the driveway.
Sheriff Latimer followed.
Otis looked toward Shirley.
Neither needed to speak.
“Freeman!”
Latimer’s voice carried from outside.
“Come out with your hands visible!”
Shirley’s fingers tightened around Otis’ shoulder.
“This isn’t right.”
“We have evidence.”
Otis rose slowly.
“Evidence doesn’t matter much to them right now.”
He looked toward Dre.
“Stay back.”
Dre’s jaw tightened.
“Big O…”
“Stay back,” Otis repeated. “Don’t give them an excuse.”
He stepped onto the porch with his hands visible.
Morning sunlight caught his wedding ring.
Several officers stood across the yard.
Weapons were drawn.
“On your knees!”
Someone shouted.
“Do it now!”
“He’s injured!” Shirley called from the doorway. “Let him move slowly!”
Otis carefully lowered himself onto the wooden porch.
Sheriff Latimer approached with handcuffs.
The older lawman would not meet his eyes.
“Otis Freeman, you’re under arrest for aggravated assault, false imprisonment, and criminal vigilantism.”
The cuffs closed around Otis’ wrists.
“You have the right to remain silent.”
“This is wrong and you know it,” Shirley said.
Her courtroom voice cut through the morning.
“We have recordings of Wade Gryom’s gang attacking this property. They fired first. They committed arson. They threatened lives.”
“Ma’am, step back inside,” an officer warned.
“Or you’ll be arrested too.”
Dre’s angry voice came from behind her.
“They’re arresting him for defending his own home while those men…”
“Quiet,” Otis said.
His deep voice carried across the porch.
Dre stopped.
“Shirley, call Marcus.”
He looked toward Dre.
“Stay calm and record everything.”
Officers pulled Otis to his feet.
Pain moved through his ribs, but he refused to give them the reaction they seemed to expect.