Weston Hayes

Weston

Chapter One

Weston~

Six years... That's how long it took for Weston to come home. Time was needed to tame his nightmares, time to become healthy, time to take back his life, and start over. Weston was no longer that scared little boy, a fearful sixteen-year-old who snuck out of town while hiding a gravely beaten mother and nervous brother. At six foot three inches, broad shoulders, eyes cold as ice, yes, deputy sheriff Weston Hayes was a sight to behold; he was both feared by the criminals he chased down and loved by the ladies who tried to chase him down.

As Weston Hayes sat on a crest overlooking the small beautiful town of Loke, Texas, hazy from the setting sun, like a mirage in the distance. Weston Hayes never wanted to come back to this place, the place that eventually killed his mother. It's the one place that holds the darkest memories that still haunt him and his little brother, Andrew, to this day.

The horror of an abusive father who hid his misdeeds every Sunday while he sat on the church pew, pretending to be a loving husband and father. George was never a good man; he always ran with the wrong crowd. Gambling, drinking, and whoring around, that's what he excelled at—well, not gambling since he lost every time, only to come home and beat his wife, Sara.

Weston forgot how many busted lips, broken ribs, and noses he and his mom had received from George over the years. When Andrew was born, Weston knew his father hated Andrew for some reason, and Weston vowed to keep him safe at all costs.

Weston was sixteen when his mother, Sara, decided they would leave the next time George went to the Saloon. Sara hoped they would be able to slip away under cover of darkness while George slept off his alcohol-induced slumber; otherwise, she feared if they stayed any longer, someone would end up dead.

Weston shivered as he sat upon his horse; he remembered the day his dad came home early from the mine he worked.

George walked in and slammed the front door as he let out a thunderous yell. Startled, Sara stood frozen in fear next to the cookstove.

"My boss fired me today, Sara," George snarled as he stalked towards his wife. "Do you know why that is Sara?"

Sara slowly walked backward, trembling until her back touched the wall behind her. Shaking her head, Sara stuttered, "N-no George. I don't, why would they f-fire you?"

George slammed his fists on either side of Sara's head; he caged her between his arms and the wall. George yelled into Sara's face, "Because of you, dear wife. My boss said I stole some gold from the last shipment." George cocked his head to the side and glared at his wife, "Now, where would he have gotten that idea."

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Sara quietly said, "You did, though."

George slid his hand slowly down Sara's arm until he grasped her right wrist, slamming it into the wall. George smiled when Sara let out a scream as she tried to hold her broken hand.

"I have no idea who told him." Sara opened her eyes wide as fear leaked from her body. "You can't possibly think it was me. George, after everything you have done to me, I didn't tell a soul. I wouldn't say anything negative about you. Please, George, I love you."

George backhanded Sara across the face, "Shut up. I don't believe you. You're a lying, manipulative whore." George screamed in Sara's face, "You were the only one who knew I took anything." George smiled as blood seeped out of Sara's busted lip. George always got excited every time he caused Sara any physical pain.

George grinned as he grabbed Sara around her throat and slammed her repeatedly into the wall until Sara was unconscious; he threw her across the room where she lay in a heap. George sauntered over to her and repeatedly kicked Sara in the stomach and her head. George stomped onto Sara's left arm until her bones crunched under his foot. George laughed as he ground his boot heel into her hand until her bones shattered.