Swamp Happens: The Complete Swamp Bottom Series

by Cora Kenborn

  “Addie!” A loud voice boomed off the concrete walls followed by two sets of heavy footsteps.

  Oh shit, this is not good.

  I glared at my traitorous sister. “You fucking told them where we were?”

  She returned my glare and raised me a sneer. “I didn’t know we were going to be in a hostage situation!”

  I slowly turned to see Zep and Pope approaching from the rear of the SUV, in clear view of a writhing and screaming, albeit muffled, Patrick. Zep didn’t seem to notice the grown man tied up in the back of the SUV and made a beeline straight past me into my sister’s waiting arms. Fucking traitor. Pope, on the other hand, stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes ping-ponged a few times from me to the bound and gagged man before finally settling on my face.

  “Why is there a man tied up in the back of this truck?” Pope’s voice was like steel, and it made me want to cower in fear.

  “Well, you see, it’s a funny story, actually.”

  His face hardened, telling me without words that I better get on with it because what he saw didn’t amuse him.

  “So, I ran into a tiny problem when I went to get our marriage license,” I admitted, cringing at the scowl on Pope’s handsome face. There was no easy smile or even a hint of a dimple to be found.

  Heather scoffed as she leaned on the bumper. “Yeah, tiny dick maybe.”

  “Shut up!” I snapped, and turned back to Pope, plastering a fake smile on my face. “You see, when the clerk entered my information, she found a record from about three years ago.”

  “And?” he prompted, not giving me even a second longer to delay.

  I took a deep breath and in true Savvy fashion, let it all tumble out. “Remember me telling you about that epic road trip I went on after college? Well, that was with my college boyfriend, Patrick, and some friends. Patrick is the guy in the trunk and Heather was one of those friends, but that’s not important right now.”

  Pope’s mouth dropped open when I stopped to take a breath. “What the—”

  “On that road trip, we ended up in Vegas, and we all got super drunk,” I offered, cutting him off. “Like incredibly drunk. Not just ‘I’m going to go dance on some tables and maybe steal a tractor drunk,’ but like ‘Whoops, I accidentally got married and didn’t realize it was a real thing until I tried to get my marriage license to marry the man of my dreams, and they told me I had to get a divorce, annulment, or a death certificate first’ kind of drunk.”

  Pope blinked rapidly and shook his head as if he were trying to dispel the information I’d just flung at him. “So, you were going to kill him?” he hissed.

  It was my turn to blink. “What? No! I was going to get it annulled, but he wouldn’t return my calls and texts, so I asked my friend Heather to convince him to come.”

  A raspy chuckle came from behind me, and I turned my head to see Zep admiring Heather’s handy work. “Looks like your friend there is pretty convincing.”

  “That’s what I said!” Heather piped in.

  Pope turned his glacial gaze on Heather. “Untie him and let him out.” His tone left no room for interpretation and exuded an air of authority I’d never seen from him.

  It kind of turned me on.

  “You just had to go and fall in love with a cop,” Heather muttered as she flicked open a pocket knife and cut Patrick loose.

  “You fucking crazy bitch!” Patrick shrieked once the tape had been removed from his mouth, courtesy of a hard yank from Heather.

  I knew I loved that woman.

  “You sent her to kidnap me because I wouldn’t return your calls? You’re just as psycho as she is! I can’t believe I ever put my dick—”

  Before Patrick could finish his sentence, Pope was on him, his big hand wrapping almost all the way around Patrick’s skinny neck. With a hard yank, Pope propelled Patrick all the way out of the SUV and slammed him back against the side of the car. I could see the veins pulsing in his neck as he crowded the much smaller man.

  “It’d be in your best interest not to finish that sentence. Now, I don’t know what kind of fucking game you’re playing, or why you wouldn’t give Savannah what she wanted, but it ends now. You’ll go to that courthouse tomorrow morning, and you’ll sign the fucking papers. Afterward, you’ll go home and continue with your life and never so much as think about my fiancée again. Am I clear?”

  The entire time Pope spoke, Patrick clawed at his vice-like grip around his throat. He coughed and sputtered as Pope let go, allowing the little rat to crumple to the asphalt.

  “You’re all fucking crazy, I’m calling the cops!” he squealed, fumbling to get his phone out of his pocket, only to have it slip out of his fingers and scatter across the ground.

  That same chuckle echoed in the deserted garage as Zep stepped forward and let a heavily booted foot land directly on the shiny device. “Try again, dumbass.”

  Patrick’s beady little eyes bounced around our rag-tag group, searching for an ally, but he only met with disdain and an extremely large and pissed off cop.

  Crouching down to Patrick’s level, Pope got back in his face, only this time he didn’t touch him. “Apparently, you’re not very smart. So, it looks like you’re going to be bunking with Zep and me tonight so I can make sure you do what you’re told. As long as you cooperate, everything will be fine. If not, Bam-Bam is just a short flight away.”

  Patrick’s bloodshot eyes got huge at the mention of my mammoth of a cousin. He’d never met Bam-Bam, but he’d seen enough pictures and heard enough stories to quake in fear at the mention of his name.

  “Y-you can’t do this. This is kidnapping, the police—”

  “I am the fucking police,” Pope growled, pulling Patrick to his feet and effectively ending the conversation.

  So that was how you used that line.

  Huh. I’d been doing it wrong all this time.

  61

  Heads Or Tails

  Adelaide

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  We all sat silently in a small circle in the front corner of the hotel bar after the confrontation in the parking garage. Between Savannah watching Pope, Pope glaring at Patrick, and Zep keeping an eye on Pope’s fist, the tension was so thick someone was liable to choke on it.

  For once, I’d kept my mouth shut as Savannah said goodbye to Heather, thanking her for delivering her hostile pseudo-husband, regardless of how many state and federal laws she broke in the process. Heather had taken the praise and hauled her Land Rover out of the parking deck as fast as her overpriced wheels would spin. I honestly couldn’t blame her. As many warrants as she had out for her arrest, I wouldn’t want to hang around Pope any more than I had to either.

  I couldn’t help but give myself a mental pat on the back. With the chaos that had ensued all day, I’d surprised myself with how calm I remained. Maybe my pregnant, psychotic mood swings were finally behind me.

  Zep would be pleased that his balls were safe again.

  Yep, I definitely felt more like my old self. Growing up, Savannah always called me the peacekeeper of the family. Anytime there was a confrontation or hostility in my presence, I jumped to the role of mediator, diffusing the situation with the voice of reason. Maybe that’s why after Pope curled his lip at Patrick and cracked his knuckles for the fifth time, I chose to make my way to the bar and forge peace by way of the Dubois family cure-all.

  “Vodka tonic?” I asked as pleasantly as possible while offering the highball glass to an antsy Patrick. Continuing to play hostess, I purposely ignored the pair of pale blue eyes burning into me from my left.

  My sister’s soon-to-be ex made no attempt to move, eyeing the drink as if it were poison. “What’s the catch?”

  “No catch.” Despite the situation, I half-smiled, leaning over and pushing the drink toward him even more. “I always offer the men my sister abducts a refreshing beverage.”

  Patrick blinked a few times before letting out an amused chuckle and accepting the drink. Satisfied that I’d succeeded
in keeping his attention away from Savannah, I politely nodded and turned to take my seat when his hand clamped down on my wrist, holding me in place.

  Surprised, I glanced over my shoulder. “Do you need something else?”

  “You’re Addie, right?” Not quite following this line of questioning, I nodded as his lips split into a wide grin. “I heard a lot about you back in the day. Only Savannah didn’t tell me how hot you were.”

  Right. Because no man can resist a woman with National Geographic boobs who looks like she ate a Little League team.

  “Thanks,” I offered, barely controlling the urge to roll my eyes.

  He tilted his chin toward Pope. “I know he’s not going to let me take a piss by myself, much less walk out of here alone, so, what do you say? You want to take a walk on the strip with me?”

  I’d never been a world traveler like my sister or dated as many different types of men, but I was no idiot. Clearly, Patrick intended on taking every opportunity to fuck with Savannah and Pope. I had to give him credit. Since getting dragged out of the back of Heather’s SUV, he’d done one hell of a job getting under their skin.

  But up until now, he also hadn’t pissed off the six-foot-two daddy-to-be sitting next to him.

  Before I could answer, Zep extended a jean-clad leg and kicked Patrick’s lounge chair, sending him skidding sideways across the tile floor. My jaw dropped, and I stared at him in shock, unable to believe the scene he’d made. However, Zep’s eyes were nowhere near my face. They were focused on Patrick, his body remaining unnaturally still.

  Too still.

  “What the hell is your problem?” Zep goaded, his fingers curling into the armrest of the chair. “One sister isn’t good enough for you? You going for the full set, motherfucker?”

  “Zep!” I gave Patrick a weak smile, willing my irate boyfriend to calm down.

  Patrick scoffed. “What the hell is your problem, man? This doesn’t even concern you. You act like I married your woman or something.”

  “No, but you’re putting your hands on mine, which concerns the fuck out of me.”

  Cocking his head, Patrick paused a beat before passing a finger between Zep and me. “Wait, you mean, you two…?”

  “How do you think that baby got in there, genius?” Zep shot back through clenched teeth.

  “Okay, enough!” Savannah yelled, massaging her temples with both hands. “Can we please not discuss my sister’s sex life while I’m having a personal crisis?” Shifting a glare toward Patrick, she nodded at the untouched drink in his hand. “Just drink your vodka and shut up.”

  Downing the last of his beer, Pope tilted the bottle neck toward Patrick. “Why the hell are we sitting here at happy hour when Savannah is still married to this asshole?”

  A thick silence hung in the air before Patrick shattered it. “Might I remind you that it was your fiancée who conspired to have me kidnapped and dragged across state lines in the back of a fucking Land Rover?”

  “You piece of shit…” Throwing the beer bottle on the table, Pope leaped out of his chair, his arms stretched out in front of him.

  This isn’t going to end well.

  Pope didn’t play when it came to Savannah, and if he got his hands on Patrick, I had no doubt he’d do permanent damage. His constant fidgeting had only fed his anger, and now Patrick was going to pay the price for his big ass mouth.

  I shouldn’t care, but Adelaide Dubois was nothing if not conscientious of her surroundings. And our surroundings included a whole hotel full of people and a few dozen security guards who could fuck Pope’s world up. I needed to do something, but my feet felt frozen, so I turned a helpless eye to Zep as Patrick stood and stumbled backward over his chair.

  I should’ve known he’d have already been in the middle of it.

  Stepping in between them, Zep placed a hand on Pope’s shoulder, stopping him from burying his fist in Patrick’s face. “He’s not worth it, and you know it.”

  Pope’s jaw ticked. “Get out of my way, LeBlanc.”

  “Look, I know how you feel.”

  “You don’t know shit.”

  “No?” Zep shifted his head to look Pope in the eye and snorted. “You don’t think I have experience keeping shit in check over ex-husbands?”

  “I’m not an ex yet.” Patrick blurted out, popping his head around Zep’s shoulder His move only served to antagonize an already irate Pope, who pushed hard against Zep’s hand, managing to land a punch against Patrick’s chest.

  Slowly rolling his neck, Zep glared at the man behind him. “Do you have a death wish, asshole, or are you just that fucking stupid?”

  “Right,” Pope continued the conversation as if he hadn’t just knocked Patrick halfway across the room. “And if Bordeaux were sitting here talking shit about Addie, you wouldn’t want to put your foot halfway up his ass?”

  “Oh, no, that fucker would be face down licking the Boulevard.”

  Pope ground his teeth together. “Exactly.”

  “But, I’m also not a cop,” Zep countered. “And to be honest, the shit Sav’s friend pulled could cause enough trouble for her as it is without you adding to it.”

  To further drive Zep’s point home, Savannah got to her feet and stood behind her fiancé, placing her diamond-heavy hand lightly on his other shoulder. With his wife-to-be behind him and newly crowned bestie in front of him, Pope let out a tired sigh while shaking his head at the wide-eyed man draped over a lounge chair.

  “You’re worthless.” Wrapping a protective arm around Savannah, he purposely shoulder checked Patrick on his way to the bar. Pulling out a stool for her, he took one for himself and palmed the back of his neck in frustration.

  I couldn’t help the loud breath I let out as the few dozen pairs of eyes that had observed the exchange with the interest of a bloodthirsty mob went back to their own conversations. As I watched Savannah rub Pope’s back in an attempt to calm him, Zep slipped both arms around my waist from behind, settling his hands on my swollen belly. I smiled, relaxing for the first time since Heather pulled up in her mobile prison camp and sent everything down the shitter.

  Well, I relaxed until Savannah leaned around Pope and pointed to a white plate piled high with saucy food sitting at the other end of the bar.

  “Where did you get that?” she asked with a suspicious glare in her eyes.

  Babs, who’d remained uncharacteristically quiet during the whole previous exchange, tossed back a shot of what I assumed to be vodka and picked up a giant toothpick with a dripping colossal meatball skewered on the end. The way she eyed it like she was about to unhinge her jaw and suck the whole thing down in one bite made warning bells go off in my head.

  Oh, God, no. Please, for the love of all that is good and sacred, no.

  Offering her a toothy grin, Babs gave the giant meatball a porn star worthy lick from the bottom to the tip and then smacked her lips. “From buffet.”

  Savannah’s face paled as our grandmother’s words registered in her head. “In the hotel? Babs, that’s not free! And you don’t make a plate and take it with you. It’s a buffet, not fucking h’ors d’oeuvres.”

  “Then shouldn’t leave little plate by door.”

  Did I say that the tension had been diffused? Apparently, it was just getting started.

  Savannah all but fell out of her chair, grabbing Pope’s arm for support as she snatched the plate and held it high above her head. “You’re a kleptomaniac.”

  “Okay,” Pope said, taking the plate from Savannah’s hands and placing it onto the bar in front of him. “What’s done is done. No harm no foul. We all just need to get some rest. We’ll have clearer heads tomorrow.”

  Wasting no time, Babs retrieved the plate and wrapped an arm around it like she was the guardian of congealed meat. “One problem.”

  “Jesus, what now?” Savannah groaned.

  Taking a bite out of the meatball, Babs held tightly to the toothpick and pointed what was left of it at each of one of us. “Six people,
one bed. I okay to sleep with McHandcuff, Clam Digger, and Side Piece, but you two take floor.” Giving Zep an exaggerated wink, she grinned and took another sloppy bite off the meatball which now hung on by a thread and a prayer.

  “Oh God, that’s it. I’m gonna have nightmares now,” Zep whispered into my hair.

  “Babs, I’m almost seven months pregnant.” Choosing to ignore the line of grease trailing down her chin, I stared at her while pointing to my overinflated mid-section. “I’m not sleeping on the damn floor.”

  Zep kissed the back of my head and flattened his palm over the top of my belly. “It’s no big deal, baby. We’ll just get our own room.”

  If only it could be solved so easily. If that were the case, I sure as hell wouldn’t have slept at the foot of a hotel bed like some lapdog with Babs’ crusty toenail in my face all night. “There’s a Shriner Convention in the hotel.” I rubbed my eyes, the effects of the long day washing over me. “They’re sold out, Zep.”

  “The only room left is a nine-hundred-dollar suite,” Savannah agreed, slumping into Pope’s restrictive hold.

  “Fuck,” Zep growled, not bothering to hide his disappointment. “That’s almost my part of the next month’s rent. I can’t blow that kind of money on a hotel room with the baby coming.”

  “I know, but if I have to sleep on the floor like some Little House on the Prairie reject, he may come tonight. Look, I’ll put in the money for half of the room.”

  He was right. We didn’t have the money for that kind of extravagance, but fuck if I’d spend the night saying goodnight to John Boy and his eighteen fucking siblings.

  Pope shook his head. “Wait, we’re not sharing a room with him!”

  Patrick apparently grew a set of balls with Pope halfway across the alcove. “You got a problem?”

  “If you think I’m letting you anywhere near Savannah while you’re still legally married to her, you’re fucking crazy.”

  “Dude, what kind of guy do you think I am? I don’t attack women.” Glaring at Pope, Patrick lifted his middle finger and flipped him off.