by Addison Cain
Charlie’s demand was deliberate and harsh. “Give me what I want.”
“Matthew,” Alice called. “Nathaniel’s bleedin’!”
Shoving past the bounty hunter, Matthew rushed back inside, Charlie following to assure no stray bullets had hit the chained convict.
Shackled, Ronnie Pearson lay in a pile right where he’d been shoved down. Poking at him with a scuffed boot, the prisoner uncurled, and Charlie leaned down to haul him back into a chair.
Chained hands darted out, a piece of broken window glass carving right through the bounty hunter’s clothing.
Warmth soaked through a grimy undershirt in seconds, a great sting tightening Charlie’s breath. “Ronnie... you just broke rule number three.”
Ignoring Matthew, the waitress, and the bleeding Nathaniel, Charlie went straight to the wood burning stove to shove in the poker. Pulling a hunting knife from the holster at his waist, Charlie yanked Ronnie’s hands as far as the chains would allow. Like chopping off the head of a chicken, a finger was hacked away, and the madman’s cackles twisted into screams.
When it was done, the red-hot poker seared the wound, the sickening smell of burning flesh wafting about just like it would when Ronnie cooked on the electric chair. Standing over helpless prey, Charlie swiped up the severed digit, tossing it out the broken window with a very real threat. “Cross me again, and the next thing I cut off won’t be a finger.”
The intruders were dead and the prisoner dealt with, which just left the last issue. Charlie locked eyes on Matthew, the man watching with a look that said he might just raise his pistol after all.
Even if he had, it wouldn’t have mattered none. Matthew had no bullets left—Charlie had counted.
The bounty hunter hummed. “He’s losing a lot of blood.”
Nathaniel, his exposed shoulder leaking something awful, grunted. “And what do you know about it?”
“From the looks of it, a lot more than either of you.” Charlie’s attention went to Alice. “Pull a few tables together. Matthew, help me move him when she’s finished.” Feeling pretty fucking magnanimous, Charlie sneered. “You want that bullet out? I can get the job done and stitch you up clean.”
Following orders, Matthew managed Nathaniel’s weight until the wounded man was lying on a table in the light. Tools were called for, Alice scurrying around to gather what was needed.
Under the scruff, seeing Nathaniel without his filthy shirt, the resemblance between the two men was uncanny. “He your brother?”
A grunt and Matthew gave Charlie a look that warned he’d kill him if the stranger took so much as one misstep.
The handle of a wooden spoon tucked between Nathaniel’s teeth, Matthew braced the larger man. Alice held up a lamp, the light shaking until Charlie barked at the woman to hold the damn thing still. All and all, it wasn’t so bad. Once the shoulder was at the right angle, getting the bullet would be an easy in and out.
Sitting a hip on the table, Charlie took Nathaniel’s arm and wrapped the limb around a narrow midsection. The stranger’s gaze grew soft, Charlie whispering, “Look at me, Nathaniel.” The man obeyed. “You’re dipping your toes in cool water. The air smells of autumn and warm things. Breathe in and out real slow, real deep.” Charlie nodded when the man began to relax. “That’s right. Keep looking at me and try not to break any of my ribs.” The last words were matched with a disarming smile.
The second Nathaniel was about to chuckle, moonshine splashed the wound. Instead, he screamed, biting down on the wooden spoon. Quickly pulling off one glove, Charlie coated a slender fist in shine and reached right into the bleeding hole. Despite the jerking body, the stranger pinched the bullet, pulling it free, quick as lightning, tossing the bloody thing to clatter across the floor. Not bothering to wipe away bloody fingers, Charlie pulled that leather glove back on right quick.
More moonshine was spilled to disinfect the injury, a roaring Nathaniel clinging to the stranger’s hip, gripping so hard marks would be left behind.
Pressing a clean dishcloth to the hole to slow fresh bleeding, Charlie asked, “Can I sew you up without your brother holding you down?”
It took a few moments before Nathaniel swallowed and nodded.
“Keep breathing like I told you.”
A jabbing needle and tugging thread closed gaping skin. Once the final knot was tied and soft gauze covered tidy stitches, gloved fingers came to the man’s jaw and took the wooden spoon.
“Well done, soldier.” Carefully unwrapping Nathaniel’s arm from an aching middle, Charlie laid it across the man’s ribs. “You’ll need to keep it in a sling for a few weeks.”
“You’re bleedin’,” Nathaniel managed, glancing to the blooming red stained on his impromptu medic’s coat.
Charlie’s warped voice replaced the softer tones no longer necessary. “Ain’t nothing, just a scratch.”
Work done, Charlie walked away and left the others to sort themselves out. In a measure of kindness and a silent act of gratitude, a shaken Alice moved towards the kitchen, found some wholesome food and brought it to the stranger. In place of the canned soup trash from before, a plate of cold ham and biscuits was given. Gift on the table, Matthew led her upstairs without another word.
Once they were alone, Nathaniel chuckled. “I know what’cha are.”
“I’m the person who shot five of the men sent after you and yours. I’m also the person who just dug a bullet out of you, instead of letting your unpleasant brother muck it up. That’s all I am,” Charlie warned, dead serious.
Nathaniel gave a weak, shit-eating grin. “That’s more than a scratch. Tend to it quick before he gets back.”
The man had a good point. Moving towards the unused first aid supplies, Charlie pulled up layers of clothing, a smooth stomach smeared red from a slice in need of stitching exposed to eyes that saw entirely too much.
Supine, Nathaniel took in the tapered waist he’d felt under the layers, resting his gaze on the stranger’s exposed, star-shaped scar. “Who shot you?”
Ignoring him, Charlie stripped off the gloves and those same slender fingers reached for the jar. After taking a deep swallow, liquor was splashed on the bleeding cut. Panting hard through the burn, it took three tries before Charlie got the needle threaded. With steady hands, the needle was jabbed right on in.
“Watch your breathing,” Nathaniel parroted, grimacing at the woman in pain.
Blue eyes darted to his as she smirked. Wicked, whispering sweetly, Charlie agreed, “Words of wisdom, Nathaniel Emerson.”
Ten more stitches, another painful splash of moonshine, and Charlie pulled her shirt down, covering her stomach just as Matthew’s boots sounded on the steps.
Bloodshot eyes above a ticking grin watched her hide all trace of femininity under layers of homespun cloth. “I’ll keep your secret.”
“Good. After fixing you, I don’t really want to kill you and put all my hard work to waste.” Her mocking was playful, and on a whim, Charlie ruffled Nathaniel’s unkempt hair. “I’m not in the mood to kill anyone else tonight.”
By the time Matthew was in sight, Charlie sat eating the food Alice had prepared, watching over her gagged prisoner as if nothing had happened in the time he’d been gone.
Striking a match to ignite the tip of a fresh cigar, Matthew spoke around the tobacco. “At dawn, Eli will take you where you need to go.”
Charlie tapped down the brim of her hat. “Much obliged.”
Theirs was not a friendly exchange. Matthew was only going to ask once, and it was clear if he didn’t get the answer he was looking for, all bets were off. “The men outside?”
“Last I heard, the two I recognized worked for Harrison McCray. I take it you know who he is?”
Matthew nodded.
Gangland was simple, elegantly nasty, so Charlie offered a bit of advice. “If you’ve met him, I assume you got the impression that he rubs people the wrong way.” After pausing to take a bite, she went on, “There’s a reason he moved h
is game to your shithole foothills. The man has far more powerful enemies than you. Killing him might just be in your best interest—so long as the right folks knew you did it. It could be good for business.”
“He came after my kin,” Matthew growled, shifting back towards his brother. “He’s good as dead.”
Maybe they had something in common after all.
Family mattered to Charlie. Family was the reason she had a prisoner in chains. And family was the reason Matthew chose Eli to drive her to New York. Charlie could see clear as day that he wasn’t going to let the chirpy youngster get involved in something that, win or lose, would be incredibly bloody.
Speaking the understanding aloud, Charlie warned, “I ain’t babysitting your fool cousin. That leaves you about six or so days before the boy will be back.”
Chapter 1
Six months later
“Come on…”
Those two impatient words had been coming out of his cousin’s mouth all damn day. Whereas earlier in the afternoon the complaint had been muttered under Eli’s breath, building excitement and the setting sun had churned eagerness into aggravating enthusiasm.
Already out of the truck, Eli stood with the last crates of shine stacked in his arms, eager eyes darting towards the Willards’ barn where the party inside was going full swing.
Matthew leveled a warning glare on the boy, saying wordlessly he’d better cool it. After all, there was still work to do before play.
They’d spent a long day driving around Monroe County, talking briefly with their neighbors and selling jars of Emerson moonshine on the cheap.
When they had a notorious buyer with deep pockets and a showy reputation just waiting in Chicago, impulsive Eli couldn’t fathom why Matthew insisted they putter around the country wasting time for pennies on the dollar. Nathaniel was the easy one—Matthew’s older brother just did as he was told, so long as he could take his cut to spend as he liked. But their younger cousin missed the bigger picture.
Solidarity was necessary.
Whether or not locals supported bootlegging, Monroe knew the money brought in from brewing shine kept their forgotten community afloat while the rest of the state was falling apart.
On occasion, the business brought trouble. Now and then Feds sniffed around... only to find no one talked. Then there were thugs, drifters, fools underestimating the business, seeking out a country rube to rob, or a racket to move in on. Men like that, the Emersons took care of personally.
Trouble didn’t last long in Monroe.
A decade of good business with one’s neighbors could get a man far. A willingness to get your hands bloody could get you further. That’s what Emerson success boiled down to. Matthew had pulled a profit for years—selling as far as Charleston, in fact. But cutting off Harrison McCray’s face and hand delivering it to his most powerful adversary... that was the kind of currency that had opened up new doors to new devils—forging a standing contract with the greatest beast of all: Chicago.
In six months, the business went from hundreds of gallons a month to thousands. Money was pouring in hand over fist, and Matthew was making more in a month than most made in a year of hard labor in the coal mines. He justified the risk, the danger, as a short-lived opportunity. He could see what was coming. There was just too much good money in alcohol. The American people were wising up, seeing the benefit in legalizing, in redirecting cash away from slimy gangsters and corrupt politicians.
Prohibition was nearing its end, but Matthew hadn’t fought through nine bloody years of bootlegging to lose his standing, his profit, or his future by getting squeamish. Unlike his older brother and baby cousin—who were both just along for the ride—he was going to make something greater that would last. Something he could lean on. Something stamped with the Emerson name.
Through years of living lean, almost every penny made was reinvested into bigger stills. Matthew found the means to buy up land—preparing for the next venture when illicit business would be replaced with a legitimate distillery. Matthew’s intended legacy: Emerson’s Finest Whiskey.
Lighting a cigar, Matthew saw nothing but another venue for profit in the Willards’ party. He wasn’t one for dancing, for socializing, or small talk. He was one for doing a job. Scoping the best spot to set up shop, he ignored the apprehensive glances of local lawmen and the friendly nods of fellow bootleggers.
A dusky corner was chosen, orders barked for Eli and Nathaniel to tend the line already forming. Brim low, Matthew observed transactions, trading few words with the menfolk out of custom.
“Well, look at that,” Deputy Dooley whistled after a long sip of shine. “Ain’t she just bright and shiny?”
Glancing where the lawman was grinning, Matthew found the golden hair of a woman standing just inside the barn door. Mincing steps brought her nearer, a shy smile below eyes that took in everything as if it were something more than a dusty barn full of overwarm people and too much noise.
There was something different about her beyond the fact she was an obvious outsider. Then it hit him. It was just as Dooley said—she was too bright. Her dress, the cotton wasn’t faded like the clothes of the local women. Her hair, finger waved like a magazine, was too shiny.
Matthew lost her in the crowd, his eyes darting about for a flash of pink skirt. The next song struck up, lines formed, and the masses parted enough for a glimpse. There she was, sitting alone on a bale of hay, a self-conscious quirk to her lips at the approach of Eli’s sweetheart, Ruth Cormac.
The petite daughter of the local sheriff plopped down beside the strange woman and made her acquaintance, all smiles, no hesitation. Ruth said something, something hilarious it would seem, since the outsider burst out laughing. And then just like that, bright eyes darted up to find Matthew staring right at her from across the barn.
He inhaled, the glowing red tip of his cigar illuminating a deeply scowling brow. Whoever she was, the golden girl unflinchingly met that gaze and waited, almost expectantly, eyebrow hitched in open challenge.
Staring contest or no, Matthew watched a blush creep up her cheeks, those blue eyes darting back to Ruth once he exhaled a cloud of smoke. She was going to glance back, he could feel it, but Deputy Dooley swaggered over, grinning stupidly as he asked the stranger for a dance.
Even from a distance, Matthew could read her rouged mouth say, “I don’t know how.”
The deputy must have said something right, because the beautiful woman shrugged and offered her hand.
She hadn’t been lying—she was awful. But bolstered by an encouraging partner, she laughed her way through a lesson in country dances under the hands of the smiling deputy.
Tripping over her feet, instead of looking up at Dooley, the pretty blonde’s attention landed on him instead.
Again, Matthew held her gaze, eyes narrowed and feeling oddly provoked.
He would’ve kept staring but the image of Eli slipping off crossed his line of sight. Annoyed at the boy’s need to constantly chase after that Ruth girl, Matthew turned towards Nathaniel and kept a close watch on the business instead.
Jars and money changed hands, yet steely eyes kept darting over the crowd, involuntarily drawn to that unfamiliar blonde.
The night crept on, and the woman never looked back.
Near the end of the evening, product all sold, Nathaniel gave a stifled cough. Glancing at his brother, Matthew found a strange look on the man’s face. When Matthew followed Nathaniel’s stare, there was the golden girl again… smirking almost wickedly as she nodded once at his older brother. In response, his kin grinned like a fool and rubbed his shoulder.
The woman laughed, or she was laughing, until Walter Keck stumbled right into her. Bracing himself by gripping her arms, the town drunk asked for a dance. She clearly refused him, and by the way Walter stormed out, her rebuff had been cutting.
Good.
Choosing to ignore the distracting blonde, all seemed fine and dandy, yet ten minutes later Matthew caught himself once aga
in scanning the crowd, finding nothing but the ordinary dull palette he was so accustomed to in Monroe.
The golden girl was gone; in her place Walter Keck ambled back inside, the man falling face first onto the dirt floor, his eye swelling shut something awful.
Chapter 2
Matthew was only just making his way downstairs, still buttoning up his vest. Looking up when the screen door whined, he found a slender arm pushing it wide, and the woman—the very woman who had so confounded him just the night before—stepping into the grill. Even with the bright sun behind her, he made out the smart dress outlining her hips, the wash of color matching her eyes.
Watching her glance around the room, the outsider’s expression said she was taking in the chairs and tables as if they were familiar, as if she were pleased with all she saw, drew his brows tight. The screen door snapped shut.
Matthew cleared his throat, watching the golden girl walk straight towards him, all polished city elegance. Before she could part her rouge painted lips, Nathaniel came bumbling in from the back, mouth full of pilfered bread.
His brother froze, stopping short at the sight of her.
Matthew reached for his hat, a show of good manners towards the female. Nathaniel followed suit, rubbing crumbs off his shirt before snatching his cap from his head and pressing it to his heart.
Hesitant, she closed the distance between them. “Good morning, gentlemen. I was hoping I might have a private word with you both.”
She received approval in the form of a grunt.
Looking first to his brother, those big blue eyes sparkling at Nathaniel, the female offered a smile coupled with a nod of recognition before settling back on Matthew Emerson’s scowl.
After quickly chewing her bottom lip, she opened her mouth and got to the point. “I want to apologize, Mr. Emerson. The way you were glaring at me last night—it’s my fault really. I should’ve come here first but…” her voice trailed off, “I couldn’t help but enjoy Monroe for a spell before we conducted our business.”