by Porter, Cat
“Don’t tell me that this was some random robbery gone crazy.” My breath caught in my chest and burned there. “I tried to keep them safe, Ryan. I sent them away. She insisted on going with him, and I agreed when I didn’t want to. Now it was over. Over for her. It should have been over. Don’t tell me this was just some fucking random holdup gone south. Don’t!”
“I recognized the shooter,” Ryan gritted out.
My fingers curled into Ryan’s shirt. “Who? Who is he?”
“He’s one of Shepherd’s men.”
That burn in my chest spread to my limbs like liquid fire.
“Shepherd’s been wanting a piece of Leo’s action for a while now,” Willy said. “He wanted him gone. He’s been blackmailing us for him.”
“Why didn’t you come to me?” Ryan’s gaze darted to Willy and me.
“Come to you? Come to you? Are you fucking kidding me?” I spat out. “All of the Black Hills are The Shepherd’s pasture. Why is that, I wonder? Why? He on your payroll? Oh no, no, no—you’re all on his payroll.”
“Shut up,” Ryan growled at me, pulling me to the side of his car. “Shepherd turns tricks here and there for the Rapid PD, informs on the little guys and the bigger ones trying to cut in, and it’s been seeping into Meager for years. That way local law feels like they’re keeping their courtyard in control, but it’s all bullshit because, at the end of the day, Shepherd’s got everyone where he wants them.”
“What are you saying, Ryan? That there’s no way to stop him?”
“Only one way. At the root.”
Sorrow twisted his face. Sorrow and grief, and anger. So much anger. “You do whatever it takes to get that motherfucker. Do it your way. Make him pay, and I will look the other way. I’ve been in too many of these situations where the law drags its feet, makes excuses, but not now. Not now.”
“You serious, or is this being recorded?”
“What?”
“This is your big chance to be the hero cop, Ryan Dillon. Lead the charge and get the One-Eyed Jacks out of Meager, score major points with the Feds. Blame the brutal slaying of your cousins on us, the no good—”
“No, that’s not it. Not at all.” His eyes blazed in the sun. “My family has been ripped apart, Wreck. I’m lucky—I still got my sister, my parents. But my dad’s only brother and his wife and three kids—all gone in a fucking puff of smoke. It’s wrong. I hate it. How could I not have been able to keep my own family safe? This is small town America we’re living in, not New York City, not Detroit or L.A.—”
“That doesn’t fucking matter! You don’t know that by now?”
His eyes widened. “It’s shocking when it happens to you.” His voice was scraped with emotion. “You think you’re exempt from the bad luck lottery, but none of us are. Isi was a good girl. Even when we were kids, she was always doing for others, always doing her best and putting herself last with that goddamn smile on her face. She married that fuckwad and that set her back, but she got out from under him. You helped put that smile back on her face again, and in a new way I hadn’t ever seen before.”
“I love her!” my voice seethed, my legs staggered.
“That’s why I brought you here, Wreck.” His head slanted, his hand cuffing my neck. “I wanted you to see. I wanted you angry, enraged same as me. I don’t know yet if this was connected to Shepherd—if he ordered a hit on them or this fucker was whacked out today and got pissed and whipped out his gun ‘cause they sold out of Kit Kats. I don’t know. But you know what? I don’t give a fuck.” He pressed his forehead against mine. “Do what I want to do, but can’t.” Our burning eyes met. “Bring him to his knees, Wreck. That’s the only way. God forgive me, but that’s the only way.” He let go of me, turned away, wiping at his eyes, sniffing in air.
“Shepherd and Claw’s MC have been hanging out for a while now,” Willy said. “They could’ve done this together…”
Ryan scanned the police swarming the Shop Kwik, firetrucks, ambulances, his hands settling on his hips. “I want to believe it was one of them who did this. Or both of ‘em. I do. Because if this was some random holdup, I can’t…” His voice broke, his head fell forward, his hands gripping his thighs. Steadying himself, he struggled for air. “It’s impossible to put any logic or sense to this kind of senseless. This is the shit that haunts you.”
“This will always haunt me,” I muttered, my head sinking in my hands. “Always.”
A reporter appeared in front of us, and Ryan stood up straight, adjusting his belt, sniffing in air. “Officer, can you tell us what it looks like inside?”
Ryan’s heavy gaze lifted to the reporter. “Looks like hell itself.”
Chapter Fifty-One
Somehow I rode home, the devil’s fire in my tank and in my veins.
I ripped through Clay Street. The old brass sign loomed ahead of me and my insides hardened. “Dillon’s General Store.” A yell tore from me as I flew past the store, hit the curve of the end of Clay Street hard—Isi’s curve, Isi’s goddamn curve—but there was no laughter that filled my ear, no whoop of joy, no press of her warmth against my body, no fingers gripping my flesh.
Not anymore.
I climbed the hill, which led to my house.
Our house.
The house I had prepared to fill with our dreams, dreams that we were making happen. But now there was no life. Just empty. Empty. For fucking ever.
Willy pulled up behind me on my driveway.
“Go,” I gritted.
“Brother, I—”
“I can’t!”
He took off, the drone of his bike receded. My hand slid against my front door. I open this door, and everything will be different. Everything.
I unlocked the goddamn door and my eyes lifted, snagging on the wind chimes she’d hung there by the front door when I’d first gotten the cabin. There was no breeze for them to dance in and offer their music. Their copper shapes hung still and quiet. Pushing at the door, I entered. Still. Quiet. So quiet in here, so quiet. The edges of her purple tapestry that hung on the wall shifted like they always did as I slammed the door closed behind me.
I had been alone most of my life, and now here I was again, alone in a quiet, stifling place to live. To exist.
The carved wooden jewelry box that I’d found for her on a run in Missouri lay on the old chest of drawers by the door. I flipped the top open, and there was the necklace I’d given her. The skull charm. The Jack with a sparkling gleam in his one eye. Was he really a Joker? Was it all a wild game of chance? Place your bets. Winner wins big, loser loses all, and the Reaper has the last laugh. Joke’s on you. Too fucking bad.
I fingered the silver skull. She’d left it here.
“When I come back. When all this is over, and we don’t have to worry, and we’re together again, then I’ll wear it and never take it off. Never.” And she’d hugged me. I could still feel her body pushing against mine as she’d jumped up into my arms and kissed me. Always jumping up into my arms. Always enthusiastic and showing that to me, making sure I knew how grateful she was, how happy.
“Soon, right?” she’d asked me one night in a motel when neither of us could sleep, her voice fragile.
“Yeah. Soon, baby.”
But soon hadn’t come soon enough. Weeks had stretched out into months … and oh, Isi and I were both patient people, but not this. Not this. All the promises and kisses and keepsakes couldn’t keep hell away. Even a good, strong love was not immune.
On a howl, I pitched the necklace and the jewelry box at the antique mirror she’d brought over from the back room of the store.
Crack. Crack. Thud.
The mirror’s old glass shattered under my assault. My reflection stared back at me here and there and over and over in the fractured mirror. There was that person who didn’t deserve her love, her trust.
Who didn’t deserve to be alive.
Why? Why was I standing here, here, alive? I could still see myself, goddammit. My sorry ass self. I
didn’t want to see myself.
My fist pounded the mirror, and the slivers and chunks flew. The heavy wood frame jerked and danced and banged against the wall. It teetered. We’re all hanging by one nail. Just hanging. At the mercy of the elements, of stupidity. Of evil.
Of our own shortcomings.
My fist throbbed as I flexed my hand. My fingers were covered in blood, my blood. Good. I needed to bleed, I wanted to bleed. I deserved it.
If I’d gone along with everyone’s initial idea to get rid of Shepherd and Claw, but no—no, I’d hit the pause button on that. Let’s not spill blood, let’s not create more chaos. Hang on, hang on. Hold on.
So wrong.
Trying to be cautious was wrong.
Riding my bike I’d played chicken over and over on the highway and come out a winner each time. Not this time. Because this time I’d waited, I gave in to doubts. I’d made her and Leo vulnerable.
“Do it, Tallin! That’s an order!” Sarge had screamed at me, the whites of his bulging eyes brilliant. “Do it, goddamn you!”
I scooped up the skull necklace from the floor and brushed at my wet face with the side of my arm. It had taken both of us so damn long to say I love you. To say the actual words. Both of us stubborn, both of us clinging to old fears and habits born of those fears. I’d known nothingness, she’d known cruelty, both of us lonely, but together we’d ripped free from all that shit. We’d created our own freedom and thrived in it.
I’d loved her thundering on the plains of her desire. I loved her reaching for her stars, listening to her voice roar in those shit nightclubs, loud bars, and gigantic open stages in the middle of a crowded nowhere in the thick, dark night. Her wild satisfaction had loosened something inside me. Happiness.
Images of her body, that artificial slumber. Blood on her shirt. Her blood on that shithole shop floor, the sirens screaming at me. Had it been quick? Had she realized? Had she felt that cold, sharp fear of the unknown? Had she felt her heart struggle?
I didn’t know.
I wanted to know.
I didn’t want to know.
Opening my drawer, I found the small metal box and brought it to the floor with me. Unclasping it, I pushed the top open. My dog tags. The Zippo. I flicked it on. Still worked after all these years. Still filled with lighter fluid. I’d never emptied it. I popped the lid and flicked it on, and a thick flame burst up, and in it, I saw her. The old lady crying, pleading with us. I heard my Sergeant give the order. I saw us light their houses on fire. It was only supposed to be their houses. We’d rounded them up beforehand, hadn’t we? But we’d missed the old lady’s small shed which was a ways back from her house, out by her rice field. Her daughter and baby granddaughter, who’d been sick, were in that shed. I’d given them meds a few days before and gotten in trouble for it. I hadn’t been able to check on them again.
I couldn’t look at the villagers who were huddled together before us. Shame and disgust had filled me. But on a quick glance, I noticed the old lady’s grandson whimpering at her side. And that’s when I realized, the girl and her baby were missing. I shook from panic, my gaze searching the small crowd. They weren’t there. I jolted forward, and my Sergeant yelled at me. “Get back, Tallin! That’s an order, goddamn you!” He had fire in his eyes. That’s when he tossed his own lighter at the first house like a satisfying pitch at a baseball game, and the rest of the company used their lighters. One by one and all at once, the huts went off. The shed. One by one they smoked and roared with flames. And there was no more village. Only tears and wails. Only ashes and smoke, smoke, choking smoke.
The point had been to only destroy their property. But we’d killed, killed to make a point, to make a show of strength for all who followed.
And they’d followed.
The enemy found us. And chased us down with mortar rounds and rapid gunfire in the darkness, in the rain. Six of our men, including the motherfucking Sergeant.
Six.
We’d radioed for help. The choppers came in, but their landing point was far off. We only had two palettes. Two. And six dead bodies. “We only got two!” Brian’s voice screamed in the pouring rain. “What are we gonna do? What are we gonna do?”
The thick rain and gusting wind blinded us. Fucking monsoon was coming.
Six dead bodies, two stretchers at our feet. The chopper landing zone yards and yards away. Could have been a thousand miles away.
“We only got two stretchers! We only got two! What are gonna do? How the fuck are we gonna—”
“We just gotta do it!” I shouted through the curtain of heavy wind and rain. Grunting, I grabbed onto the corpse of the Sergeant. Sergeant no more. Man. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust, the preachers say. More like muck to mud.
“We just gotta do it!” I shouted, and everyone in the company nodded.
One after the other, we dragged a brother through the thick mud, pushing through the pelting rain. Loading him on the chopper. And back for the next.
Atrocious, horrible. Degrading.
Back for the next.
Mortars exploding. My shoulders burning, muscles screaming.
“Let’s go!” I shouted. “We just gotta do it!” Bullets ricocheted off the metal of the helicopter. The chopper blades fighting the wet wind. Whomp, whomp.
Back for the next. Bullets from out of nowhere. Ducking, waiting, dragging. Always bullets from out of nowhere. There would always be bullets out of nowhere.
Always.
I put Isi’s necklace over my head, the cold heavy metal of the skull falling against my flesh. Looked like the skull that was inked on my back.
I repeated Scout’s words, whispering to myself, “Even in the darkest of times, in despair and death, there’s always a gleam of brotherhood to light your way. It’s a promise, and it’s also a warning to never fuck with that.”
A promise.
That familiar hateful nausea didn’t creep up my gullet now, that spin in my head didn’t gain speed. Only a cooling numbness settled over me. I flicked the Zippo on. I flicked it off.
A warning. A promise.
Chapter Fifty-Two
“The cops came and shut down The Tingle last night,” said Kicker. “Anonymous tip reported drug deals going down and prostitution. I can’t hack this no more. The place is bleeding. I can’t tell my brother. He’s still not fully recovered from his heart problems. Never will be at this rate.”
All the boys had come over to my house, barged their way in, refusing to leave me alone. They’d brought me food, but I wouldn’t eat. All I had in the house was a whiskey bottle, and that was empty now. I sat on my sofa, legs outstretched, Isi’s lipstick knife in my hand, staring into nothing at all. Listening, barely listening.
Willy let out a long sigh. “More news on the police front—their official investigation concluded that the Shop Kwik was a random burglary that went berserk. Investigation is closed.”
At my side, Boner remained still, his jaw tight but his thumb and fingers twirled his shot glass around. Next to him, Jake fidgeted in his chair. He chewed gum fiercely, his laser eyes beaming into mine. “Tell me that’s enough for you.”
“Means shit to me,” I replied, turning the small lipstick case over and over in my hand.
“Fucking bullfuckingshit is right.” Jake’s seething tone matched my own black cauldron simmering deep inside my soul. “I know why Shepherd was after Leo.”
“Why?” asked Willy.
“Leo had developed a new product,” Jake said. “Something he’d come up with on his own. And it’s fucking good. Real good. Motherfucking special good.”
“New product?” asked Mick. “What is it? You tried it?”
“Yep, and it’s everything he said it would be. A new kind of meth. No one else has got it. Why? Because it’s Leo’s own formula, his recipe. Shit started hitting the fan when he’d sold a small batch quickly, and word got back to Shepherd, maybe a sample of it too.”
“We probably have Cheezer to thank for that,”
I said.
“Shepherd freaked. Wanted it for himself, and was after Leo for his source.”
“It never occurred to him that Leo himself was the source?” I said.
“Not at first,” said Jake.
“I wonder if Claw found out about it too. Wanted in on that as well as his cut of their robbery money. That’s where the big money is now, man,” said Judge.
“On my last trip to Colorado, Leo told me everything,” said Jake. “He said he didn’t have any faith in his future, that he knew he’d always be a target and wasn’t planning on going back to Meager”—his eyes darted to me—“to leave Isi in peace. For insurance, he gave me this—” Jake removed an envelope from his inside jacket pocket. “It’s his formula. He’d been working on it for a while and perfected it. He wrote it all down in detail and went over it with me. Thank God I liked chemistry in school.” He put the envelope back in his jacket pocket.
“Holy fuck,” said Willy.
“All these assholes and grandmas cooking in their trailers parked in the middle of cornfields are eyeballing shit,” said Jake. “Inconsistent, and mostly crap. You think they know what they got? How much to use? That doesn’t make for many repeat customers. But for Leo, it was refined science. He figured out a way to streamline the process with easily found ingredients from the goddamn drugstore.”
“No shit,” said Mick.
“Cold medicine,” I said.
“Yeah, and diet pills too. They had cartons full of them at the warehouse, and he knew it. He didn’t want to buy in bulk and get noticed.”
“Only problem was his daddy was there torching the place down that night,” Boner said.
“Jesus,” said Willy.
“He gave this recipe to you?” said Mick.
“Yeah. Said he wouldn’t be back any time soon ‘cause of Shepherd and Claw. That it’d be wrong to ruin Isi’s life. He wanted us to have it and his weed farm. Wanted it put to good use, not just lay there for nothing.”
“He trusted you,” I said.