Absolute Valor (Southern Justice #3)

by Cayce Poponea

  Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I ran my hands over my tired face. My dream reminded me I needed to drop the guys an email, see what they had been up to. Havoc had spent three weeks in the hospital recovering from his bullet wound. The second Doc had given him the thumbs up, he’d jumped right back into things.

  “Life is too short to live with regret. Make every day count, even if it means you take a bullet for a friend.”

  I called Harmony’s phone last night and as with every other time in the last few days, it went to voicemail. I wished, not for the first time, she had let me pay for her phone, I would have let Austin track it down so I could know she was okay. Kakos was right, life is too short and regret makes you ashamed of who you’ve become.

  Last night as I helped myself to a second plate of food, surrounded by my brothers and their girls, I took a long look around me. And while I’m pissed as fuck at Austin for the way he is treating Harmony, I’m also fucking envious of him and the amount of courage he has to stand up to me. Jealous of how Lainie has huge stars in her eyes for the man he is, and not the man she wants him to become.

  As with every time we get together there are jabs taken at each other, friendly fire we’ve shared since the beginning. But it was Audrey’s words as she cleaned the used plates from the table, which left the room in silence.

  “Sometimes we do things we think are right, because it is all we know to do. Doing the wrong thing for the right reasons doesn’t make it bad. It makes it an act of valor.” Was that what I was doing? Taking the side of the girl who holds my heart against the side of the men who have helped to make me the man I am today.

  Success is the result of perfection, hard work, learning from failure, loyalty, and persistence.

  —Colin Powell

  “You stupid fucking bitch!” I’d heard this a million times and accepted it as the truth. “This is only five hundred! Where the fuck is the rest?”

  I never got to answer his question—tell him I’d lost track of time cooking dinner with my new friends and didn’t get to the bank in time. Not that he would have believed me, or cared. Having many friends around had never paid off for me. I guess I could have taken it out of petty cash, but that money wasn’t mine to take. He wouldn’t have cared, not when it didn’t involve him or getting what he wanted.

  Lucas had never hit me, never done much more than call me names and poke fun of me. He claimed I was too chubby and my hair always looked greasy. Yet, he managed to overlook my shortcomings when Amy was locked up and he needed to get off. So it surprised me more than anything, when he blindsided me with a backhanded slap.

  Most times he would take what he wanted and leave me alone for a week or so, only coming back when he needed money or his dick attended to. I also never expected Chase to come out of the building, pull Lucas from the cab of the truck and hit him with such force, causing blood to coat the side of his Chevy. Lucas loved that truck and would be more pissed about the broken back window, something else he would make me pay for. How I was gonna come up with the money was beyond me, my bank account is as empty as a winter rain barrel

  I should have gotten up off that driveway by myself, took off running down the road. Instead, like a bitch in heat, I stared at the chest of that man and the dark ink of his tattoo, which started in the center of his chest, and went all the way over to his left shoulder, ending part way down his arm. A marine insignia was over his heart. Most folks I knew would say the heart is reserved for special pieces.

  Lucas had a rebel flag on his arm, done at a shop downtown. It wasn’t but a few inches big, yet he’d balled like a baby as the man put it on him. Now that I think about it, the tattoo wasn’t finished, the man got sick of hearing Lucas crying and made him leave the shop until he got his act together. I bet Chase never shed a tear as he sat in the chair. Those muscles of his were made from hard and decent work, not the sweat of someone else’s labor. From the talk I hear, he knows how to treat a lady, at least according to the one who is pretending to be one. My granny would spring up out of her grave and whoop me good if she knew the kind of words I saved for Harmony. It’s no wonder her and Lucas get along so well.

  When I’d first met Lucas, I was buying a lemonade at the county fair. As I turned around, he was there and I knocked into him, spilling the drink down my dress. He said he felt bad for not watching where he was going and asked to take me for coffee. I fell for his blue jeans, ball cap, and lifted truck.

  At first he was wonderful, stopping by my school and bringing me flowers. He dressed nice and took me to dinner and, sometimes, a movie. He’d called me sugar and held my hand—all the things a young man does to impress a girl he is interested in. As time progressed, I received some news I wanted to share with him. Only when I found him at his house, he was in bed with a girl who I learned was his wife, Amy.

  But even on his best day and wearing the nicest pair of jeans he owned, he had nothing on Chase Morgan. I tried to look away, pull myself from those blue eyes, the same shade as his daddy and brothers, but I couldn’t do it. There was no stopping my heart as it fluttered in my chest, or how my mouth went dry while my lady bits flooded. My body acted as if it wasn’t even mine when he pressed his clean shirt under my bloody nose. A sliver of his hand pressed against my skin as his eyes searched mine. I wanted to believe he felt the electricity too, but it was unreal of me to think a man of his caliber would want anything to do with a piece of plain white trash like me.

  Miss Priscilla had become my real life guardian angel. She made sure I had food to eat and a bright smile with a kind word every day. At least once a week, I would find a twenty-dollar bill shoved in the pocket of my sweater, knowing full well it hadn’t been there the day before. I’d kept every one of them buried in a box of tampons I kept in a drawer of my desk.

  Tonight, she saved me from making a fool of myself. Scooping me up, and taking me away before I lost the battle with my tears. She handed me a tissue and a glass of what I assumed was iced tea. When I coughed as the liquid scalded my throat, she patted my back and apologized for not warning me.

  “When my daddy was still alive, he and I had a standing date. Once a month, we would get dressed up and walk around downtown. At first, it was to spend time with me, as his schedule was often too busy to have dinner together every night. But as I grew older, he did it to teach me what to expect from a gentlemen.”

  What I wouldn’t give to have grown up in a home with the kind of love this woman has. My parents worked every day just to scrape by and have the little they did. Not a spare nickel ever floated across our dinner table. While we never missed a meal, we didn’t have anything special either. No vacations or trips to the beach for the weekend. No Christmas celebrations so large they were talked about for years to come. What they did have, and they had it in abundance, was respect for one another.

  My parents met when my momma was sixteen, working her first job at a local diner. My daddy was spending the summer helping my grandpa with his roofing company. He walked into the diner and it was love at first sight, or so they told me. Grandma Nettie said it was because my momma couldn’t keep her legs shut and got pregnant with me. When their parents found out, they made them get married.

  Momma’s summer job at the diner turned into one of the three she had until the day she died. Daddy kept working for Grandpa, earning extra money at the feed store during the winter months. While I knew my parents never truly fell in love, I know they had deep feelings for each other. I remember my dad always held momma’s hand when we rode in the car and while I wish they were still with me, I’m glad they died together; best friends to the end.

  “It’s never okay for a man to strike a woman. It doesn’t matter if she hits him first, I’ve always taught my boys to walk away. Find someplace else to stay if they have to.”

  I wanted to argue that if a girl put herself in a position where she was hitting a man, she needed to be dealt with. Priscilla gave me a look, silently telling me she wasn’t finished y
et.

  “Don’t think I haven’t had to have some come to Jesus meetings with a young lady or two when my boys were younger. Where I don’t think it’s all right to strike a woman, I think sometimes men have to be allowed to show one another the right way of doing things. Get their attention and remind them of the proper way of doing things. Now that boy, and I don’t mean it in a youthful way,” her head shaking and her arm extended as she pointed in the direction of the driveway. “Had that fight coming to him. He needed to have his rear end heated up by his daddy years ago. Mark my words, Audrey. That man will continue to do more damage to you if you allow it.”

  Allowing Lucas to do something wasn’t my issue. He did whatever he wanted to, no concern for who he destroyed. If I had a choice, I would have moved away from him and all of his negativity, but that wasn’t possible, not yet. Until the money in my tampon box got bigger than the expiration date, I would have to deal with him. “Come here.” Priscilla pulled me into her arms, the fresh smell of her perfume having a calming effect on my fragile nerves. “You are safe here. My boys, especially Chase, will always protect you.”

  When I was a little girl, I was the grandchild my grandma wanted to forget existed. On the rare occasions my momma and I visited her home, I was never asked to play when my cousins went outside. As I grew up and went to school, I was the kid with second hand clothing, a sack lunch and no money for school supplies. I didn’t have a best friend who I spent the night with or a boyfriend to attend dances with. No one stuck up for me when the girls teased me and put gum in my hair. None of the boys sent me love notes, asking me to be their girlfriend. Hell, it was no wonder it took so little for Lucas to catch my eye

  All of this had taught me how to take care of myself and only count on the one person who wouldn’t let me down. Miss Priscilla may have a heart as big as the moon, but her boys had their hearts completely tucked into other girls, Chase included.

  “Is Mr. Austin really going to have that girl, Keena, arrested?” Growing up invisible, I learned how to divert attention away from me when I needed to get out of a tough situation. Miss Priscilla seemed to have a talent for trapping me in situations I didn’t want to be in. “I mean, she lied but that ain’t a reason to have someone arrested.” Tossing the rest of the drink she gave me into my mouth, I welcomed the burn now that I anticipated it.

  “Audrey, honey, she did more than lie. By coming here, staying in my home, using Morgan money, and planning to use much more of it—she committed fraud. And with the way this community looks at Mr. Morgan, not a single judge will ever dream of dismissing her case.”

  Lucas was no stranger to the judicial system. To him, crime was a way of life. It was how he worked and the only way to make money. When we first started seeing one another, he took me to his father’s pool hall to introduce me. I later found out it was a front for illegal activities, but by the time the truth came out, it was too late. Now, I keep my mouth shut and avoid him the best I can, which isn’t easy since he has something of mine, something I want back.

  Moments after the dust settled and everyone had come in out of the night. I watched as Dean took Priscilla’s hand, giving her face the appreciation a man truly in love will do. Austin pulled Lainie into his lap, not allowing a sliver of space between them. He nuzzled his nose into her hair, whispering words meant for her ears. I imagined he apologized and swore to make everything better between them. Her smile was a silent confirmation for me. Then as if the world was looking, he mouthed the phrase I love you to her.

  No man, including my own father, had ever said those three little words to me. Daddy assumed we knew he loved us by the roof over our heads and the little scraps of food we managed to wolf down every day.

  Dylan stood behind Claire, pulling her chair out as he, too, had something he wanted to share with only her. His eyes sparkled and shined, holding a glint that was just another signal of a man head over heels in love. Lucas had faked that glint, thinking of someone else at the time, a certain girl he had been seeing for a while behind my back.

  I held back, giving one last check to the food on the table. I felt strange creating a dinner in the center of the shop where, hours ago, Dylan and Austin tuned the engine of a motorcycle.

  Disposable dinnerware served a southern inspired meal to a family who, I assumed, ate in some of the finest restaurants in the city. Made me wonder what dinners were like as the boys were growing up? Did Priscilla have a staff to cook and clean for the family? I could only imagine the amount of chaos with three growing boys, all with individual schedules: soccer games, football practice, and sleepovers.

  None of this happened in my house. My father always took his dinner in front of the television on a tray my granny Netti picked up at a garage sale. It was rusted and had a multitude of cigarette burns on it, but he would never let my momma fix it up.

  “Can I get anybody anything? Sweet tea?” Holding the pitcher up, the question intended for the entire room. All eyes turned to me, a set of aqua blue in particular flashed in my direction.

  “Miss Audrey, you can get your behind in a chair and eat something, these boys know how to fend for themselves.” The owner of the blue eyes, muscled chest, and tattoos I’ll never be able to forget, rose from his chair. I assumed he was doing as his momma said and getting more to eat or drink. But his plate remained on the table and a paper napkin was swiped across his chiseled chin before being tossed back to the tabletop. In three strides, with his long legs, he’s behind the only open chair left at the table. With his hands on the back of the chair, he picks it up, turns it to the side and then slaps the back, all while looking at me.

  “Miss Audrey, I would advise against any arguing with my momma, she’s been known to bring tears to grown men when they’ve failed to listen to her.” Not wanting to appear rude or ungrateful, I nodded my head and accepted the offered chair. Anticipating he will return to his seat once I’ve sat down, I reached under to grasp the chair and scoot myself in. However, Chase remained behind me, lifting the chair as I tried to move forward. I can count on one hand how many times a man has helped me with my chair. It leaves me with a feeling I know wouldn’t benefit me to explore. Having a man take enough time to see to my needs would mean something more to me than just proper manners. I cannot allow myself to be pulled into any make believe scenarios where Chase feels anything for me. But as he goes to leave, the edges of his thumbs brush against the back of my arms and I feel the warmth and tingle they leave behind. I suck in my breath, clench my back teeth and try to not to let anyone else at the table see what this simple gesture has done to me. Chase has a girlfriend, one I know is wrong for him, but if I want to stay on Lucas’s good side, I will continue to keep my mouth shut and do my job.

  Chase leaned forward, positioning himself close enough to my ear, his breath left goose bumps behind as he whispered, “Miss Audrey, forgive my boldness, but by your reaction, it seems your Yankee stomper hasn’t taken proper care of you. Maybe he wasn’t brought up right, but it’s my belief that no matter where a young lady hails from, pulling out her chair is the least of ways she should be appreciated.” Too shocked, stunned—whatever the emotion, it made what happened easier to believe.

  Chase Morgan was a gentleman through and through. Standing behind his upbringing, making his parents proud of the man he had become.

  “If you tell the truth, you don’t have to remember anything.”

  —Mark Twain

  “Hey, Baby, it’s me. Listen, I know you’re busy with your sister, but it would be nice to hear your voice. Give me a call as soon as you get this.” I tossed my phone to the end of my bed, frustration building in my chest. I’d sent countless text messages, left at least as many voicemails, all which have been unreturned. I’ve considered reasons why she is blatantly ignoring me. Yet, I would think she would have at least sent me a smoke signal if she was done with me. I couldn’t blame her really, after all the shit Austin had accused her of. It took every ounce of self-control I had, not to
kick the shit out of him at dinner the other night. Good thing for my brother, that fucking douchebag Lucas Campbell pulled his shit on Audrey. I had Dylan run a check on him. The motherfucker is on probation for possession with intent to distribute. I had an inkling he may come back to bother her, so I switched from working in the shop at night to days, besides Dylan needed an extra hand meeting his current obligations

  Clicking on the morning news, my attention was half on the red head who co-anchored and half on the dark haired girl who was creeping into my head lately. “If you’re gonna lie to someone, at least be honest with yourself.” Granddaddy’s words hit me from somewhere deep inside, a place he’d molded for himself, filled with honor and respect. He was right, I could lie to all those around me, my family, and my team, but I needed to be honest with myself.

  A hot shower, the luxury I missed most while being in the desert, was now something I overindulged in. Rivets of hot water pummeled my body, waking my senses and apparently my libido, if my hard cock was any indication. I could flip the switch, dousing myself with cold water and sending my erection retreating back into my body, a level of discomfort I didn’t look forward to. Or, like every day since Audrey stumbled into my world, I could take the motherfucker in hand and think about how her hair smelled fresh as rain. Picturing her in my mind, the skin on her arms pebbles from my touch. Looking down, I find my hand already stroking the head of my cock. I imagined how good she would look with her hand and lips wrapped around me, instead of my tired hand.

  Audrey Helms has never had a man pay her any positive attention. I bet if I asked her about her childhood, she would tell me her father never took her out or gave her examples of how a man should treat her. Her eyes told me more than she ever could, something deep and dark haunts her, lacing the speckles of fear between the cinnamon and caramel colors of her eyes.