Lauren, however, got sloshed out of her mind. And when she went to the jukebox, pulled the plug (on Christmas songs, she’d filled the damn thing with nothing but starting on December first) and demanded loudly everyone needed to start singing—you guessed it, Christmas songs—Twyla declared that, at least for her, would not be happening.
Laurie got in her face. Somehow it was decided an arm wrestling match would determine the winner, and then to everyone’s surprise, with a lot of hilarious grunting, Twyla’s eyes getting bigger and bigger in her head as it came clear the way it was going, Lauren’s Christmas monster came out and she beat Twyla at arm wrestling.
An amazing feat.
Thus Twyla sang “Holly Jolly Christmas” and “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” with Lauren while Jim-Billy put in his astonishingly good baritone, a bunch of three-sheets-to-the-wind bikers and their babes and another bunch of locals chimed in.
But not Deke, Tate, Ty, Chace, etc. because mountain men apparently didn’t sing Christmas songs in public, but they did laugh their asses off watching Twyla do it.
Twyla then exited the premises pronto, dragging a giggling, waving and drunk-off-her-ass Cindy behind her.
It.
Was.
A blast.
The whole night.
The best kickoff to Christmas I’d ever had.
Truly.
Even besting the ones Dad and Joss initiated, and they were both holiday fiends.
But not like Lauren. I swear her breath smelled like peppermint, that’s how deep she lived and breathed Christmas.
This could have been Schnapps, though.
“Told you,” Deke said, his voice a smile.
“Yeah,” I agreed, watching him turn up my lane.
“Good night,” he whispered.
I reached for his hand, gave it a squeeze and agreed, “The best.”
He squeezed my hand back, parked outside my door, and through my buzz I decided to have another conversation with him about the garage.
My truck was parked in there. The second bay was taken up by Deke’s Harley, which he’d moved there from his trailer.
There was a third, kinda-half bay where you could store ATVs or snow mobiles, if you had them (and I wanted to get them) but now it was stacked with Deke’s tools and some of the construction stuff left over from the house. Extra tiles. Floorboards and bags of grout not used. The remnants of the slabs of marble my countertops were cut from. All of this Deke suggested (this more aptly described as demanded) I keep, at least for a while, just in case I needed to switch something out, do a repair, and simply because I bought it so I owned it.
Since I was closing on the extra property soon, I was having a stable built come spring. Max was having it designed. It’d have a big tack room, four stalls, and a large storage space.
We’d move that crap out there when I had the stables, Deke’s Harley to the half bay of the garage and Deke could park inside.
Something he should be doing now.
His truck was newer, nicer, and he had to go out in the cold to get in it to go to work in the morning. I did not have to do the same thing.
But he wouldn’t hear of me not parking Granddad’s truck inside. We’d had words. I recognized that meant something to him, so I’d backed off.
That said, it was cold, there was a lot of snow on the ground, we kept getting it regular, and I figured if Deke and I spent a few hours in the garage, we could stack the house stuff in a way we could move his Harley over and get his truck inside.
That would be our conversation tomorrow.
After sex, coffee and breakfast.
After that, our plans were to go get our Christmas tree, a live one, and decorate it with the ton of Christmas stuff I’d bought.
But right now, it was about getting inside, sex and sleep.
Deke cut the ignition. We got out. I waited for him at the head of my front walk, the outside arch of my front door draped with fake Christmas boughs, lit and now illuminated, the side points of the draping decorated with big gold and white bows, the middle point having a lit star. And beyond, on the door, there was a fat, brightly lit wreath.
Deke had put that all up.
For me.
It looked gorgeous.
When we got to the door, walking hand in hand, he put his key in and I moved closer to him in an effort not to waste a second in getting out of the cold the minute he allowed me entry.
My mind focused on that, therefore it missed his body stilling.
I didn’t miss it when he used his hand in mine to push me slightly back.
“Deke,” I said.
“Shush, Jussy,” he muttered, bending low so he could peer through the center of the wreath to see into the front door window while slowly turning the knob and pushing in.
What happened next happened so fast, it was almost like it didn’t happen.
But it did.
Fuck me.
It did.
All of it…
Did.
Deke pushed me off, turned to me, bit out, “Run!” then entered the house, slamming the door behind him.
I heard the lock go.
I stood there, stunned immobile, then I heard the gunshots.
My body jerked in shock, instantly electrifying, and my feet moved without me telling them to do it.
In my cowboy boots, I ran along the snow at the front of the house, dodging pine, naked aspen, my hand finding its way into my bag, curling around my phone.
I took the corner of my house on skid through the snow that nearly brought me down. I righted myself, yanked out my phone and I didn’t think. I couldn’t. The house had good insulation, double-paned windows.
But I heard men shouting.
Luckily, I recognized one of those men was Deke.
Extremely unfortunately, he was unarmed and in my house with someone who had a gun and used it.
Looking down at my phone, running blind, pine boughs fluffed with snow stinging the skin of my face as I ran through them, for some reason, I didn’t call 911.
It seemed too much effort, too much time.
I hit contacts.
I hit “K.”
And I hit Chace.
I put the phone to my ear and heard it ringing as I rounded the far end of the deck by the river, cleared it and started racing up the incline toward my private deck.
“Jussy, hey,” Chace greeted in my ear. “All okay?”
“Deke,” I wheezed, hitting the steps to my deck, starting by taking them two at a time.
Slipping on ice, the sole of my foot went out behind me and I went down hard on my shin on the edge of the step above.
“Justice,” Chace growled in my ear.
“Someone in my house. Deke pushed me back. He’s inside. I’m not,” I panted, righting myself. The burning in my shin not fazing me, I leaped to the top step. “Gunshots, Chace.”
“Get safe,” he ordered urgently. “I’m calling cruisers now. On our way.”
“Deke…has a gun,” I puffed, my hand back in my purse, finding my keys. “I…”
“Get safe, Justice.”
“I have to get it to him,” I finished, pulling out my keys.
I dropped the phone from my ear, dimly hearing Chace call my name. I focused, not about to waste time like I did, freaked out when I was strangled, dropping keys, chasing them around.
I found the key to my house, a master that opened all the locks, and slid it in. I unlocked it, pulled it open and rushed inside.
I tossed my phone to the bed. Pulled the strap of my purse over my shoulder, threw it that way too and darted to Deke’s side of the bed.
I yanked open the drawer to his nightstand, where he kept his gun at the back.
Always close.
Just in case anything threatened his gypsy.
I nabbed it and pulled it out, hearing sinister murmurings in the other room.
I sprinted first to the panic button, not that I didn’t think Chace d
idn’t have cruisers heading our way about ten seconds after he lost me, just to make sure they knew the situation continued to be critical.
Then I sprinted to the bedroom door and stopped on the wet heel of my boot, sliding a few inches, halting with my hand thrown out to catch the jamb, taking time to pull my shit together.
One breath.
Two.
Get the gun to Deke.
They were armed. He was not.
That was what I had to do.
Get the gun to Deke.
I shoved the gun in my back waistband and bent, tugging off my boots as quickly but as carefully as I could so I didn’t make any noise doing it.
When they were off, I grabbed the gun and slid out on my stocking feet, moving surely but cautiously. I didn’t have a plan. There was no light coming from the great room but moonlight. Maybe I could use shadows. I knew where the rugs were, muffle my footfalls, the furniture, crouch behind it, find my way to Deke, get him his gun.
Or use it if needed.
As the case may be.
Time.
Just time.
That’s all we needed.
The cops would be there soon. They were probably halfway there already.
We just needed time.
My heart racing, I walked into the hall, through the doorway to the great room. Hunkering in a shadow, I stopped dead.
The moon on the snow coming in my window illuminated the scene.
Boxes on the floor, the headstocks and necks of guitars sticking out the top.
A bundle on the floor, halfway from collection room to front door, a human one, not moving.
And my fucking cousin Rudy, standing inside the doors to where now only half of my dad’s collection still stood displayed.
He had a gun aimed at Deke.
And then there was Deke, not far from the human bundle on the floor.
And even in the moonlight, I saw the red stain of blood marring the right upper chest of his white tee.
“Down, man, on your stomach,” Rudy ordered, his voice thin, strained, weak.
The same could be said for his body.
He was strung out.
Wasted.
Half a man, reduced to that through addiction.
Thoughts quickly chased their way through my head.
The last time I saw him, he didn’t look as bad, but I knew by his eyes that he was gone. Lost to that world. Lost to his need.
The last time I talked to him, the last four times, actually, all phone calls, asking me for money, eventually begging for it.
The last time I was there when his name was uttered around my Aunt Tammy, the grief in her eyes, like he was already dead.
My cousin Rudy.
Here to steal. Steal from me. Take a Lonesome legacy so he could smoke it, inject it, whatever the fuck he did to feed his need.
Here to steal.
Steal my father from me.
“Like I said, I’m not lettin’ you take that from her, bud,” Deke returned.
At that, I knew. I knew why Deke looked into my house and didn’t take us right back to his truck, get away, call the cops.
He saw they were taking my dad from me.
So he pushed me to safety and he went in.
God.
Deke.
“Just get on your fuckin’ stomach!” Rudy suddenly shrieked.
I shoved the gun up under my jacket and in the back waistband of my jeans.
“Rudy,” I called softly, lifting up from my crouch and moving into the room carefully.
Rudy’s attention, and the barrel of his gun, swung to me.
Having a gun pointed at me sent surges of adrenaline screaming through me and it did not feel good.
“Jussy,” he whispered.
“Justice, get in the safe room,” Deke growled. “Now.”
Rudy swung the gun back to Deke because he’d started moving toward me.
Having the gun aimed at Deke felt worse.
Deke stopped.
“Rudy,” I called again, wanting his attention on me.
He was fucked up, wasted by a life he shouldn’t have lived, brought low not realizing when the time was right to give up the dream and try for a new one.
But he’d never hurt me.
Steal from me, sure.
But we were Lonesomes.
We got it.
We were family.
No way he’d hurt me.
“Jussy, goddammit,” Deke bit off.
“How’d you get in, honey?” I asked Rudy.
“Not hard, Jus, code was your dad’s birthday,” he said.
“I coded it European,” I said, like he didn’t know that since he’d obviously figured it out.
“Yeah, that was what we got. Fourth time was a charm.”
“Justice,” Deke cut in.
“Put the gun down, Rudy,” I ordered.
“You need to get this guy to back off, Jus,” he returned, indicating Deke with the gun.
“Please, Rudy,” I started moving cautiously forward.
“Justice.” It was a muted roar from Deke, a command not to be disobeyed.
But Deke was bleeding.
And this was my cousin.
I shifted farther forward.
“Fuck,” Deke hissed.
“We’ll talk this out, you need something, we’ll talk it out, see how I can help you,” I lied. No way I was talking shit out with him. He’d sunk this low, like Mav, he had to face the consequences. He could straighten out in jail. “But you have to put the gun down first.”
He turned it to me. “Stop moving, Jus.”
I stopped but he instantly aimed the gun back to Deke.
“You stop moving too, asshole.”
Deke lifted both hands in a placating gesture.
“Fuckin’ shot him, he still charged in like a maniac, took out my boy,” Rudy clipped, attention on Deke, but he was telling me this story.
I didn’t doubt that from Deke.
But I didn’t think on it.
I could see Rudy’s hand shaking and I didn’t think that was a good thing.
Deke started shifting to me.
“I said stop fucking moving!” Rudy screamed.
“Take it,” I said quickly and Rudy’s attention came back to me. “Take them. Get your guy. Both of you get out. Take them. All of them. Let me and Deke walk out of here and you just take them, Rudy.”
Rudy thought about that for a second before his face twisted in the moonlight and he snapped, “You’re not gonna just let me walk outta here.”
I was.
The cops that would be here in about two minutes would not and I needed Deke and me in the safe room when they rolled up and took care of business.
That said, Rudy could have the guitars, the house, I’d cut off my hair and give it to him if that meant Deke was safe.
Safe with me.
“The most important thing in this room to me is Deke. Take the guitars. Take the awards. Take the records. Take whatever you want. Just let us walk away.”
Rudy looked again at Deke and screeched, “Motherfucker! I said stop moving!”
The next moments happened in a flash that still played out like a drawn-out nightmare that lasts for decades, centuries, all of it you know you can’t escape by waking.
Because it was real.
The guy on the floor that Deke had taken out had come to and he was turning. I noticed. I cried out Deke’s name.
Deke moved, fast, to me.
I pulled out his gun.
And the room exploded in ear-splitting noise. Gunshot. Lots of them. So many, I couldn’t hear a thing but the blasts and ringing.
Deke tackled me and I hit the ground with a jarring thud, Deke on me.
He wrested the gun from my grip, rolled, his weight full on me, back to my front, my back pressed to the floor, and he fired.
And fired.
And fired.
I felt his body jerk unnaturally, no thoughts about that
except it being the kick of the gun, my hands moving to his waist, holding on.
Then, silence.
Nothing.
“Deke,” I breathed.
He rolled again, to the side, sliding off me.
Other than that, he didn’t move, his back to my side now.
I smelled gunpowder mingled with pine and lay still.
No movement, no sound.
Not from Rudy. His partner.
Not from Deke.
Not from Deke.
I sat up fast, scanning, seeing both other men. Rudy was on his back, not moving with a stillness that was eerie. The other guy was on his side, the same way.
I thought fast and my first thought was, alleviate the danger. Get us safe. So I got up, raced to them, saw the blood spatter on walls, floors, the pools of it growing around their bodies.
I snatched up their guns, ran back to Deke, tossing them in the fireplace as I went.
He was still on his side.
I fell to my knees, put my hands to him and gently rolled him to his back.
His white tee was no longer white.
It was dark.
Covered in blood.
My insides started burning as I moved my hands to him, feeling nothing but warmth too warm, all of it wet, my eyes shifting to his shadowed face.
His eyes were on me.
“I called Chace,” I said, finding the source of some gushing, pressing in, still searching, my eyes not leaving his. “He’s coming.”
“Good, baby,” he whispered, the words faint.
Faint.
Not Deke.
So not Deke.
“Stick with me,” I ordered, finding another source, pressing in. The blood flowed over my fingers and I beat back a whimper, bending close to him. “Stick with me, baby.”
“With…you,” he pushed out.
There seemed to be more sources of blood. Fuck, blood everywhere.
I put my chest to his, covering more area, resting my body on him, putting pressure on.
My face close to his, I saw his eyelids slowly closing.
I put my bloody hands to both of his cheeks, sensing company, someone coming in from the back stealthily.
I didn’t look.
I shook Deke’s head and demanded, “Stick with me. Stick with me, baby. Stick with me, goddammit.”
His eyes slowly opened.
“Justice,” Chace said.
Bounty (Colorado Mountain #7) Page 53