by Tess Sharpe
I take a deep breath and close my eyes in the relief that washes over me. “We’re at the Vanguard Motel. Room 208.”
“I’m on my way,” he says. “You best be hiding, Harley-girl.”
“I have a better idea.”
When Uncle Jake wakes up, I’m back in bed and his keys are long gone, flushed down the toilet. His tires are slashed, and I even tossed out the spark plugs for good measure. At first, he looks around, fumbling in the blankets and looking on the bedside table sleepily for the keys, and as his eyes clear, he gets more frantic. Then he stares at me, and the look of betrayal in his eyes makes my stomach sour, like I’ve drunk bad milk.
“Is he on his way?” Uncle Jake asks.
I nod.
“When?” he asks.
I look at the clock on the bedside table. “Half hour. Maybe less.”
“Did you fuck up my truck too much?”
“You’re gonna need new tires,” I say.
He sighs, burying his face in his hands. His shoulders slump, defeated.
“Your mother didn’t want this for you,” he says.
“That doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”
“Oh, honey.” He lifts his face from his palms. His blue eyes—so much like Momma’s—are wet. “It’s all wrong.”
“He’s trying to keep me safe.”
“He’s the reason you aren’t safe, Harley,” Jake says quietly.
I glare at him. “Springfield killed Momma. He started it.”
“Yes,” Jake says. “He did. But there are ways of making him pay that don’t involve killing.”
“Is that what you want?” I ask. Uncle Jake loved Momma, too. I know he did. How can he not want Springfield dead?
I want him dead. I know what he looks like now. Daddy showed me pictures, because I need to know. At night, I picture him with a bullet hole between his eyes. Or covered in cigar burns, like the ones he pressed into Will’s arm.
“What I want doesn’t matter,” Jake says. “Not when your safety is at risk. Your daddy can’t see that.”
“Daddy sees everything,” I say.
He lets out a tight breath, despair all over his face. I hate that I’m making him feel this way, but he has to know. He thinks he can talk his way out of stuff. He can’t, not unless he can back up his words with his fists and bullets and blood.
There’s a banging on the door. I jump, and so does Jake.
“Open the fucking door!”
“Stay there,” I tell Jake when he starts to get up.
I unlock the door, cracking it open a sliver. Daddy grabs it, wrenching it open. He glances at me, a quick up and down like he’s making sure I’m not missing any fingers or something. Then he reaches out, grabbing me and drawing me to him, tight against his chest in a half hug, half shielding movement. As soon as I’m in his arms, in his grasp, all his attention goes to Jake.
“You goddamn son of a bitch,” he says, and I’ve never seen him so angry. Even when he killed Ben Springfield, there was a calm over him. Carefulness. Control.
There’s none of that now. His hair is sticking up in the back and his beard looks bushier, uncombed, his eyes glittering with a murderous anger. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. Like he’s just spent the last eight hours speeding down the highway and pissing in a bottle to get here in time to claim what’s his. To claim me.
Jake gets to his feet, his eyes hard. “I did what I thought was right.”
“It doesn’t matter what you think is right,” Daddy hisses. “She’s my kid.”
Jake’s chin tilts up. He’s one of the only men I know who’s clean-shaven. It makes him look younger, weaker.
Like something smooth and soft and easy to cut.
“She should go sit in the truck,” Jake tells Daddy. “Before anything happens.”
Daddy looks from Jake to me, still clutched to his chest like I might fly away. “What do you think, Harley-girl?” he asks me. “Should you go sit in the truck while I teach your uncle a lesson?”
I swallow hard, but it does nothing to stop the fear rising in me. He’d sworn on Momma.
He wouldn’t break that kind of promise.
I want to believe that, but I’m not sure I can.
Which means I have to stay.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I say, and my throat feels like it’s on fire, like I’m gonna shrivel in the heat of Daddy’s anger.
“Harley,” Jake says. “Please.”
I pull away from Daddy, and it takes a good, hard tug to get him to let me go. I look up at him, wary. “You promised,” I say.
“I did,” Daddy says, fishing into the pocket of his shirt, pulling out a set of brass knuckles. He slips them over his fingers. “You stay right there,” he orders.
He’s across the room and on Jake in just a few steps. And Jake just…takes it. He doesn’t fight back. He doesn’t even try to guard his face.
The crunch of brass against bone fills my ears, the splash of blood muffled by the cheap motel carpet, the low growl in the back of Daddy’s throat.
I stay rooted to the spot and I keep my eyes open. I force myself to watch, because I did this. I called him, knowing that this would happen.
I’m responsible.
I wait until he’s got Jake on the ground, curled in a barely conscious ball, before I move.
“Daddy, stop!” I say, but he doesn’t.
I reach out with both my hands, grabbing under his elbow, and I pull.
Though I’m strong for my age, I’m nothing to him.
But I have nails. Chipped and dirty, but they’ll do. I dig them deep into his skin, and he grunts, his head finally swiveling to me.
“No more,” I say.
His eyes narrow, dark flecks in his red face. “Harley…” he says in that way that makes it a warning.
I look down at Jake. His eyes are already swollen and just half open, his face a mess of blood, his mouth an open wound.
Jake’s eyes meet mine as he pants, “Look away, baby. Please, look away.”
But I’m not something sweet and breakable like Jake thinks. I am my daddy’s girl, and I did this.
I’ll make myself watch, even if it kills me.
I turn to Daddy. “You promised,” I say.
Daddy glances over at Jake and then back at me. His fingers clench around the brass knuckles.
They’re shiny with Jake’s blood.
“He took you,” Daddy says, and there’s so much in his words, so much in his face.
Jake scared him. More than anyone’s done in years.
“He’s my family,” I tell him, because it’s the only defense I have. That Uncle Jake and I, we share blood. That he’s a part of me, a part of Momma.
That means Daddy has to love him, too. Jake is part of us. And he has to love all of us. That’s how it works.
Daddy sighs. The brass knuckles slip off his fingers, landing with a thud on the carpet. I want to scramble to the ground, to grab them and hide them away. But they’re just a tool.
Daddy is the weapon.
“Okay, Jake,” he says, bending down and grabbing him by the shoulders. I step forward, afraid that it’s the end, but Daddy’s just propping him up against the bed. With a great effort, Uncle Jake raises his head.
Daddy crouches down next to him, staring into his eyes.
“I once told Jeannie I’d never hurt you,” he says.
Jake laughs, a weak movement that makes blood spill from his lips. “Guess you fucked that one up.”
Daddy smiles, a bitter twist to his lips. “Yeah, guess I did. But you deserve it.”
“She’s a kid, Duke,” Jake says.
I hate being talked about like I’m not in the room. Daddy doesn’t do that. He talks to me, not at me or about me.
Daddy draws his knife out of his pocket, flicking it open. He glances at me, warning me not to move with just a look.
“She’s my heir,” Duke says. “And we’re at war.”
Jake shakes his head. “Y
ou and Springfield and your fucking war.” He coughs, wincing and grabbing his ribs.
Daddy’s mouth flattens in anger. “He killed your little sister,” he says. “Doesn’t that spark up anything in that pussy-boy brain of yours? God, what a waste you are.” He places the flat of his knife against Jake’s busted cheek. “You should be frothing like a bitch in heat to get to that bastard. I should have you by my side instead of trying to snatch my daughter.”
“Jeannie is gone,” Jake says, not flinching, even though I know the steel must be cold against his cheek.
“And Springfield’s gonna pay for that,” Daddy spits out.
“Then what?” Jake asks. “Say you get him tomorrow—then what? Are you still gonna keep Harley penned up in the woods? She should be in school. She should have more friends than just Will. She should be learning things.”
“I teach her just fine,” Daddy says.
“You’re teaching her she isn’t safe,” Jake says.
Daddy draws the knife away from Jake’s swollen cheek, pulling out his silver lighter that’s engraved with a wolf’s head. “And you’d teach her to think she was,” he says scornfully. “That kind of thinking would get her killed.”
“You’re teaching her there’s no safety to be found anywhere,” Jake insists.
“That’s because there isn’t,” Daddy says flatly. I know this like I know my last name. Like I know Daddy loves me. Like I know the sky is blue.
It will never be safe.
But Daddy didn’t teach me this.
Carl Springfield did.
“I am who I am,” Daddy says. “That won’t change. But it means Harley’s a target. So I’m raising her up to be the kind of woman who doesn’t just survive—she’ll be the kind of woman who can rule what I’ve built for her. A woman no man can hurt. And if you were smart, Jake, that’s what you’d want for her, too.”
Daddy thumbs open the lighter, flicking it on and running it along the blade of his knife. I watch as it blackens, not understanding what he’s up to. I can’t tear my eyes off the knife.
Is he going to stab Uncle Jake?
Will he break his promise?
“My girl,” Daddy says, “she loves you. And Jeannie loved you. But I don’t love you, Jake. I don’t even like you. Frankly, you’ve been nothing but a pain in my ass since the day I met you.”
“You think you haven’t been a pain in mine?” Jake sneers. “You’re a career criminal who knocked up my teenage sister. You’re a decade older. You should have known better. Instead, you ruined her life.”
Daddy’s eyes flicker like the flame from the lighter. There’s a dangerous edge to them that should make Jake stop. But maybe he figures he’s dead already.
Maybe he just doesn’t care.
“I loved that woman more than you will ever know,” Daddy says. “She gave me my child. She was a fucking angel.”
“She deserved better than you.”
Daddy stares at him, grim and cold. “That we can agree on,” he says. “But she wanted me. She chose me. She was too damned good for me and too damned good for this world. And now she’s gone and here we are.”
Jake pushes up on his elbows. His bloody chin trembles almost as much as his hands as he says, “Go ahead, Duke. Do it. But make her leave first.”
“I’m not gonna kill you, Jake,” Daddy says. “I made a promise.”
Jake glances at me, licking his lips and wincing at the taste of blood.
“What’s going to happen is simple,” Daddy says. He flicks the lighter again, running it along the blade of the knife. It’s gone from black to a ruddy orange, and I suddenly realize what he’s going to do.
He’s going to brand Uncle Jake.
My stomach flips in a sick, slow somersault. I can’t stop this.
It’s the price Jake has to pay to live.
“You and I,” Daddy explains, “we’re going into business together.”
“We…?” Jake trails off, his eyes widening in horror. “No!”
“Yes,” Daddy says. “You’re gonna sign the trucking business over to me. You’ll still run it. But some of the product is gonna be different.”
“You want me to traffic.” Jake says it like it’s a curse.
“Such a dirty word,” Daddy says. “We’re businessmen, Jake. Doing business. Transporting product. Widening our customer base.”
Jake looks at me, and I look back, pleading, begging with my eyes.
This is the only way. The only way he won’t kill you.
He looks back at Daddy. “And if I say no?”
“You won’t,” Daddy says, all surety. He knows he has all the cards.
He has me.
“No,” Jake says. “I won’t.”
Daddy smiles and holds out the red-hot knife. “You’re gonna need a reminder, then,” he says.
Jake stiffens, eyes fixed on the knife.
I know he’s heard the rumors. Everyone has.
“I don’t want her to see,” he says.
Daddy looks over to me. “Go outside, Harley-girl.”
“But—” I want to be there for Uncle Jake. I don’t want to see, but I want to be there. I want to help him.
I did this. I need to stop it.
“Outside!” Daddy says, and something in his voice scares me so much I jump up and back out of the room, fast.
I obey because I have no choice. My stomach hurts as I stand outside the closed door, frozen. I wait, my heart thundering in me like a hammer. I tell myself not to listen, but I can’t help it. Every part of my body is tensed, waiting, waiting, waiting…
When Uncle Jake’s scream breaks the air, all the hairs on my arms stand up and my knees give out. I crumple onto the rough concrete as I listen to Jake scream again as Daddy uses his pocketknife on his chest.
And then there’s silence. A terrible silence that creeps in and takes hold of me. It ticks by for such an impossibly long time I can barely stand it.
The motel door jerks open. Daddy is standing there, and Uncle Jake’s on his feet, buttoning up his shirt.
“It’s time to go,” Daddy says. He looks over to Jake. “Cooper’s waiting to drive you home,” he says, gesturing across the parking lot where a weathered blue Dodge is parked.
Jake nods. His face is swollen and battered almost beyond recognition, and I see that his shirt has soaked up thin trails of blood in the shape of the letter M.
He can’t look at me when he walks past, but for a second, he squeezes my shoulder with a shaky hand. I want to lean into him, but I know better.
Daddy waits until Cooper and Jake pull out of the motel parking lot and are a good way down the road before turning to me.
Feeling like I want to bolt, I look back at him, because I know that’s what he expects.
Never flinch, Harley-girl.
“What’s the lesson here, Harley Jean?” he barks.
I let out a little huff of breath, holding his gaze with shock and disgust that I can’t tamp down fast enough to hide. His eyes narrow.
“There’s always a lesson,” he says. “What is it?”
I don’t respond. I can’t. I just turn, walk away, and hop up in his truck without a word, leaving him and his knife behind.
We drive all the way back home in silence. I just stare straight ahead, barely seeing anything. I won’t even eat when he stops for food.
When I get home, Miss Lissa hugs me hard and offers me some fresh-baked snickerdoodles. To please her, I take one, but it tastes like dust in my mouth, and I spit it out when she isn’t looking. His face busted seven ways to Sunday, Jake is already home, crumpled up in a chair in his bloody shirt with Cooper standing guard. His nose will hang to the right forever after this, and whenever I look at it, I’ll think of his screams, and how I was responsible for them.
Daddy looks at him, nods, and disappears into his office.
I hover in the doorway of the living room, wanting to say something, anything, but no words will come.
Uncle Jak
e looks up at me and manages a weak smile. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” he slurs, his swollen eyes gentle in his ravaged face.
But it’s not. And it never will be again.
I’ve learned the lesson. It’s not the one that Daddy meant to teach, but it’s the one that’s branded on my heart, just like that M is branded on Uncle Jake.
The price of loving me is pain.
Twenty-Eight
June 7, 10:00 a.m.
You’re out of your goddamn mind,” Will says.
He stalks over to the cupboard above the fridge, grabbing the first aid kit. “Sit down.”
He has his doctor voice on. It’s so familiar that I obey before I can think it through. I sit down on one of the wine-barrel stools at the kitchen island, and he drags another one in front of me. After washing his hands, he sets the kit on the butcher-block counter and opens it, selecting an alcohol wipe.
“Wanna tell me why your knuckles aren’t bruised?” he asks.
My eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”
“Your fingers aren’t busted up,” he says. “Which means you didn’t fight back. But you always fight back.”
He’s right. Fuck! It’s a detail I forgot.
“So…who’d you get to hit you?” he asks, almost conversationally. He wipes the gauze against the cut on my lip. It stings, and my tongue goes to the spot automatically, trying to soothe the burn.
“Brooke,” I say finally.
“Figures.” He presses around my nose with his fingertips. Pain flares through my sinuses. His movements are gentle, but his anger fills the air between us. He takes out a tube of arnica gel, squirts it on his fingers, and spreads it beneath my eye where the bruising’s the worst. “She’d do anything for you.”
“And I’d do anything for her,” I say. I’ve done things for her even Will doesn’t know. That he’s better off not knowing.
There’s a certain kind of trouble that men have no business meddling in. Usually because one of them is the cause of it.
He roots around in the kit until he comes up with a bottle of ibuprofen. He puts four tablets on the counter and gets up to fill a glass with water.