by Tess Sharpe
Daddy pats my back. “Okay then.”
He walks to the back room, and Caroline follows. Then he closes the door behind her and sets me down in a chair next to his at the head of the table. “Sit,” he says to her, gesturing to a spot at the very end.
She does, pressing her palms against the table so he can keep an eye on her hands.
Daddy says you always have to keep an eye on their hands.
That frozen look on her face melts a little, nervousness trickling into her face like water through a rock dam. She glances at me and then at Duke, then back at me. “Should she be here?”
“We talk with her in the room or not at all,” Daddy says. “I don’t hide things from my child.”
Caroline snorts.
“Don’t try my patience,” he says coldly. “Tell me why you came.”
Her face pinches up, like she’s sucked on a lemon. “I want you to stop.”
“You’re gonna have to be more specific, ma’am.”
He’s toying with her—even I can see that. There’s a mean gleam in his eye that I’ve never seen directed toward a woman before. It makes the hair on the back of my neck rise.
“You went after Bobby,” she says. “You cut him. But I haven’t ever done anything to you or yours, Duke. You’ve made your point. You’ve won. Carl’s in prison. It’s time to let this go. My children stay out of this.”
“Carl didn’t keep Harley out of any of this,” Daddy says.
Caroline gnaws on her lips. “I know,” she says, shaking her head. “And I’m sorry. But I had no part in that. And neither did my boys. They’re innocent.”
“That older boy of yours is far from innocent,” Daddy says, and that smile, knife-sharp and all teeth, flashes in the neon light. “He’s not even old enough to drink and he’s already dealing. He’s got an entrepreneurial spirit, that one.”
“Bobby made a mistake,” Caroline says. “He knows that now.”
“Damn right he does,” Daddy says. “How many stitches did he end up needing?”
She goes white. If I were her, I’d be spitting mad, like a rattler that’s been stomped on. But if she is, she holds it in.
She’s too scared of Daddy to let it out.
“Please,” she says, her voice low and pleading. My stomach twists, and I want to press my face into the softness of Daddy’s stomach, hide from the desperation in every line of her face. “I am begging you. Leave us be.”
Daddy strokes his beard. “You know it’s not that easy.”
“I need to provide for my family,” Caroline says between clenched teeth.
“You still have the gas station,” Daddy says. “Cooking’s dangerous. It’s not woman’s work.”
“Is that right?” she says, and she’s looking at me and I don’t quite understand why.
Daddy’s head turns, so he’s looking, too. “She’s different,” he says. “And she’s not a part of this discussion.”
“I thought you didn’t hide things from her, Duke,” she says.
His eyebrows draw together in a flat line. “You want to be left alone? Well, then, I want the equipment,” he says. “All your product. And all your customers.”
Caroline’s fingers drum against the table. “You’re a son of a bitch,” she says.
“Your boys will be safe,” he continues. “But you’d best keep to yourselves, across the river.”
“They need to go to school,” Caroline says. “Or do you expect me to keep them penned up like you’ve kept your girl there?”
“Careful,” he warns.
“School and church,” Caroline says. “We have to be able to go. And I’ve got to do shopping sometimes.”
“You can go shopping in Trinity,” Duke says. “But the boys can go to school here. As for church…”
“You’ve taken my husband,” Caroline says, her eyes glittering. “You’ve taken my livelihood. I’m a Christian woman. Are you really going to take my church, too?”
He sighs. “Fine,” he says. “But you keep your boys away from my girl.”
“As long as you keep your girl away from my boys,” Caroline says.
Daddy grins. “Agreed.”
I tug on Daddy’s sleeve. He turns to me, questioning.
“Will,” I remind him. This is important, what the two of them are doing now. I understand that. They’re creating a different world, with different rules to protect all of us. And if I’m safe from the Springfield boys, Will needs to be, too. Especially because Will goes to school with them.
I’m not stupid. I know people treat him different because he isn’t white.
“Your boys need to stay away from Will, too,” Daddy says. “I know that older boy of yours has already picked up on Carl’s Aryan nonsense. I won’t be having that Klan shit thrown at Will or any of the other kids. I don’t know what you’re thinking, letting him teach your boy that trash. But if your boys even look at Will funny, that lily-white skin won’t be any help to them because I’ll be peeling it right off them.”
“They won’t bother him,” Caroline promises, fast and nervous. “I will keep them in line.”
“All right then.” Duke holds out his hand. She reaches out and takes it. They shake, but then he doesn’t let go.
“You know what I do to people who go back on their deals with me,” he says. “You don’t want to be one of them.”
She tugs her hand away and gets to her feet. “Call me with a time and place, and we’ll set up the exchange. And after that…well, I guess I’ll see you in church.”
“Guess so,” Duke says.
“It was nice to see you, Harley,” she tells me, as if she’d just stopped by for a neighborly visit. Then she walks out of the back room, and Daddy sighs, leaning back in his chair, stroking his beard.
“Why did you do that?” I ask.
He had been winning. He could have run her down in the end. Like most mothers, her weakness is her children. He knows where to hit to make it hurt. To make her bow down.
“For you,” he says. “I did it for you kids.”
And just like that, our world is different. Caroline made it different, with her nerve and her love for her children and her gamble that Daddy loved his just as much.
She’d gone into the Tropics willing to lose.
But I wonder if really, she’s the person who won.
Forty-Two
June 7, 11:30 p.m.
I jerk open the truck door. “Go in the back, Busy,” I tell her as I push Caroline forward.
Busy hops out of the passenger seat and into the Chevy’s back cab. Her ears twitch, her blue eyes taking in the two of us.
I’ve tied Caroline’s hands behind her—not the most comfortable position when being shoved inside a truck—but she’ll have to deal.
“You try anything, Busy’ll take a piece out of you.” I press my free hand against her shoulders, and she steps up and into the truck. I circle around the front to the driver’s side, my gun on her.
Caroline looks back at Busy nervously. Busy growls low in her throat, sensing her fear.
I climb into the cab, back the truck up, and turn it around, heading toward the freeway. The address Bobby Springfield texted me is on the edge of town.
He’s breaking all sorts of rules today.
The tension in the car is so tight I’m afraid she’ll snap at any second—Busy and my gun not being enough of a threat—but she stares straight ahead in silence.
I know better than to think she’s resigned to her fate.
She’s thinking it through. Looking for an out.
It’s what I’d do.
“My boys aren’t thieves,” she says suddenly.
I raise an eyebrow. “Is that so?”
“You said they took something—what do you think they took?”
“What do you think?” I ask. I purposefully didn’t tell her it was a person they took. I needed to know if she was in on it. Does she know?
Do they know? Have they cracked Will yet? Is Spr
ingfield already on his way to Burney?
My right hand’s still on my revolver. I loosen my grip so the sweat won’t make my fingers slip.
“They did not steal drugs from you,” Caroline says strongly. She almost sounds like she believes it.
I snort. “You think I’d bother taking you if they stole some drugs?”
Her fingers twist together, her green eyes hardening. “Just fucking tell me what’s going on.”
“You’ve lost your hold on them,” I tell her as we head across the river and pass the sign that says SALT CREEK 10 MILES. “You aren’t calling the shots. Carl is.”
“My boys listen to me,” she says.
“Your boys kidnapped Will,” I shoot back. “Unless you ordered that, they’ve clearly got other loyalties.”
The shock on her face—it’s too real. She doesn’t know anything.
Carl’s turned them, and she didn’t even notice. Why did she even welcome him back after prison? How could she not see the danger?
I feel irrationally angry. Almost disappointed.
I expected more from her.
“Bennet’s been sleeping with one of the Rubies,” I continue. “Bobby found out. Told Carl. They beat the shit out of her and tossed her out on the edge of the tent city by the river. That sound like the boys you raised, Caroline?”
“You’re lying,” she says.
I look from the road to her, disgusted. “In a few minutes, you’re gonna know I’m not.”
The gate to the storage facility is open, but I don’t drive through it. I park outside, hauling Caroline out of the car, my gun pressing against her skull again.
We walk forward, Caroline on my left, Busy on my right.
The storage units sprawl in front of us in neat lines. The second we step inside the gate, lights spring on, illuminating the pavement.
“Bobby!” I yell. My voice echoes, bouncing off the rows of steel buildings.
There’s a rickety sound, a metal roll-top door being pushed up. They’re in the unit three doors down.
My free hand goes to my back, pulling the .45 out of my waistband. My left hand has the revolver pressed against Caroline’s head, and my right points the pistol toward the door.
Duke made damn sure I could shoot with both hands. No fucking point in being perfect with one hand and shit with the other.
Fifty feet ahead, Bobby steps out of the storage unit, Bennet close behind him. Bobby’s got what looks like a .45 aimed sideways at me like a fucking idiot. Bennet’s got a shotgun in his hands, but he’s holding it instead of pointing it.
For now, at least.
“Believe me now?” I ask Caroline.
“Mom!” Bennet says, and when he steps into the light, his jaw drops in horror.
“Don’t take a step closer,” I say. “Or her head comes off.”
Bennet freezes. It takes Bobby one more step to stop.
That tells me more than enough.
“Boys…” Caroline starts, but I press the barrel of the revolver into her head.
“No talking.” I turn my attention back to Bobby and Bennet.
I don’t see Will.
“Where is he?” I ask.
“We’ve got him,” Bobby sneers.
“Get him. Now.”
“You’re not in charge, Harley,” Bobby starts.
I shoot. Twice. One blast right after the other, making shards of asphalt dance at their feet.
Their guns are up and on me, but I step behind Caroline. She whimpers as my revolver skates across the back of her head. They can’t take a shot at me without hitting her.
“I am not fucking around,” I say. “I will kill her. Right here. Right now. Unless you bring him to me in the next ten seconds. Ten. Nine. Eight.”
“Jesus,” Bennet swears.
“Seven. Six. Five.”
“You’re bluffing,” Bobby says, but his eyes shine, like he almost wants me to pull the trigger.
“Four. Three. Two.”
“Please,” Caroline begs.
“Goddammit!” Bennet turns and runs back into the storage unit.
“One.”
And there he is. Bloody and busted up, but alive, alive, alive. The word sings through me, side by side with the voice that says kill them, kill them, kill them.
Bennet keeps a tight grip on his arm, and Will stares at me, like he’s trying to tell me something.
“Let him go,” I tell Bennet.
“Let her go,” he counters.
I shake my head. “Not until he’s next to me.”
Bobby snorts. “That’s not gonna happen.”
But I keep looking at Bennet. Bobby may not care what happens to his mother, but Bennet does.
“Bennet,” Caroline says, because she knows he’s her best bet, too.
Bennet bites his lip, his eyes shifting from the two of us to Bobby and back.
Come on, I think. I don’t want to shoot this woman.
He lets go of Will and then he lifts his shotgun, pointing it at Bobby.
“What the hell?” Bobby yells. He starts to raise his own gun, but Bennet pumps a shell into the chamber, the sound a clear threat.
Bobby freezes. “You fucker,” he says. “This isn’t Carl’s plan.”
“She’s got Mom,” Bennet chokes out.
“I don’t fucking care!” Bobby yells.
“Well, I do,” Bennet says, his voice steady now. “Drop it.”
Bobby hesitates. The hairs on the back of my neck rise, and Caroline tenses, a low moan coming from her throat.
Bobby throws his gun down at Bennet’s feet. “You fucking pussy,” he snarls.
Bennet steps away from the gun, leaving it there between them, and I can see how Will zeroes in on it.
My fingers grip the handle of my gun tighter. I try to tell him with my eyes that he shouldn’t…that he needs to run.
“Go,” Bennet tells Will, keeping his gun on Bobby.
Will should run. A sensible person would.
But Will, he’s wired to protect. He feints toward me, but I can see before he does it, the way his waist and legs twist. He drops to a roll, quick and smooth, reaches out, grabs Bobby’s gun off the ground, and aims it at Bennet from his crouch before he can move.
“Hand it over,” Will says.
Bennet wavers. I push Caroline down, and she falls onto the pavement, catching Bennet’s attention.
I press the pistol to her temple. “Give him the gun, Bennet.”
He shifts from foot to foot. Next to him, Bobby groans in disgust.
“Nice and easy,” Will says.
“Let her go,” Bennet demands.
“When you give me the gun,” Will says.
One beat. Two.
“Bennet!” Caroline screams.
His face crumples. He hands it over. The second Will’s hand is on it, he starts to back away.
“You good?” I ask.
“I’m good,” he says.
I grab Caroline’s arm and pull her onto her feet, and take a few steps forward. Without a word, Will and I fall into the rhythm Duke trained into us: Always have her back. Keep him with you.
We meet in the middle of the path, Caroline in front of us.
“Move,” I tell her, raising the revolver and pushing her gently. She stumbles forward into Bennet’s arms.
“You’re not gonna get away with this,” Bobby says.
“Move,” I say again, walking toward them. The three back up until I’ve walked them right into the storage unit.
“Give me your phones,” I say.
Bobby throws his hard, right at me. I sidestep it easily, glaring at him as Bennet chucks his on the ground between us. His arm’s around Caroline’s shoulder, and she just keeps staring at me like she knows I’m hiding something.
Bobby shuffles his feet, and the gun in Will’s hand rises an inch, the barrel pointed at his head. “Don’t even think about it,” he says.
Bobby eyes him, disgust curling his mouth. “She’s s
ure got you pussy-whipped.”
Will grins, and I see there’s blood still staining his teeth. “You’re a fucking idiot for tossing a gun so close to me.”
Bobby’s hands clench into fists, and Caroline grabs his arm. “Not worth it,” she says under her breath.
“I think it’s about time you have a little talk with your boys, Caroline,” I tell her. “I’m gonna give you three a few hours to discuss things. Then maybe I’ll let you out.”
I grab the top of the steel door and yank it down, trapping them inside. Bending over, I slide the bar lock into place as someone—Bobby, most likely—begins to pound on the steel.
I look at Will—really, truly look at him—and when his eyes meet mine I am more in love with him and more sure I’ll be the death of him than ever. It’s an enormous, terrifying feeling, and I can’t face it—not now, maybe not ever. “You okay?” I ask, and my voice trembles like I’m eight years old again.
He nods. There’s dried blood all over the left side of his head, and three fingers on his right hand are bent funny.
“We need to leave,” he says.
He’s right. But I find myself stepping toward him instead, my hands reaching around his neck as his slide through my hair. And I’m kissing him and he’s kissing me. He tastes like blood and I taste like fading fear, but he’s here and he’s alive and we fucking won.
The steel door rattles as Bobby pounds on it, and we pull apart. I lick my lips, trying to chase away the copper tang.
There is so much to say. And still so much to do. So I bend down, scooping up Bennet’s and Bobby’s phones.
“You got a plan?” Will asks as we walk toward my truck.
“Always,” I promise.
Forty-Three
I’m nineteen when Will gets shot.
It’s the fourth summer he’s working on the grow for Paul. He’s good at it, like he’s good with the garden at home. He’s strong and he works hard, and Paul sings his praises to Daddy.
But there’s no future in it. We know that, but we don’t talk about it. Because we both know what will happen when he stops working for the Sons: Duke will bring him into the business. He’ll let him climb. And eventually, he’ll put him in place to be by my side the day it all becomes mine.
He’ll try to harden Will. Try to strip away his gentleness. Try to turn him into something he’s not.