by S. E. Smith
Anger built inside her. “You aren’t pawning my truck to bail them out. I need it. If they don’t show up for work, that’s not my problem,” she retorted.
Rob pulled his hand out of his pants and stepped to the edge of the porch. He had that mean gleam in his eyes that always made her wary. He had never hit her, but he had come close a few times—as evidenced by the holes in the walls throughout the house.
“Without their pay, we can’t make the mortgage payment. If we miss the payment, you’ll be living in that piece of shit on four wheels,” he snapped.
“What happened to Gary? Why don’t you ask him if he’s got any money?” she demanded.
“He lost it—plus some last night. He was on a winning streak and some two-bit asshole played him like a fiddle,” Rob replied.
She shook her head and waved the dirty rag at him. “I’m done with the lot of you. If you guys lose this place, that’s not my problem anymore. Mr. Andrews said I could move into the apartment in the barn over at Paul Grove’s Ranch,” she lied.
“You promised Ma, Samara!” Rob yelled before he cursed. “Damn it, either you bail them out or….”
“Or what, Rob? You and the others have sold everything of value. The little bit of furniture that’s left won’t get you twenty-five dollars. You’ve got nothing left and you’re sure as hell not getting my truck,” she snapped.
Rob looked her up and down. A shiver of unease swept through her when he shoved his hands in his pockets and looked over her head. She warily waited for him to drop whatever bombshell he thought would force her to help him.
“I told you that Gary lost his paycheck plus some,” he said, looking at her again.
She shifted agitatedly from one foot to the other. “Yeah, so,” she replied.
“The plus some was an IOU,” he said.
“So? What’s that got to do with me? What’d he promise this time? His first born? The kid would probably be better off,” she retorted with a shrug.
Rob shook his head. “Nope—you,” he answered.
Samara staggered back and shook her head. There was no way Rob could have just said what he did. Gary—her own brother—wouldn’t sell her to cover a poker debt.
“You’re lying,” she finally responded through gritted teeth.
Rob shook his head again. “Nope. If Jerry and Brit work, and we sell your truck, we can pay back part of the debt this month and more each month until it’s paid off,” he said.
“How much? How much did Gary lose this time?” she demanded, clenching her fists.
For once, Rob had the decency to look ashamed. He bowed his head and scratched the bottom of his bare foot on the edge of the porch. She silently hoped he would get a splinter.
“Ten grand,” he mumbled.
She blinked, wishing she had misheard him. “Ten thousand dollars? Gary lost ten thousand dollars in a poker game?” Her head felt light, and she was worried that she might faint. That frightened her more than dealing with the situation. If she fainted, who knew what her freaking brothers might do to her? She shook her head to clear it. “Gary doesn’t make that much in six months! Hell, the lot of you combined barely bring that home! How could he be so stupid? Why the hell did you guys let him do something that stupid?” she demanded in a faint voice.
Rob angrily waved his hand at her. “I told you, Gary was on a winning streak. Hell, he had already won more than that when the city slicker started buying drinks for everyone. What was he supposed to do, walk away?”
“Uh, yeah,” she retorted with a contemptuous glare.
Rob pursed his lips. “None of that matters now. We’ve got to get our hands on as much cash as possible. There’s a guy down at the distribution center who will pay top dollar for your truck. I know you’ve been stashing the money you’ve been making. I can ask Teresa for a loan. She’ll give me a hundred or two,” he said.
“Teresa won’t give you shit. You burned your bridges with her a long time ago. The only thing she wants from you is sex, and I know that can’t be worth two hundred bucks. Where is Gary? Why isn’t he taking care of the mess he made?” she snapped.
Rob glared at her as if all of this was her fault. “He’s in no shape to help at the moment. When he couldn’t pay up, that’s when the fight broke out. How do you think I ended up with a black eye and a busted lip and Jerry and Brit in jail? Turns out the guy Gary owes money to is pretty powerful in Vegas. If we don’t pay up, it’ll be more than this place and your truck, Samara. It’s our lives—and I mean all of us,” he stated.
Tears of anger and frustration blurred her vision before she blinked them away. She turned her back to Rob and slowly counted to twenty. Ten thousand dollars was more than she had. She had been saving every penny since she was ten years old, hiding it away in the garage where no one could find it. Despite the years of doing anything and everything she could to earn an extra dollar, including the four years of working part-time at the Grove Ranch, she didn’t have that kind of cash.
“I won’t sell my truck,” she said, not looking at him. “Once this is over—I’m done with you and the others. Wilson was right to get out of here. I don’t care if I have to live in the fucking woods, do you understand me?” She turned and faced him again. “I’m through trying to save your asses when you don’t give a shit about anyone but yourselves. If you want to waste your life, that’s your business. Keep me out of it.”
Rob smiled. “How much do you have?” he asked.
Samara stared back at Rob. He was very lucky she wasn’t holding the shotgun she kept under her bed for protection. The smug look on his face made her sick to her stomach.
“Twenty-five hundred,” she lied. “You, Jerry, and Brit can cough up the rest. You might want to start by selling that fancy new truck you’ve been hiding over in Teresa’s garage.”
A savage satisfaction swept through her when Rob’s smile turned into a scowl. She walked back to the garage. In minutes, she was holding the box containing every penny to her name. Glancing at her watch, she realized she would have to call Mason and tell him she would be a little late.
Samara would go to town and bail out her brothers. If Gary was lying low, he would be at Pat’s place above Teresa’s garage. She would never know what Teresa and her sister, Pat, saw in her brothers. She would give the money to help pay Gary’s gambling debt to Pat. There was no way in hell she would ever give it to her brothers. They would just gamble or drink it away.
“This is it, Ma. I know I promised you, but I’m never going to let Rob and the others use me again. I’ve got to make a change, and the only way I can do that is to end the cycle of bad decisions. I’m not carrying the Lee-Stephens baggage anymore,” she vowed, resting her hand on the old, rusted metal money box that once belonged to their mom.
She stashed the metal box under the driver’s seat of her truck and climbed in. By the time she pulled away, Rob had disappeared back into the clapboard house that desperately needed a coat of paint. The old truck bounced when she hit a pothole in the dirt driveway. She stopped the truck, looked both ways before turning right onto the highway, and headed to town.
Chapter Three
Twenty minutes later, Samara pulled into a parking space next to the Hall of Justice. She breathed a sigh of relief and sent a silent prayer of thanks to the cloudless sky when she spotted Annalisa Hollins walking along the sidewalk. She had fixed Annalisa’s brakes last week, and the woman told her if she ever needed anything, to let her know.
“Hey, Annalisa,” Samara called.
Annalisa turned, smiled, and shook her head in sympathy. Samara’s shoulders drooped at the other woman’s expression, and she grimaced. She hated having to ask for favors or owing anyone anything.
“I noticed that your brothers were spending the night again,” Annalisa said.
“Yeah. Rob just told me. Is there any way you can help me get them out? They’ve got to be at work in an hour, and I’m already late,” she asked with a hopeful expression.
&
nbsp; Annalisa nodded. “Yes, but they’ll still need to post bail,” she said.
Samara held up the box she was carrying. “I figured that,” she said with a sigh.
“I just saw Carl Biggie go in. He might give you a discount since he is already here and he’ll get two for the price of one,” Annalisa said.
Hope blossomed again. “Carl? Cool! I rebuilt the universal joints on his daughter’s car a couple of weeks ago. He did say he’d give me a discount the next time one of my brothers was arrested,” she replied with a grin.
“Well, today may be your lucky day,” Annalisa laughed.
Samara couldn’t help rolling her eyes. “That’s about as likely as me meeting an alien or discovering that Bigfoot lives outside of town. At this point, I’d almost welcome something like that if it meant getting away from my dumbass brothers,” she grudgingly confessed.
Annalisa laughed again. “You know what they say about not being able to pick your family,” she said.
“Yeah, but you’d think hoarding all the bad ones in one family should be against the natural order of evolution. I’m totally into spreading the love,” Samara dryly retorted.
“Well, let’s see if we can get you in and out, so at least you can get them to work,” Annalisa replied, opening the door for her.
Forty minutes later, she was back on the road. This time she had Jerry and Brit with her. Jerry was dozing with his mouth open and his head against the door while Brit sat in the middle. Brit, at twenty-one, was two years older than she was.
“Thank you for bailing us out, Samara,” Brit mumbled.
“Don’t get used to it. I’m not always going to be here to save your ass,” she snapped.
“I’ll see if I can pull a double to pay you back,” he replied.
She turned into the parking lot of the garage, making sure that she hit the pothole near the edge of the road. Jerry was wrenched awake, and he cursed when his head hit the passenger side window with a resounding thud. She hit the brakes a little harder than she should have, sending both men forward into the dash with a satisfying thump.
“You’re a real bitch sometimes, Samara,” Jerry grumbled.
“Thank you. Now get the hell out of my truck,” she retorted with a saccharin smile.
“Thanks again,” Brit mumbled as he slid out of the passenger door.
She didn’t bother answering. The moment they were clear, she pressed the accelerator. Looking both ways, she turned left onto the highway.
“I am so going to ask Mason about that apartment today,” she vowed.
Adalard flexed his hand when he noticed the usual colors of his aura swirling with an ominous dark red. He forced his mind and body to relax. The last thing he wanted to do was take out half of the power grid on this side of the planet.
Instead of thinking about the tracking device and who might have installed it, he surveyed the landscape below. Lush forests, winding streams, and snow-capped mountains greeted him. He could see signs of habitation from the local species, but they appeared to be separated from each other.
If he followed the road, it should lead him to Paul Grove’s place. He glanced at the computer readings. Arrow’s cloaking device was still shielding his transport’s presence from Earth’s military and civilian population.
Spikes of red energy surged through him again, causing the transport to shimmer. A warning light flashed on the console. There was something in the transport draining his powers. If he didn’t find a place to land soon, he wouldn’t be able to.
“Caution, shield instability detected. Shields at twenty percent. Cloaking device instability detected,” the computer reported in a calm, male voice.
“Tilkmos,” Adalard cursed.
He scanned the detailed holographic map of the terrain. Up ahead, near a river, there was a clearing that was barely large enough for the transport, but it would have to do. It was at the bottom of a ravine and wouldn’t be easily accessible, which made it even better. If his readings were correct, he was on Paul Grove’s property.
He focused on trying to regulate the energy flowing from him to the transport. By the time he dipped below the treetops, sweat had covered his brow from the effort of keeping the surge that was running through him from shorting out the craft’s entire electrical system.
He was livid by the time he landed. An unexpected feeling of weakness coursed through his body, and he frowned at his trembling hands as he shut down the transport.
What the hell just happened? he wondered, clenching his hand into a fist.
Adalard flexed his fingers and made the decision that until he knew what was going on, he wouldn’t use the transport. He would take a portable unit and contact the Rayon I from Paul’s ranch. An irritated sigh slipped from him.
“There goes my relaxation time,” he muttered.
He released the straps on his seat and stood. In minutes, he had a bag packed and was striding down the platform. He cursed when he realized that the transport was visible. Without power, the cloaking device wouldn’t work.
“Back to the old-fashioned way,” he sighed.
He lifted his hand and focused on the surrounding energy. In seconds, a large reflective screen appeared above the transport. He closed his fingers into a fist and the screen floated down, covering the transport. By the time he finished, he was breathing heavily from exhaustion.
He studied his creation while he waited for his body to quit shaking. From the air, his transport would be virtually invisible. On the ground, it was another story.
This must be the work of a saboteur. This person was likely affiliated with Kejon, the Curizan assassin who had targeted Ha’ven and kidnapped Emma several months back. Adalard and his brothers believed Kejon was part of a larger, deadlier group. He thanked the Goddesses that the bastard was dead now, but there were still others out there that remained in the shadows. He wouldn’t stop until every one of them was captured or killed, preferably the latter.
Looking around, Adalard found it difficult to believe that with so much untapped power in the air, Emma’s species didn’t know how to harness it. Emma swore that humans couldn’t control the surrounding energy, but he knew she could. The power Emma interwove with his brother’s was a remarkable sight.
He shook his head in disbelief at the thought and refocused on getting out of the ravine and up to the road. He moved the pack on his shoulder to his back and carefully surveyed the area. There didn’t appear to be any evidence of human activity.
He looked up and exhaled. Normally he would use his Curizan powers to get out of the ravine. Unfortunately, whatever had happened in his transport left him unwilling to risk it.
“It looks like it will be the old-fashioned way again,” he sighed with a shake of his head.
He estimated that it was about eight hundred feet to the top of the ravine. He felt lightheaded already.
He broke the climb into three parts, stopping to breathe through the weakness that made his limbs feel like a pile of gelatinous mush, but it slowly faded the farther away he was from his ship. The rugged cliff face provided plenty of hand and footholds that allowed him to pace himself. Even so, the climb to the top left him exhausted.
“Son of a two-headed Tiliqua,” he groaned as he pulled himself over the edge and rolled onto his back.
He stared up at the heavy gray clouds. All thoughts of having a relaxing, fun time looked about as promising as the darkening sky. He muttered another curse, rolled to his feet, and wiped his hands together. Standing there wasn’t going to get him to Paul Grove’s ranch.
Half an hour later, he emerged from the woods along the roadside. He rolled his shoulders, easing their stiffness. The hike through the woods took longer than he had expected. He paused and looked back and forth. He wished he had brought a hoverboard.
“I’m getting really tired of doing things the old-fashioned way,” he sighed as he turned and began walking along the white line at the edge of the road as cold wind pushed against him and the firs
t fluffy dusting of snowflakes began to fall.
Samara glanced at the clock on her phone and muttered under her breath. She hated being late. A quick call to Mason before she lost signal helped ease a little of the tension she was feeling. Still, it burned that her family issues had interfered with her job. It reminded her too much of her brothers and they were the last people she wanted to be compared to.
She frowned when she saw someone walking along the edge of the road. They were in the middle of nowhere. It was six miles from town and another six miles to Casper Mountain.
She slowed and crossed the double yellow line as she passed the man. He didn’t look like a hiker. His long hair ruled out his being one of Mr. G’s military guys that came for training.
“He looks more like a biker who lost his bike,” she said with a shake of her head as she thought of the number of city folk who didn’t understand Wyoming weather.
Fat snowflakes struck the windshield. She glanced in the mirror again. The guy wasn’t dressed for cold weather. Up at this elevation and especially this time of year, there was always the chance of a sudden snowstorm.
She silently cursed her tender heart. “He better not be a serial killer,” she growled as she pulled off the road and waited for him to catch up.
She kept her eyes glued to the rearview mirror and impatiently drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. A moment of self-doubt filled her when she got a closer look at him, and she bit her bottom lip in indecision. She had to force her foot to stay on the brake pedal even though her sense of survival was screaming for her to go.
It would be rude to give the guy hope of a ride then take off like a jackrabbit with a coyote on its tail, she silently admonished.
Yeah, but at least the jackrabbit is smart enough to run, you idiot!
“Shit!” she cursed, pressing the power button to the passenger side window when he reached the back of her truck. “Hey, do you need a ride?”