Thuy shuddered. God. It didn’t bear thinking where she might be, if Maddy hadn’t stepped in and helped her out.
Thuy nodded. “All right, then. So… I guess we’re farmers now.”
Maddy looked resolute. “I mean it, Thuy. I can’t…”
“Oh, shush and eat your cake,” Thuy said, rolling her eyes. “We’re in this together, remember? You’re probably my favorite person on earth, and I am not letting you struggle with this baby and a farm all by yourself. Besides, what am I getting rid of?”
“Your job, for one,” Maddy pointed out.
That would suck, a little. She’d been at the biosciences library at Cal for a few years now. “It’s time I branched out,” Thuy said, then wiggled her eyebrows. “Get it? Library? Branch?”
Maddy rolled her eyes. “Oh, lord.”
“And if you move here, I’m losing a roomie, and you know finding a new one would be nightmare,” Thuy said. “You’re my best friend. Where you go, I go. So, I’ll move here with you, and we’ll make it work. Okay?”
Maddy smiled, and her eyes watered. She reached out, and Thuy took her hand.
“I owe you so big time,” Maddy said, as tears started to roll down her cheeks. “But it’s just temporary, okay? I don’t expect or want you to give up your job and your whole life, just to help me. I felt bad enough that you moved in to help with the pregnancy, but…”
“Are you kidding? You are my bestest best friend in the whole world,” Thuy pointed out, squeezing Maddy’s fingers. “I liked the library, but I could work anywhere. I can’t just find a best friend anywhere.”
Maddy’s smile was watery, but grateful.
Thuy nodded decisively. “I’ve got this. We’ve got this. How hard can farming be, right?”
Even as she said it, her stomach clenched.
She looked over, only to see several people staring at their joined hands. She sighed.
“It appears we’re still giving them stuff to talk about,” Thuy said dryly. “Honestly, are we that shocking?”
Maddy laughed, releasing her. “You mean out-of-wedlock preggo homosexual life partners?”
“Don’t forget that I’m Asian,” Thuy added. “Bringing the Asian contingent of this place to probably, what, one percent?”
“Don’t worry. They’re a good group of people, mostly,” Maddy said. “You’re going to fit in before you know it. And even if they’re curious, they’re also kind. They’ll help out.”
Thuy smiled. “Well, that’s…”
“I just hope Drill gets over it.” Maddy’s eyes clouded, and she poked at her cake. “He was really, really mad at me. I think he thinks I cheated him out of his inheritance.”
Thuy stared at her. She could see how he’d feel that way.
“Maybe I’m being selfish,” Maddy said, her voice contemplative. “Maybe I should offer to buy him out.”
“With what?” Thuy asked. “You don’t have that much in savings.” Honestly, with the baby on the way, Thuy knew that Maddy had very little in savings and she’d need every penny she could get.
“I don’t know,” Maddy admitted. “Maybe I can promise him part of the profits of the farm.”
Thuy felt a little sick. That was assuming the farm made a profit — and that could be a while. She wished that she knew more about farming. She couldn’t even keep houseplants alive.
That did not bode well for her future as a farmer, she realized.
“Well, it won’t be planting time until spring,” Maddy said. “I’ve got a month or two to plan and get stuff laid out. And I don’t know when Drill’s going to talk to me again.”
Thuy frowned. She knew how unpleasant family could turn, especially when something like money was involved.
You can try to leave, girl, but you will always be a part of this.
Her father had been furious when she’d moved out, and for a brief, fiery moment, she wondered if his words were literal: if he’d hunt her down, drag her back — do God knows what to her. She’d often wondered if she would have made it out alive if it hadn’t been for her brother’s tempering influence.
She had deliberately shut down those thoughts, those memories. She wasn’t going to dredge them up today. She had too much to do. She had to quit her job. And move their stuff, and break their lease. And then she had to help her hugely pregnant best friend run a farm, with like cows and plants and things.
Thuy took another bite of the cake, only this time it felt like sawdust in her mouth.
Oh my God. How am I going to do this?
Chapter Ten
Drill rested his head against his knuckles. He was on his fourth whiskey, and the burning sensation and subsequent numbness still hadn’t put a dent in his anger. He felt like a volcano, seething and bubbling.
Maybe it wasn’t fair. After all, he was surprised his old man had considered leaving him anything in the first place. When he’d been kicked out at sixteen, his father had pulled out all the stops. He’d trotted out the “you’re not my son” line. And if they’d ever crossed paths in the street — and even for a town as small as Green Valley, that hadn’t happened often — his father had stared through him like he was plate fucking glass. As far as he knew, his father had died hating him, even if he felt a little bit sorry for his actions.
So maybe he should be grateful that his father had left half the farm to him.
But then Maddy snatched it away.
That was what hurt the most, he thought, motioning to the bartender to give him another double. He was getting good and plowed tonight, and crashing in one of the back rooms. God willing, the haze of alcohol would help curb the feeling of ripping someone’s head off.
The thing was, if he’d simply been left out of the will, he’d have been depressed, but he wouldn’t have been surprised. It would have conformed to his admittedly pessimistic world view. His father hated him, he was cut out, end of story.
But he had a chance… only if he stayed on the farm. Or if his sister had decided to sell it.
He shook his head, downing the liquid in front of him with no shudder. That was what he couldn’t believe. Maddy had deliberately chosen to stay on the farm and screw him out of it. She knew, she fucking knew that he couldn’t and wouldn’t leave the Wraiths. Why toy with him? Why ask if he’d share the farm — and all its responsibilities — with her? What did she honestly think he was going to do in response to that?
He felt his blood pressure throb in his temples. She’d screwed him, plain and simple. His father had taunted him from beyond the grave, and his own sister had totally hosed him.
He’d made the mistake of looking up prices for farms in their area. It wasn’t a huge fortune, but it still would’ve been a nice bundle for forty acres of prime farmland and several outbuildings. Not that he was hurting for money, either. He got his cut from the club’s profits for the work he did, even if that cut had gotten leaner since they’d lost Darrell and Razor and the place had gone haywire. He didn’t spend much. He didn’t have a woman to blow money on, like other bikers often did, either buying gifts for their old ladies or tossing bills at strippers or hookers. He certainly didn’t waste money on drugs, especially after seeing the wake of destruction that occurred after several of his biker brothers had partaken of their own product. He might spend some money on his bike, but he was handy and did all his repairs himself, usually with their stolen parts. He had a shithole apartment and shabby furnishings, since the place was just somewhere to crash when he needed to sleep. He had a pocket of savings that he didn’t touch. He considered it escape money, if and when he ever really needed it. So technically, it’s not like he needed the money from the sale of the farm.
But it was mine.
At the very least, he’d had a moment where his father had left him something, had given a damn. Before his sister, conforming to their father’s last wish, took it from him.
He growled softly to himself before realizing it.
“What crawled up your ass and died?”<
br />
Drill closed his eyes. Of all the people to run into, the last thing he needed right now was Peter Goddamn Lundy.
Pete plunked himself on the barstool next to him, ordering a beer from the bartender. “Is it the holidays? Can’t stand the holidays, myself,” Pete said.
Drill shook his head. He hadn’t celebrated Thanksgiving or Christmas in longer than he could remember. It’s not like they had a big get-together in the Wraiths, for God’s sake. He looked over at Pete scathingly, mentally wishing the man would disappear.
“So, what’s the problem?”
“Nothing.” Drill hoped that the short answer would shut the man up, but he realized that it wouldn’t… that the guy would needle at him, like a small biting fish, until he gave up more information. “I was just thinking about people who screw other people over.”
Pete made a sympathetic sound. “Can’t trust anybody these days.”
“Damn straight.” Drill drank his other shot. His head was swimming a little, which was better.
“Listen… I’ve got something to ask you.” Pete looked around, as if to see if anyone was listening to their conversation. Then the weasel-looking guy had an expression of almost fear. “Is it true? About Razor?”
“What about Razor?” Because if it were psychotic, it was probably true.
“That he had bikers killed, when he was laundering that money.” Pete definitely looked scared now. “Like twenty of them or something?”
“Well, yeah,” Drill said slowly. “I heard that, too.” Most of them weren’t Wraiths — but one member was, along with his family. When the news had come out, about Razor’s scheme, it had been a bit of a scandal. Also, because people found out that Razor was keeping more of the money than the club realized.
“But he killed other club members, too, didn’t he?” Pete’s voice dropped low. “I mean, not a lot. But like… what’s-his-name. Lube? This would’ve been a while ago, but…”
Drill tensed. Nobody talked about Lube. It had been years — and yeah, it was common knowledge that Razor had the guy killed. That’s why nobody talked about it.
“And nobody’s seen Christine St. Claire in a while,” Pete said meaningfully, looking at Drill for confirmation.
Drill stared back at him. “That was after Razor went to jail.”
“Yeah. That was when Catfish was taking over,” Pete pointed out nervously.
Drill grimaced. “Is this all just occurring to you now, or what?” he asked, in a normal voice.
Pete looked pained, his eyes quickly darting around the room. “I’m just saying, what kind of loyalty is that? Killing other guys, I get, but our own? I’ve been considering signing up with the Wraiths and getting patched in and all, because I think it’ll really help move my product. But there are other clubs, more powerful clubs, ones that might be a little more reliable, you know? And I’m considering — gack!”
Drill barely had time to register what happened. Catfish moved quicker than a snake when he wanted to. He’d quickly grabbed Pete, yanking him off the stool like a fish on a reel and spilling him out on the dirty, sticky floor.
“Get up,” Catfish said, his voice sharp as a blade. “Get. Up.”
Pete scrambled, staring at Catfish in terror.
“You’re going to question our loyalty? You’re acting like signing up with our club is like signing up with the local fucking Elks Lodge, or some kind of business networking, and you’re questioning how loyal we are to each other?” Catfish’s eyes blazed with fury. “In our house. In my fucking house.”
Pete’s already pale skin went paper white.
Catfish aimed a kick that caught him right in the ribs. Pete let out a squeal, then a whimper.
“Let me make it easier for you. You’re not a member of the Wraiths. You’re not ever gonna be a member of the Wraiths.” He looked at a few of the club members, who surrounded him. “More than that, I’d get the hell out of Green Valley if I were you, because you’re on our turf as long as you’re here. You take your shitty-ass skunkweed to Knoxville, or Nashville, or goddamn Timbuktu. I’m giving the order that if any member of the Wraiths sees you anywhere in Green Valley, he’s allowed — no, he’s required — to drop you wherever the fuck he finds you.”
He looked at the other members. “Take this garbage out, kick the shit out of him, and drop him off on his daddy’s doorstep. Keep his bike.”
Pete made weeping noises as they carried him out. Drill didn’t particularly like the guy, but he felt sort of sorry for him. Still, he knew that Pete had earned his own beating. Or rather, Pete’s own stupidity had earned it.
Drill had been the recipient of a few stupid-beatings, first from his father, then from the Club. He shrugged. You got used to it. If you didn’t, you were in the wrong world.
Catfish motioned for Drill to follow him, and he did, feeling the numbness from the whiskey slowly setting in. The pounding music of the bar retreated as they went into the back office. Catfish sank down at the desk. “Fucking Pete,” Catfish said, shaking his head slowly.
“Thought we needed new recruits,” Drill said. “Not that Pete was any great candidate, but…”
“He was stirring up more trouble than he was worth.” For the first time, Drill realized that Catfish looked exhausted. “We’re hanging on by our teeth, man. If I’m going to get the Wraiths back to where it was, I can’t have some punk questioning loyalty and talking up other clubs.”
Drill nodded, seeing his point.
“How’d the will thing, go, anyway?”
Drill grimaced, the pain rushing back to the fore. “Shitty,” he admitted. “Coulda gotten half the farm, but my sister decided to stay rather than sell. So she gets to keep the whole thing.”
Catfish’s eyes narrowed. “You’re telling me that if the farm sold, you would’ve gotten half?”
“Yeah.” Drill sighed, then let out a low, mirthless chuckle. “Ain’t that a bitch, huh?”
“Good sized farm, huh?”
“Forty acres.” Drill felt a little dizzy. The shots were finally kicking in.
Catfish looked contemplative. “You need to talk to your sister.”
“What’s the point? She’s made up her mind.”
“I don’t think she’s thought it through,” Catfish said. “Maybe you talk to her, show her why it’s a lot better that she sells.”
Drill stared at his old friend. “Why?”
“Because we could use the cash, man.”
Drill blinked. “Wait. What?”
“We need money,” Catfish repeated. “The Wraiths. We’re bleeding out financially. You know that. And as one of the most trusted lieutenants in our club, I’m asking you — no. I’m ordering you: talk to your sister. We could really use the money.”
Drill felt blindsided. Catfish wanted him to talk to his sister, and then give all the money from the farm to the Wraiths?
They were there for you when you needed them…
Drill swallowed.
“I… okay. I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”
Catfish’s grin was wide. “Great. Now, let’s finish getting you wasted.” He put his arm around Drill and led him back to the bar.
Chapter Eleven
The next day, after starting to write lists of things that she’d need to get done, Thuy realized that she was woefully unprepared for… well, farming.
This looks like a job for Google, she thought in her best superhero voice, pulling her tablet out of her messenger bag. She had only opened it to read since they’d gotten there. She’d been checking emails on her phone when they were in town or when she could get reception, which was in odd places of the house, like the downstairs bathroom by the tiny window, or out on the front porch if she leaned just right. Now, she wanted a slightly larger screen to do some internet searching. If push came to shove, she’d break out her laptop.
Maddy had been on the phone most of the morning, handling her father’s affairs, and submitting her resignation to her job at the Oakland Farmers
Market, where she worked as a marketing associate. “Hey, Maddy?” Thuy said, when Maddy hung up on her latest conversation.
“Yup?” Maddy crossed something off of the to-do list she’d written on a yellow legal pad.
“What’s the Wi-Fi password here?”
Maddy stopped, looking up, blinking. “Um… there isn’t one.”
“Sorry?”
Maddy laughed. “Yeah. There isn’t Wi-Fi here.”
For a second, Thuy went blank. “What do you mean?”
“Just that. There isn’t Wi-Fi.”
“So… there’s a hard line?”
Maddy sighed. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I forgot to tell you. The farm is way too far out of town for them to run cable out here. We don’t get cable, so… no hard line, either.”
Thuy goggled. “What did your father do for internet?”
“I don’t think he did anything,” Maddy mused. “We only talked on the phone, and that was only in the last year. I think he may have still had a flip phone, actually, and the old landline. And he never sent emails. I don’t think he had an email address.”
“Huh.” What do you mean, he didn’t have an email? Who doesn’t have email or a smartphone in this day and age? Thuy tamped down on that line of thinking. These were first world problems, she scolded herself. So they didn’t have internet. So what?
But how the hell am I supposed to figure stuff out? Being disconnected made her skin itch.
“You might try using your phone as a hotspot,” Maddy offered apologetically. “And we can look into something like satellite internet, but if I remember right, it’s really expensive.”
“Oh-kay,” Thuy said. “No problem. I’ll, um, use my phone.”
She retreated to the porch, not wanting to turn the bathroom into her office just for an internet search. It was brisk, but the sun was shining, at least. She bundled herself in her thick coat and pulled her phone out.
“How… to run… a profitable… family… farm…” she typed, muttering to herself.
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