Dirty South Drug Wars (42 page)

Well, bump that.

I tsked Amos with a frown. “You don’t want him. It’s me you want.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, my dear.” Amos laughed. “I want you both. Dead.”

“Yeah, well, the feeling is mutual.” I scowled, the thought of my sister’s smiling face in the shattered photograph upstairs flashing through my mind.

“Step away from the door, Rue.”

I narrowed my eyes, insulted by the tone of his voice: soft, soothing, and condescending. Then I remembered he probably thought I was crazy.

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll shoot your boyfriend in the head.” He smiled, removing the gun from Tanner’s neck and tapping it against his temple for emphasis.

“Don’t you listen to him, Rue,” Tanner commanded through gritted teeth. “Get out of here. Run!”

“Maybe I didn’t make myself clear enough,” Amos said.

Amos dropped the gun from Tanner’s head then pistol whipped him. Tanner’s eyes rolled back, his body slumping against my uncle’s. Amos stepped back, causing Tanner to fall to the floor. My uncle hovered over him, the gun drawn on my prone boyfriend’s body. The gentle rise and fall of Tanner’s chest alerted me that he was unconscious but not dead, bringing me bittersweet relief.

“Step away from the door, Rue.” Amos took a large step over Tanner’s body.

The wind picked up, as did my willpower. The door beside me flung violently, the thick piece of wood barreling inward. I jumped back on impulse, my uncle creeping forward like a wild animal ready for attack. He reached the door, but not soon enough. As it slammed shut my feet left the ground and I was flying.

I darted through the rain, wind, mud, and muck, my shoes slipping and sinking deep into the earth. The suction of the red clay held me back, but still I ran. I tossed my useless flashlight to the side, knowing I needed both hands free just in case—just in case he reached me.

I saw Nana’s storm house ahead, the homemade concrete shelter dug into the side of the hill, the open doorway a black void into the tiny space that beckoned me.

I stumbled inside, taking a chance of looking behind me to find my uncle just yards away. He knew he had me, he
thought
he had me.

He was wrong.

I removed the gun from the waistband of my jeans, holding it behind my back. I thought about wrenching the wooden door shut, but it would do no good. There was no need, because he was there.

Amos stood near the doorway, blocking the small amount of light blessed by the moon as it occasionally peeped out from behind the dark, rolling clouds. As he stood there I held up my gun, clasping it in my hands, relishing the coolness of the sleek metal between my fingers. I felt strong, I felt brave.

I felt like myself again.

“You thought you could just drive out here and shoot me, huh?” Amos laughed, the sound chilling as it erupted from his throat. “You stupid little bitch. You didn’t even realize I’ve been following you all night.”

Amos stepped forward, causing my heart to seize in my chest. I hesitated, and in that moment he had me, dragging me from the storm house across the muddy backyard, laughing and taunting me as he did so. Once we were close to the house he released me, tossing me to the ground.

“You’ll never kill me. You’re weak, pathetic. Just like your old man was.”

He glared down at me, the rainwater dripping from his face. He resembled my father so much in that moment, the dark eyes and thick hair, I found myself stunned. How had he turned into this monster? How had he turned into this man who took so much from me, took so much from himself, killing his own brother, killing his own niece? My stomach twisted and I felt the need to retch, because I knew.

I was next.

I was the next to die if I didn’t fight back.

I gripped the gun firmly in my hand, the mud it lay in embedding beneath my nails. I held it up, grasping it in both hands, and pointed it at his head. My pose was unwavering. The safety was released by the slip of my thumb. I was ready for this to end. I’d been ready for such a long time.

“You won’t do it.” He barked in laughter, his features twisting in a sneer, and he glowered down at me, a look of condescending pity drawn on his face. “You’re too much like your father. You’re weak. You think with this more than this.” Amos slapped the area above his heart with one hand before tapping his temple.

“You want to talk about my father?” I blinked away the rain and tears, swallowing down the knot lodged in my throat. “Let’s talk about my father. My daddy was a good man who made some terrible mistakes, but he didn’t deserve to die. Tell me why you did it, Uncle Amos. Tell my why you murdered my father.”

The smirk left his face, replaced with a grimace of pain. Lightning etched the sky behind him, the wind blinding me as rain pelted my face. Amos stepped forward, hovering over me, uncaring that his dead brother’s gun pointed at the area directly between his eyes.

“You took everything from me,” I said. “I lost my father, I lost my mother, I lost my sister, I even lost my mind for a while, but not anymore. I’m back, back for revenge. You’ll pay for your sins with your life. I doubt anyone will miss you.”

He gave me a wicked grin, his lips curling into a sneer. “You’re right. No one will miss me. I’m not Jeb. I’m not a monster with a heart of gold. I was the kid living in his shadow. Everything we worked for, everything, was his. I was the oldest! Do you know what it was like living in Jeb Monroe’s shadow? Knowing my father wasn’t really my father? Always made to feel like I was never good enough for Ma? Never good enough for Pa?”

“I can’t believe Nana treated you any differently,” I responded, the gun heavy in my hands, waning just a bit. “Nana loves everyone, unwaveringly. Your father, your biological father, was her one true love. If anything, I’m sure you were the most special of her children.”

He laughed, the cackle menacing and broken behind gritted teeth. “Most special? I’m the bastard child of a man who never loved her. He used her and never acknowledged my existence. I was a mistake. Jeb was the first-born Monroe. Papa Monroe doted on him. He was everything I wasn’t.”

“So you killed him? You killed him out of jealousy?”

Amos scowled and spit on the ground. “Jealousy? Is that what you call it? Ha! You’re in for a rude awakening, little girl. I killed him because he was a traitor, making deals with the devil himself, Tanner Sr. I was against it from the beginning, so your beloved daddy went behind my back, making deals to share territory. Your father would have ruined everything. Think of the money we would have lost, just giving territory over to the Montgomerys.”

“So you killed him for money?” I shook my head in disdain, my soaking hair clinging to my forehead.

“No, I killed him because he got in my way,” he sneered, sliding the safety off his own gun as he took another step forward, standing directly over me. “I’m the king, not Jeb. I was meant to rule, not him. He got in my way. Tanner Sr. got in my way. Lucy got in my way, and now you are in my way.

“I had so much hope for you, Rue,” he said, his face contemplative and edged with regret. “You’re the smartest of the brood. I told myself if I ever had a kid I’d want it to be just like you. I financially supported your mother after your father’s death. Even after the whore ran off, I supported you girls. All you had to do was stay away from the Montgomerys, but you couldn’t do that, huh? You’re too much like your father, too much like your mother. A Montgomery whore. You could have ruled one day, but no. Such a waste.”

The unmistakable sound of a click resonated in the air. I took a deep breath and expelled the air from my lungs.

I blinked away the rain with a smile. “You’re wrong, Uncle. I’m not in your way. You’re in mine.”

My father’s gun made a clicking sound of its own. The hammer tapped against the cool metal. The gun no longer felt heavy in my hands. If anything, it felt light, weightless, and I was lifted in that moment. The troubles that followed me suddenly melted away.

I squeezed the trigger.

I’d imagined killing him a million times, in my daydreams, in my nightmares. But the image my mind conjured never prepared me for the actual act. In my dreams the bullet travelled in slow motion. He would fall silently to the ground.

In reality the bullet flew fierce, faster than the blink of an eye. Amos’ body flew backward. His forehead shattered. Blood and brain matter seeped through his split skull. His eyes were round, gaping. His own gun dangled from his fingers before it fell to the ground.

Those dark eyes, my father’s eyes, locked on mine as he staggered back, his limp body slamming against the side of my grandmother’s farmhouse.

As he slumped down, his mangled head left a bloody trail, a violent reminder of life and of death dwindling down the side of the stark white building. His gaze drifted from mine as his head fell to the side, his body slumping into a sitting position. The shock was gone, replaced with a blank stare as the rain began to ebb.

My stomach convulsed, my heart chasing it in return as I turned to vomit on the muddy, red clay ground.

The wind picked up. I smelled the freshness of the dampened magnolias, their blooms wilted from the summer heat as the petals fell to the earth, the scent intermingling with the smell of a recently fired gun. I breathed it in, the gunpowder, the flowers, the red clay, and the rain. I felt relief for the first time in forever.

Tanner.

I pulled myself from the ground, my mud-soaked jeans clinging to my legs like spiders clinging to a web as I stumbled to the back porch. I paused then gazed down at the dead man once more before picking up his discarded gun from the cold ground.

“Just in case.”

I fired another round, hitting him in the chest this time, the bullet ripping through his long-dead heart. His pale body jerked then fell, sliding to the earth, his scruffy face submerging in a deep puddle. I watched him for a moment before leaving him there, satisfied there were no bubbles erupting from the surface of his watery grave.

Cool cotton sheets comforted me as I awoke from a deep, dreamless sleep. I stretched, looking around Tanner’s bedroom and finding myself alone. The morning sunlight filtered in through the window. The light faded and shifted with the movement of branches and leaves outside.

I slipped from beneath the covers, yawning and stretching before a slight chill settled over me. Half expecting my sister, my heart skipped a beat. But there was no one else in the room. Deciding the chill was the bitter wind creeping inside, I shrugged then padded into Tanner’s bathroom to take a long, hot shower.

It wasn’t until later, after blow-drying my hair, slipping on an old, familiar black dress, and applying my makeup that the chill returned. Staring into the mirror, just past my right shoulder in the reflection, I was met with a pair of eyes so similar, yet so vastly different from my own.

I sighed. “You really need to stop popping up every time I have my back turned, Luce.”

My sister grinned a mischievous little grin, her eyes alight with amusement. It wasn’t the first time she’d visited me since my uncle’s demise.

She was there with me when I found Tanner inside my grandmother’s home, standing over his forlorn body, causing me to break out into a scream. She was there in the woods near the river when we dumped Amos’ body and tossed the guns, and she was there the night our grandmother called me sobbing, explaining that Olivia had finally passed away.

My sister had a silly grin on her face, smug over the fact she’d surprised me once more by popping up unannounced.

“People already think I’m crazy.” I peeked at Tanner’s partly open door. “If they hear me talking to my dead sister they’ll commit me.”

“I feel more and more insignificant every time you mention the word ‘dead.’ How would you feel if I kept rubbing
your
demise in your face?” she asked. Her grin stretched across her pale face. “Maybe
you’re
the one who’s dead, and
I’m
really alive.”

“What?”

Lucy cackled then rolled from her belly to her side, propping her head on her hand. Her black dress was wrinkled, the deep creases embedded in the dark silk. She lounged on Tanner’s bed as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

“I liked you better when you were alive.”

“Well, I should hope so.”

“Can I ask you a question? Are you a ghost, or just a figment of my imagination?”

Lucy sighed and sat up on the bed, crossing her legs underneath her. She was barefoot, with no shoes in sight.

“I hate the word ‘ghost.’ It makes me feel invisible, so empty.” She cast me another one of those grins, which melted once she noticed my serious expression. “Okay, okay. No more jokes. Jesus. You take things too seriously. To be honest with you, I don’t know
what
I am, but I hope I’m more than just a ghost, more than just an illusion you’ve conjured up. I like to imagine I’m memories, memories you can see if you look hard enough.”

I absorbed her words for a moment then nodded, moving on to my next question. “Have you met God?”

“God?” She scowled. “Uh, no, Sissy. If I met God, do you think I’d still be hanging around this joint?”

“So why are you here?”

“I came to say goodbye, one last time.”

I stared at her for a long moment, her humor no longer evident. Her face was somewhat shy and completely laced with sadness while she toyed with the hem of her dress.

“If you’re a memory, then you’ll never slip away.” My heart twisted inside my chest at the thought of no longer seeing my sister.

“Memories fade over time.” She uncrossed her legs and smoothed the wrinkles from her dress. “I’m starting to forget things. I can’t remember hardly anything from our childhood. I barely remember our father. I remember Mama, but can’t remember what she looks like.”

“That’s not a great loss.”

“She’s our mother,” Lucy retorted. “No matter how awful she treated us, find forgiveness somehow, Rue. It’s the only way you’ll move forward in life.”

“Are you coming to the funeral before you leave?” I asked, ignoring her statement because forgiveness was nowhere near feasible in the near future, not for Christine, not for anyone.

“Nah. Once you’ve been to your own funeral, you’ve been to them all,” she cracked, shooting me another smile.

“My dead sister is full of jokes today.”

“Stop calling me dead!” She groaned, pressing her hand on her chest above her still heart. “You’re completely crushing my spirit. Get it? Crushing my spirit?”

I opened my mouth to snap back at her, but the soft padding of boots on the stairs caused me to pause. Quickly standing from the bed, Lucy crossed the room then shocked me by throwing her arms around my neck.

I felt her.

I felt her cool body pressed against mine, the sleek fabric of the dress slipping against my chilled skin. The smell of her shampoo wafted around me in a Lucy-induced haze. I felt her cheek rise against my face as she smiled. I heard her breathe. Then she pulled away.

“Wow,” I whispered. “I can feel you. That’s amazing.”

She snorted, the contours of her face softening, fading. “Of course you can feel me. I’m your sister.”

One of her hands slipped from my body; the other slid beneath the chain dangling from my neck. She lifted the key that hung there, knotting her eyebrows in concentration as the outline of her body began to slip away.

“Lucy, wait, don’t go. What about the key? Tell me about the key.”

“The key,” she said, those eyebrows still drawn in confusion. “You know, I can’t seem to remember anything about a key.”

And just like that, she was gone.

“Rue?”

Cool metal slapped against my neck as the key fell against my skin, landing between my breasts. I closed my eyes then took a deep breath before turning to the door. Tanner stood in the doorway, his mussed hair even more unruly than usual and dark circles under his eyes.

“Are you all right?”

I laughed at his words, shaking my head at the irony of it all.

I was most definitely not “all right.”

“I’m great,” I replied with a soft smile.

Tanner pushed himself off the doorframe then made his way across the room. My stomach fluttered at the way he looked wearing a charcoal-grey suit, nicely tailored, with his hands deep in his pockets. A pink tie hung from his neck, which I used to draw him against me, sliding my fingers around the slick material and giving it a tug. He grinned that lopsided grin then melted into me, wrapping his arms tightly around my waist.

“Are you sure you can do this?” His warm breath was just a whisper.

“Yeah, I’m sort of used to it by now.” I snubbed the emotional knot lodging inside my throat.

“That doesn’t mean it ever gets any easier,” he replied, resting his hands on the small of my back. “If you want to say ‘screw it, let’s go have a burger and shake,’ we’ll do that. We’ll do anything you want to do. I just want you happy. I’m tired of seeing you sad.”

“I’ll watch them bury my cousin. And I’ll bury my sadness with her as well.”

“Are you asking your grandmother about the key today?” He fingered the chain as it hung around my neck.

“Yeah. This key, it makes me nervous. It belongs to something important. I can feel it.”

*

The sanctuary of the funeral home was full of people pressing their tissues to the corners of their eyes. The loss of such a young person hung in the air. “Such a terrible tragedy,” they said. “A freak accident,” they claimed. “Faulty wiring in the truck.” Only a select few of us knew the truth surrounding the night of Olivia’s “accident.”

The curious gaze of the townsfolk continued to linger on us—the Montgomery clan and me—as we sat on the back pew. I’d dismissed Brodie’s suggestion to sit near the front in a pew reserved for close relatives.

The only family I desired sat by my side: the Montgomerys.

Josie wandered into the room and I bristled. The sight of the light pink scars embedded down the side of her face caused me to cringe, but I tilted my head high.

No regrets.

Josie surprised me by bestowing a soft smile upon me then tugging Bryce to her side. My body went rigid as the two of them slipped past us in the pew, Josie’s soft blue skirt drifting across my bare knees. She sat down beside me and I gave her a tight smile, trying not to stare at the marks beneath her thick makeup.

“I look like dammit, I know.” She gave me a half-smile. “It’s okay. I deserved it.”

“No, you didn’t. You’re the reason I finally came to my senses.”

Josie lowered her voice. “Has the FBI been questioning you about Amos?”

I glanced around me at the mourners, content that everyone within earshot was deeply absorbed in their own hushed conversations.

“They came sniffing around, asking questions,” I told her as Tanner’s arm slipped around my shoulders.

“What did you tell them?”

I grinned. “The truth. I told them the truth, to an extent. I was with Tanner the night of the storm. It was far too rough to get out in that sort of weather.”

“Do you think they bought it?” she asked.

I shrugged, unsure of that answer myself. Cops and detectives were persistent, if nothing else. I wouldn’t be surprised if they continued hounding us for answers. Unfortunately for them, dead men didn’t talk, especially not the one we’d tossed in the river. If only Buck were there to join his friend and his own son in their watery graves.

“Heard anything about Buck Bridges?” she asked even quieter as though she were reading my mind. “Any new developments?”

“Nah,” I whispered back, tugging a strand of hair between my fingers. “He’s practically living at the police station. He’s terrified, as he should be. Graham’s itching to get his hands on him. He told me and Tanner that he’ll be the one to end Buck.”

“I’d love to help Graham end Buck Bridges’ life,” she confessed. “I need another trigger finger to replace the one I got rid of.”

“Josie,” I scolded. “That’s horrible.”

“Meh.” She shrugged, lowering her voice so low I struggled to hear her. The preacher gestured for the audience to rise. “I know. I’m a little twisted. Bryce says I’m disturbing, but I don’t think so. Cutting off a trigger finger or two is nothing compared to the things they’ve done to us, our family, and the Montgomerys.”

I nodded, a silent agreement to her softly spoken words. Then we stood, hung our heads in prayer, and mourned the loss of our cousin, although few tears were shed between Josie and me.

*

Nana was the center of attention at her house as mourners pulled her into tight hugs, offering their condolences and dessert recipes. She soaked it in with grace and dignity, wiping the corners of her eyes with my grandfather’s embroidered hanky from time to time.

Olivia’s mother was sobbing in the corner of the room, consoled by her husband Alex. Peyton sat in stony silence nearby. I wondered what my uncle had told his wife. Did he tell her the truth? That the vehicle had been rigged by Graham Montgomery? That it exploded, causing the injuries that eventually took Olivia’s life?

My own mother was absent from the woeful gathering, now serving a stint in prison. I wondered how she was making it, if she was well.

Then I realized I didn’t care. I
really
didn’t care.

Tanner stood a couple feet away, his gaze rarely wavering from me. If he felt uncomfortable in my grandmother’s house, in the place where Amos had knocked him unconscious and left him passed out on the floor, he never once showed it. He had been groggy upon waking from his stupor and plagued with the pain of a large bump on the back of his head. But the pain hadn’t been enough to deter him from what we had to do that night, which was disposing of Amos’ body.

There were no more muddy footprints trekking through the house. I’d cleaned the evidence away with trembling fingers that night as well as I could, but I still wondered if Nana knew we’d been there, if she knew I’d murdered her eldest son on her own property. If she did, she showed no indication.

“How are your classes?” Nana gathered the discarded dishes scattered about the house.

I followed her, gathering up dishes myself.

“My GED classes? They’re going well,” I replied, keeping up with the light conversation, using it as a leeway into something of a more serious matter. “Shelby and Tanner help me study at night. They’ve been very helpful. They’ve all been very helpful. The Montgomerys, that is.”

My grandmother pursed her lips and didn’t immediately respond. I followed her into the kitchen then helped pile the dishes in the sink.

From the corner of my eye I noticed Tanner enter the room. His long fingers found their way into his unruly hair, tugging at the strands. A chair near the kitchen table scraped against the linoleum before he dropped his lanky frame into it.

“Need some help?”

Nana paled at Tanner’s presence. She didn’t respond for a moment, lost in the routine of taking each dish from my hand and depositing it into the dishwasher.