Mariette And The Cowboy (Western Night Series 2) (31 page)

CHAPTER SEVEN

Epilogue

Life changed everyone it had even changed me who was once again wearing the scars from the hood as if they never went away.   I had taken Ramon’s place and became the boss of the hood and would one day have a protégé I would train to take my spot.  Trying to live a double life was beyond exhausting. 

I stared at my hands as I knew what they had been capable of doing.  I had killed my own brother for a brother.  I couldn’t believe I was the one who had shot the gun that pierced through Jarome, but he was willingly trying to kill me.  My last words to him, while he was gasping for air, had been the fact I was sleeping with Deja all this time. 

The funeral home was crowded as Jarome’s body was inside a closed casket.  My mother was balling her eyes out, and the organ player was playing a hymn I hadn’t heard in a long time. 

Deja had sat beside me with her long black dress and a black hat that covered her face.  She was now classified a widow, and our secret had gone to the grave with Jarome, just like my secret of killing my own brother had gone to the grave with them.

There was nothing anyone could say that could make my brother turns out to be a saint, but every time someone stepped to the podium, they did their best to try.

I glanced around at the faces of Jarome’s gang being there.  It was hard since I wanted them out of this funeral, but my mother was unaware that these people were the reason Jarome ended up dead.  Luckily she didn’t realize I was the one that pulled the trigger on the fatal shot.

My mother wanted me to say something nice, but I had nothing to say nice about Jarome.  He had gotten what he had deserved.  These past couple months shed a light on something that had been happening, and I was unaware of it.

What had killed Jarome was not being able to handle power and turning it into greed.  I knew everyone had their own way of grieving, but I wasn’t about to shed a tear for this man.  He had caused a lot of hurt and discontent. 

I knew one day I would have to deal with it, but at the moment I was okay with the fact he was gone, and I could safely move on without him.  At the moment I tried hard to tell myself people die all the time, this was a fact of life in the streets; some died of overdoses, betrayal and drive by shootings.  What my brother did was start a gang war before he died that ended up with two brothers that belonged to rival gangs facing off. 

I would never know why he killed Ramon or what had gone through his mind before he did it.  Jarome and Ramon were like brothers.  Ramon, although older than the both of us seemed to have been over at our house all the time when we were younger.  Now I was the only one who was alive out of the three of us; this wasn’t supposed to be happening.

Perhaps this was deeper then just Ramon and I was killing him for Deja, but I did know that my role model and boss ended up dead.  It could be way too many things had added up that caused us to have a gunfight on that street. 

I didn’t so any remorse, no compassion and no empathy for the fact my brother was dead.  My eyes were dry, and secretly I was relieved to know Ramon’s killer was gone.

“I should have shot you when I had a chance.” one of Jarome’s gang members said.

“Go ahead and try to shoot me.  I am sure you will never make it out of this part of Los Angeles alive.  I thought you were here to pay respect for my brother.  To me, it seems that you are disrespecting the whole family by bringing your gang influence here in a funeral home.”

The man bit his tongue and shut up while I continued to listen to how my mother missed her baby.  She broke down and started sobbing on the casket, which I couldn’t force myself to produce one single tear.

I couldn’t believe my brother was the one that ended up trying to force a turf and gang war between the two rival gangs.  What had he truly gained by killing Ramon?  What did Ramon know that he didn’t want everyone else to know?”

“You aren’t fooling any of us.  We know who killed your brother.”

I shook my head.  “Are you positive that it wasn’t one of your men for recruiting him in the wrong turf?”

Our gangs were exactly the same except they hated each other and had hated each other through the decades.  Bad blood was spilled along the line, and that’s why the gangs ended up rivals, instead of making up all we did was defend our turf and make sure to make examples of one another.  Jarome was just another example of why you stick with your own. 

I helped Deja up as we headed to the limo where we would ride to the cemetery.  Everyone knew there was more likely going to be a shootout.  That was a customary thing with the gang that Jarome was involved with.  They had gang members hide behind headstones and shoot at people, who attended, especially the rival gang who killed him.  I already knew I was a walking target, but I wasn’t going to allow it to scare me.

The ride was one that was silent.  My mother was crying, and I refused to touch her or comfort her.  I just sat on my side of the limo and tried hard to pretend that she understood the real reason Jarome died.  I knew if she ever figured out that Jarome was in a gang, she would have blamed me.  I was in a gang first, even though it wasn’t even the same gang.  I was tired of the one always being blamed for because my brother’s poor choices in life.

The ground had been wet from the morning rain, and I already heard the clips being loaded into guns as the priest my mother had was blessing the grave.

I knew that the only wish of the gang that Jarome had was the same thing I wanted for Ramon, justice.  I also knew they were also trying to take over, but the word ‘try’ didn’t mean it would be successful.

I was waiting at any minute for the sound of bullets zooming past my head, and the sounds of guns unloading filled the air. 

Gangs always had revenge and avenged one another; it depended on which side of the rival you were on and who did you wrong while standing in the way. 

The stone my little brother had for his grave bore the rival gang insignia carved into the granite.  Everyone except my mother who had no clue what it meant was all shocked that the ‘anonymous donation’ must have come from the other gang members.

My mother didn’t have the slightest clue as she remarked that it was a beautiful gesture for someone to have paid for such a headstone for Jarome.  I could have killed someone since they put that insignia on there.  I didn’t want to remember that about my brother, but I guess it would always be who he was, just like the insignia on me would always be who I was.

Not a single gun was being fired to my surprise.  Usually, as the casket was still up, and people were still attending was the perfect timing.  I couldn’t help but to wonder if they were singling me out.

“Tell your men to drop their weapons.  This isn’t the place to start a gang war while you bury one of your own.” I pointed out to the head of the rival gang. 

“Why should I listen to you?”

“Everyone knows that both rival gangs are here.  Don’t you think the cops are on their way?  Shouldn’t we settle this somewhere else where all of us aren’t getting busted?”

The gang member glared at me and motioned his men who were hiding behind headstones to drop their weapons.

The rest of the funeral I didn’t say a word to him, it wasn’t because I was scared to talk to him.  I was more infuriated that he had showed up at all.

As I was leaving, I saw the worldwide gang sign known as the ‘killer’ and I realized what it meant.  I heard the bullets zoom through the air as guns were unloading.  The rival gang didn’t keep his word, but I wasn’t expecting him to either. 

The last thing I remember was the feeling of hot liquid and Deja screaming a blood-curdling scream.  Sirens in the distance told me the cops were on their way, but I was pretty sure next to my brother would be my own plot.  It would the only time that two rival gang members would spill their blood and still have to share the same last name.

THE END

HIGHLANDER BOOKS

An Unexpected Shift

Highlander Romance

By: Bonnie Adamson

An Unexpected Shift

From as far as Fiona could remember, she knew that she wasn't treated like the other girls in the village. She wasn't treated badly, but it definitely didn't feel particularly good. She always felt an extra set of curious eyes, or a group of women would stop talking whenever she would walk by. She didn't have many friends, and the only person she could truly describe as being a friend to her was Ole Bonnie, the wisest (and oldest) person in the village. This, for the most part, suited Fiona just fine.

The truth was, Fiona was odd. She knew that it was true, and she knew that it was mostly her fault. Fiona loved the faeries, and not in the usually cheerful way the other people in the village cared for the wee folk. Perhaps they would do a half-hearted offering come Beltane, or walk carefully home from the pub at night lest they wander across the washerwomen, mysterious spirits who wash the clothing of the future dead. While others may casually laugh and trade stories of such creatures, Fiona
loved
them, trying her best every day to give them offerings and hope for blessings. For her it was a matter of life and death.

Many people saw her as a tragic thing, her mother had been taken by a fever when she was a little girl, but her intensity towards all things otherworldly had started to make the other people in the village feel uneasy about it. For the most part they said nothing, and Fiona cheerfully allowed them to avoid her, and she knew on some level that she was lucky that she was so beloved to her father.  Perhaps another girl would have been tossed out by now, for fear that she was a changeling. As the daughter of the chieftain of Clan MacCaig, a man very practical by all means, she knew that his love for her protected her, and for that she was thankful. the only tragedy she could see was the fact that her oddness had left her woefully undesirable to the men in the village, and few men from other clans were willing to travel across the highlands to set eyes on the "witch girl".

"Never you mind that," Old Bonnie used to tell her in her kindly old voice, often while attempting to brush the tangles out of Fiona's long dark hair. If anything could e said for her, it was known that she was beautiful, with long curly hair the color of rich soil, pale skin with a sprinkling of freckles across her nose, and dark gray eyes with a touch of blue in them. Fiona knew objectively that she was beautiful just as much as she knew that it did not truly matter, and that filled her with sorrow.

"Of course I mind that," Fiona would always reply. "It is my duty to provide an advantageous marriage, is it not? When Artair takes over as leader someday, what else would I do?"

Ole Bonnie snorted, never one to care for Fiona's hot tempered brother. "I am not saying that you should prepare for the life of an old maid, just that you shouldn't mind about those who don't understand."

That was easy for Ole Bonnie to say, she had been married for many years before becoming a widow, Fiona winced as she pulled a little too tightly on her hair, attempting to tame her wild curls into a braid of two. Fiona smiled a little, her hair never cooperated with such attention. The fact of the matter stood, as it so often did, on the fact that she was nineteen years old and her father had never once considered making a match of her. After so long, Fiona simply thought that he never would.

"I just see all of the girls my age getting married or betrothed, of course I can't help but despair," Fiona finally replied. She could feel Ole Bonnie's gentle smile warm the back of her hair, and she took comfort in it in spite of her frustration.

              "These simple boys are not meant for you, my darling child, you must believe that."

She spoke with so much knowing that Fiona could not help but believe that she may be right. Perhaps the man she was meant for was cut from a different cloth than these men that she had known. So, with hope in her heart, she waited.

She waited for what felt like forever. An eternity.

And then fortune struck the day the first sheep was found killed.

Chapter One

"Good morning!" Fiona called to the chickens that sat clucking in their roosts. It was a fairly early morning, but her father and brother had already left with the dawn. She did not mind this so very much, she enjoyed the solitude while she performed her chores, and it gave her a quiet time to bake her offerings to the brownies.

She always took care to honors as many of the good Faeries as possible, but the brownies held a special place in her heart. They were small, helpful kitchen spirits, and lord knows that she could use the help. They seemed happy enough accepting her rough baked oat cakes and fresh milk poured at the base of a stone. She delighted in this daily ritual, and for the most part her father allowed her to complete it with very little fuss. Her older brother, Artair, tried his best to tolerate it as well, but sometimes she saw the worry blossom in his eyes. She wondered if he thought that she was mad.

The chickens merrily clucked their hellos to their mistress as she used her apron to gather their eggs. Full of good will, she treated with  each of them personally and traded meaningless bits of gossip, often invented, and laughed at jokes she had come up with herself. With a lap full of eggs, she thanked her feathered friends and bustled back to the house. After putting the eggs away, she grabbed a little pitcher of milk and a small fabric wrapped bundle of oat cakes and made her way to the edge of her father's land, where a Rowan tree stood proudly, shading the rock where she liked to make her offerings.

Of course, on her way here, she searched for a sprig of white heather, a flower she knew could bring luck and love into her household. For almost her entire life, she had dreamed of finding a bit of white heather, on their journeys her father and brother had even promised to search for her, but it was always. No avail. One day she knew she would find it, and she had decided long ago that the day she found it, a great and wondrous change would come and fix everything.

But of course like Ole Bonnie said, she had to be
patient.

              She poured the rich milk at the base of the stone, placing the little bundle of cakes on the top. More often than not the cakes disappeared by the next morning, although her brother liked to remind her that cattle were often driven to the edge of this land, and horses were just as fond of oats as faeries are. She didn't believe him though, she didn't want to, and he had learned a long time ago to leave her alone about such beliefs.

She sent a quick thought of love and hope towards her faerie friends, hoping for blesses and more help, and for a safe home.

Most importantly, however, she wished that they would show themselves, so that for one moment she wouldn't feel so terribly alone.

#

The sheep looked as though it was sleeping the way that it lay so peacefully at the edge of the meadow, and Angus MacCaig tried to not feel a stab of annoyance over the fact that he had been called over something so simple as a wolf attack. In the distance of the meadow, he could see the other animals milling about in the meadow in e distance, peaceful to the fact that one of their own lay dead not far away. He hoped that he would never be so blind as to the problems of his own people. That was why he had come, he knew that the shepherds would never call for him were it not something important.

A small group of the clan's shepherds had gathered around a young girl no more than fifteen years old. As they took notice of Angus's approach, Liam, a tall man with a broad, honest face, walked away from the group to fill Angus in on what had happened. 

"Mary found it this morning," Liam explained in a hushed, nervous tone. "First we thought it was a wolf, but once we got closer..." He trailed off nervously, looking over at the poor creature.

There was something strange about the other shepherds, a tight lipped anger that seemed to resonate from them, was it him? It couldn't be, they had called for him.

Angus kept calm. "Let me take a look, then."

Liam nodded and led the way, walking with him across the path to where the sheep lay. Angus could feel the harsh stares on the back of his neck and it still confused him. Liam, however, remained kind.

As soon as Angus laid eyes on the animal up close, he knew that they we're right to summon him. There was something unnatural about the death, that was plain to see. He knelt down beside the poor animal to take a closer look.

"It wasn't eaten," Angus said with something that sounded like wonder. "And these marks..."

"They look like they're from a knife, sir."

Angus nodded and stood. "You were right to send for me, this is truly unnatural, as though..."

He cut himself off as bile rose to the back of his throat.

"How many of these have there been?"

Liam looked at the others, who nodded.

"This is the third, my lord."

Three times. Angus was shocked. Three times this had happened and not one had sent for m? The rest of the shepherds had moved over to them by then, and he heard a derisive snort from the back of the crowd.

"Why didn't you call for me until now?" He asked. It was a task to keep the fear from his voice.

"We thought you might already know, given your company." A voice sneered. Angus craned his neck to see who may be the one talking. The disrespectful voice made Angus's stomach clench in anger, but bravely maintained his temper in order to be civil.

"Pardon me?"

Liam looked embarrassed at the outburst, his eyes flicking desperately back and forth between his chieftain and the angry shepherds. Angus was utterly baffled by this response, and because of it, he was unsure of what to say.

"The animal was killed all magic-like," one of the shepherds said. "With a fancy knife, and some organs are gone."

              "They use it to see the future," someone else said. None of this particularly helped to explain to Angus why they were turning their ire towards him.

"Yes, I have heard of such things," he said cautiously.

"Of course you have," Liam replied. "Everyone knows that your daughter is a witch."

#

"Well, that's certainly not the first time someone has called me that," Fiona said matter-of-factly once her father had angrily stormed back to the house. Artair, having heard something similar, had also returned. Fiona didn't want to admit it, but she was sure that it was out of some concern for her safety that he did so. Fiona herself had spent the morning cheerfully mending some of her brother's more destroyed shirts, and she hadn't spoken to a single soul. She had no idea what the whispers could have been around the village, and had no idea how bad they might possibly become.             

"It's disrespectful, that's what it is," Artair said gloomily. Fiona often wondered how she could be from the same stock as Artair. He was large and broad, taking much more after their father than she did, with laughing blue eyes and long dark blonde hair. He had never allowed her so-called oddness to bother him, and she loved him for that.

"Well the two of you know that I did not do it, right?"

"I would not even consider it," Angus said firmly. Artair nodded. Fiona could not help but smile at them both. No matter what happened, she took great comfort in her father and brother.

"But what sort of creature would do such a thing, and for magic?" Artair asked with a frown in his voice. "What if they move on from sheep? To cattle? What if they..." His voice trailed off ominously, but Fiona and her father knew what he meant.

“There’s more,” Angus continued. “Some of the shepherds tell of a beautiful woman dressed all in green by the edge of the meadow, but when they draw close the woman disappears.”

“And they think that that beautiful woman may be Fiona?”

“Well, they certainly believe in the possibility.”

“That’s ludicrous!” Fiona exclaimed. “It could be any number of things, why it could be…”
              “Don’t start,” Artair hissed. “That’s why they think it’s you in the first place.”

“She might not be wrong,” Angus said slowly. Fiona turned to look at him with a face full of surprise. He seemed embarrassed to admit that she may be correct this entire time. But what faerie would do such a thing, especially given the fact that she had worked so hard to keep them happy?

“Perhaps it is a ghost,” she ventured in an attempt to be helpful.

"I am not wise in the ways of such things," Angus replied. "I don't believe any of us are."

"Of course not," Fiona huffed.

"Luckily, I know some who may be."

Fiona was confused for a moment before she caught the disgusted look on her brother's face.

"You must be in jest, father," he said.

              "No, I'm quite serious. I may have to call upon the Sheehy clan for their aid."

Fiona had heard of the Sheehy clan, she was sure of it, but not a single member of the clan came to mind. They were distant friends of Fiona's father, shrouded in mystery, but she knew little else about them. However what she lacked in knowledge, her brother seemed to more than make up for it. He seemed to know moths Sheehy clan well.