Fourteen

June 6, 2:45 p.m.

I screech out of the nursing home parking lot. A part of me’s afraid of Will jumping on his bike and following. But after a few minutes with my eyes on the rearview, I relax. I manage to get through town, almost to the highway, before Busy’s whining makes me pull over.

“It’s okay,” I tell her as she butts her wet nose against my arm in worry. “It’s okay,” I say again, trying to convince myself.

Everything is going wrong. Jessa is hurt. Will is supposed to be three hundred miles away. But I can’t let it fuck me over. I need to adapt. Keep going.

“Okay,” I repeat.

Breathe, Harley-girl.

I can hear Duke’s voice, clear as day. It’s probably a sign I’m losing my goddamn mind.

I press my hand against my mouth, trying to keep everything I’m feeling from bubbling up. I can’t focus on Will and what seeing him does to me. I have priorities.

I push him out of my mind, ignoring the ache, like an open wound that won’t heal. I’ll deal with him later. I need to focus.

My plan’s always involved baiting the Springfield boys—I need the men on both sides not knowing what end’s up, because men on the edge make bad decisions, and that makes them easier to take down. But I’d planned on doing this a lot later. Jessa getting roughed up means I have to move up my timeline. But I can make this work—I have to. And if I push the right buttons, I might get some useful information out of them. Carl Springfield is a hard man to find—those years of running from Duke taught him well. I haven’t been able to pin down his exact location even though I’ve tried. The houses on the other side of the river are set deep in the wilderness, off old dirt roads that are kept in disrepair for a reason. You don’t want to drive down them unless you live there. You might not come back.

There’s a buzz coming from my glove compartment. I flip it open, pull out the black phone, and key in the code.

It’s a text from Buck: T and D headed to Jackson.

I have to text back, or he’s going to suspect something. I need him as oblivious as possible for as long as I can so he’ll just stroll right into my trap, none the wiser.

I memorized the codes Duke used with the men a long time ago, even though he didn’t realize it. It’s a mix of numbers to spell out words and Johnny Cash lyrics to mean certain things. Nothing genius, really, but no one’s ever caught on. Not that anyone’s really looking. Having the sheriff in our pocket is something of a family tradition for us McKennas.

I punch out 65 and press Send, then toss the phone back into the glove compartment.

I have an hour, and I’m going to make the most of it. For Jessa.

  

Blue Basin’s not much more than a truck stop straddling the county line. A place to fuel up for folks on their way to Shasta or Weed. It’s right off the old highway, the skeleton of an old silver mine, the last relic of what was a flourishing town back in the Gold Rush days, now a scant handful of buildings: a crumbling RV park, a tiny post office with a trailer behind it where the postmaster lives, an abandoned feed store—and Springfield’s gas station.

This is where they’ve been banished. Driven to a town whose population is less than a hundred. Stripped of any power or influence their family once held.

Duke and Caroline’s truce sent Springfield here, and for the most part, he keeps to the deal his brother’s widow made.

But sometimes he just can’t help himself. And now he’s gone after Jessa.

Did he think I would let it go? That she wouldn’t tell?

Did he mean to kill her, and she got lucky and ran?

It doesn’t matter, I decide as I approach the exit. No matter what, he’s going to pay.

  

I’ve driven past Blue Basin many times, probably too many, but I’ve never stopped. I know better than to cross that invisible line between them and us.

But now I don’t think twice when I flip my turn signal and pull off the highway onto the potholed road that leads into town.

I stop across from it, the only gas station in fifty miles, just a few pumps in front of a dingy building with a sign on the roof that says SPRINGFIELD GAS & MINIMART in big rusty tin letters. I turn my key in the ignition, the radio cuts off, and I sit back and wait.

I stare at the station, cataloguing the people going in and out—the girl in Hello Kitty pajama pants and yesterday’s eyeliner, the old-school rancher driving a cherry 1930s Chevy, the obvious tweeker who comes out of the store with a paper bag instead of a plastic one like the other customers. The building’s windows are tinted, so I can’t see through them, but I know they’re inside.

My phone rings. Still watching the building, I answer.

“It’s Mo.”

“I was just about to call you,” I say.

“Paul and the Sons showed up. They’ve got a patrol going. Should I be worried?”

“I sent them just in case,” I say. “I found Jessa.”

“And…?” Mo asks, but with that one word, I can hear the dread in her voice.

“She’s beat up pretty bad,” I say. “She’s with Doc now. I’m going to need you to watch the kids.”

“Done,” Mo says. “You wanna tell me who I need to go after for hurting her?”

I smile at Mo’s fierceness as a dusty truck pulls up to the pumps. “I’m taking care of it,” I promise. “Just keep the women and kids calm. There’s nothing to worry about.” I watch as a rail-thin girl jumps out of the truck and walks into the mini-mart.

“It’s under control,” I say, keeping my eyes on the store. “I gotta go. I’ll call as soon as I’ve got news on Jessa.”

“Take care of yourself,” she orders.

“Yeah, yeah,” I say.

Before she can issue any more orders, I hang up.

The girl in the truck hasn’t come out of the mini-mart yet, so I figure I have enough time. I dial Doc’s number, and he answers after the fifth ring.

“It’s Harley,” I say. “How’s Jessa?”

“Six broken ribs. He busted all the toes on her right foot, too, for good measure.” His disgust radiates through the phone. He’ll be hitting the bottle tonight for sure, trying to drown out the blood and the bad. “Her jaw’s bruised all to hell, but it’s not broken, so that’s a small mercy. But she’s got a concussion. I’m keeping her here until tomorrow. You got someone to watch her kids?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Be careful with the pain pills, okay? She’s got a problem.”

“The teeth and the shitty veins clued me in, Harley,” Doc says. He sounds offended that I even bothered to point it out.

The skinny girl comes out of the mini-mart and hops into her truck. The store’s empty now, and there’s no one around.

“Hey, I gotta go,” I say. “Call me if anything changes.”

The girl drives away, leaving the parking lot empty.

I get out of my truck with Busy at my side. We cross the street and the parking lot. My hands don’t shake, but my heart skips in that bad way as I open the grubby glass door and step inside.

The little store’s rickety aisles are stocked with the basics. Despite Springfield’s jacked-up prices, the people who live in the woods around the Basin don’t like to drive all the way down the mountain whenever they need a box of tampons or stuffing mix.

Bobby’s behind the counter in his wifebeater and sagging camo pants. He’s older than me, around Will’s age, with a shaved head and full sleeves and neck tats on display. As I walk in, he’s leaning down to grab a pack of cigarettes, but when I reach over and lock the door behind me, the click makes him jump and look up.

He freezes.

I don’t.

Before he can lunge for the shotgun I’m sure he’s got stashed, I pull my .45. “Don’t even think about it, Bobby,” I say, pointing it at his chest.

His eyes widen, and he stays frozen.

“Bennet,” I call. “I know you’re in the back. You come out, nice and slow. Hands where I can see them. Or I blast a hole in your brother.”

There’s a pause, tense and thick, and for a second I’m sure he’s gonna come out shooting. I breathe deep, trying to stay calm. I need a steady hand.

There’s a shuffling sound, the door behind the counter slowly creaks open, and Bennet emerges from the back room, hands up, his right elbow permanently bent at an odd angle. His red hair glints in the weak fluorescent light

He looks just like his daddy.

“Hi, boys,” I say.

“You fucking bitch,” Bennet replies. But his hands stay up, where they should be.

“Yeah, yeah.” I keep them both in my sight. They know better than to charge. Not with Busy next to me, growling low in her throat. “I’m looking for your uncle. So tell me where he is.”

“Fuck you,” Bobby hisses. He’s sweating bullets. “We’re not telling you shit.”

Most of the contact I’ve had with the Springfield boys is at church—one of the few places that’s considered neutral territory by both our families. Bennet is my age, so we would’ve been in the same grade, but Duke never let me go to school.

Still, these past fifteen years, I’ve learned a lot just from watching them across the pews. Bobby talks big, and he likes the fear his name makes people feel because it doesn’t take much effort on his part. He resents his momma, treats her pretty shitty, even in church, which is just the cherry on top of the asshole sundae.

And he’s not very smart.

But Bennet is. Bobby hates me because it’s simple. Because that’s what he’s been taught to do. He doesn’t put much thought into it because he doesn’t put much thought into anything. He’s a follower. That’s why he latched onto Carl’s neo-Nazi shit in a way Bennet never seemed to.

Bennet hates me because he sees how we’re alike. How we’ve been marked by men with bloody hands and shady hearts. How we’ve already lost more than we’ve ever been willing to give up to this world we were born into.

He sees himself in me the way I see myself in him. The difference between us? He’s been raised up with a grudge hanging over his head.

I’ve been raised up with a mission hanging over mine.

“Tell me where Carl is,” I say.

“Harley—” Bennet starts, stepping forward.

Busy barks in warning, the sound echoing through the store.

I point the gun at him. “Stay where you are. And tell me where your goddamn uncle is.”

“Look—” Bennet starts again, staying where he is this time. Busy snaps her teeth in the air and bares them at him. Her growl is a continuous, present thing that comforts me like a cat purring. “You’re—what the fuck are you doing, Harley?”

“I’m looking for Carl. Seems that trailer he had near Castella’s been moved. Where is he living now?”

“You’re breaking the rules,” Bennet says, like he can’t quite believe it.

He’s clearly decided to try to appeal to my sense of reason. Well, it’s too fucking late for that. It was too late for that months ago.

He doesn’t know what I know. And he won’t until this is all over and I’m home free.

I’ve made a plan. It’s going to work. I just need to figure out what the fuck happened to Jessa first. If I get Carl’s address out of them, well, that’s even better.

“Your uncle already broke the rules, Bennet,” I say. “He fucked up one of the Rubies. So you’re going to tell me where he is. And he’s going to pay for what he did.”

“What?” Red splotches rise in his freckled cheeks. “Wait—which Ruby?”

I frown, but I keep my gun steady. “Jessa,” I say, watching him closely.

His color deepens—but it’s not guilt, it’s anger.

“What?” He spins around to stare at Bobby. “Did you know about this?” he demands.

“Shut up,” Bobby growls, looking away.

“What did he do to her? Did you help him?”

Bobby doesn’t say anything.

“Answer me, Bobby!”

“Bennet!” Bobby hisses, a warning.

But it’s too late. I’ve figured it out.

“You’re the guy she’s been fucking.”

“Harley…” Bennet licks his lips, the guilt pouring off him. I want to take him down. He’s the reason she’s in this mess. “Jessa—is she okay?” he asks in a voice I’ve never heard him use before, soft and worried. Oh, Jesus Christ. I can see it clearly now. He’s totally gone on her. Razzled by Jessa’s spark. It makes me angrier. It makes me reconsider my previous thinking: Bobby’s stupid, but clearly Bennet is a fucking moron.

“No, she’s not okay,” I snap. “She’s got broken ribs and broken toes because that’s what happens when a man twice your size stomps on your feet while the other guy holds you down.” My gaze flicks to Bobby and I can see in his eyes that’s exactly how it went down. My finger twitches. I want to shoot him so fucking bad. “My guess is that Bobby did the holding down. Carl did the stomping.” I shake my head. “Jesus Christ, Bennet—what were you thinking? You both knew what would happen if you two were found out.”

“I met her when she was dancing at the club, and I just—”

“Bennet!” Bobby yells again, and this time, he moves. Not toward me, but toward his brother.

“Busy, get him!” I tell her. She leaps forward, sinking her teeth into Bobby as he reaches for his brother, right arm raised to punch him into submission and silence. He howls, trying to shake her off, but it’s no use. Once Busy’s got her teeth in you, she doesn’t let go unless she’s ordered.

It’s one of my favorite things about her.

Busy puts Bobby on the ground fast, and I walk forward, calling her off after I plant my boot on his chest. “Stay down,” I order him. “Your brother and I are talking.”

He spits at me, which is the stupidest fucking thing in the world to do because he’s on his back and it ends up in his face. I roll my eyes in disgust.

Like I said, not a ton of brains rolling around in Bobby’s skull.

I look up at Bennet. “How long?” I ask him.

“A few months,” he says, not looking down at his brother. “But only at the club. I’d just buy dances. But she finally agreed to see me outside of the club, and I just—I love her, Harley. We love each other.”

That tone in his voice again. Fucking shit. Love. Like that matters. Like that’s going to help the hell he just brought down on them.

“She has kids, Bennet,” I say. “She hasn’t even been clean for two years yet. She doesn’t have a job anymore, and I’m betting that’s because of you.”

The red in his face rises higher and higher until it almost blends with his hair. “I want to take care of her. I don’t want her to dance at that club, guys looking at her all the time. I don’t like it.” His eyes scrunch up in pain just like they did when I broke his arm more than a decade ago in the graveyard. He really has it bad for Jessa. Fucking moron.

“That’s not your choice to make,” I say, the anger rising in my throat. “And you’re not taking very good care of her—you didn’t even know your uncle beat the shit out of her!” My voice rises to a shout, fury filling the space between us. “She’s been missing for three days now. If you’re so hell bent on taking care of her, how the fuck could you not notice?”

“I—”

“No more bullshit, Bennet,” I interrupt viciously, snapping my fingers for Busy. She growls once more in Bobby’s face and then trots back to my side. I bring my attention back to Bennet, who shrinks behind the counter, looking nervously at Busy.

“You stay the fuck away from Jessa. If you come across the river, if you even come near the Ruby, I’m going to blow your big and your little head off.” To drive in the point, I lower my gun eight inches, pointing it right at his crotch. He gulps nervously and stays silent.

I turn and unlock the door, jerking it open. I have places to be. I don’t have the time it would take to beat an answer out of them.

“You two aren’t doing anyone any favors not telling me where Carl is,” I say, the .45 still trained on them both. “When I find him, I’m going to tear that fucker apart. You tell him that. You tell him I’m coming.”

I duck through the open door and run. I can hear Bobby shouting, “Get the shotgun, you stupid bastard!” and Bennet swearing back at him as Busy and I race across the parking lot and jump into my Chevy. I pull an illegal U as both of them come running out. Bobby’s got a sawed-off shotgun in his hand, and a second later the sound of buckshot pinging against pavement fills the air behind me.

But I’m already out of range.

It’s time.