Through a Glass, Darkly (Assassins of Youth MC #1) (21 page)

“I know. I’m so, so sorry, Mahalia. I mean, Tazmin would’ve squealed like a pig anyway just to earn brownie points with Allred. But I’m surprised at Rayd.”

The two men stormed from the cottage now empty-handed. Allred was railing at Parley, and Parley was carrying that big-ass pistol he’d had pointed at Gideon’s head. Kimball and I cringed back against a potted plant.

“Do you think he’s coming in here?” whispered Kimball.

“I’ll bet you dollars to doughnuts,” I whispered back. I looked down at my favorite sister-wife and saw that her very hair was trembling. Then I realized it was
I
who was shaking like a cat shitting a peach seed. I usually prided myself on my cool, but I was on the verge of seriously losing it.

My phone buzzed in my dress pocket. I thumbed the screen to life just as I heard the men barge into my kitchen. Women cried out, pots were tossed about, something glass crashed to the floor.

Hide this phone carefully so we can still communicate. Get out if you still can and come to me.

I didn’t have time to text back—in fact, Tazmin must’ve generously pointed the way for them—because the men came barreling into the sun room like they owned it. Which, in fact, Allred did. He technically owned everything in Cornucopia. It was a sham to make women believe they owned the homes they lived in. Gave them a sense of ownership when Allred acted like he’d given them something. I owned nothing but the items upstairs packed in suitcases. My vibrator, my bikini panties, my eyebrow powder, all these were symbols of the new life I hoped to have with Gideon.

In every decisive moment that defines one’s future, we have to leap into the dark, to act upon sketchy data. I had no way of knowing for a certain fact that Gideon would be there for me, that he’d follow through with such a monumental task as taking in me, my daughter, my friends, and yet more kids. An almighty Creator wouldn’t make us smart just to strike us idiotic in moments of sudden action. He wouldn’t give us eyes to see and ask us not to gaze at the mesas. But I had no time to sit around weighing evidence. I had made my decision awhile back.

And this was one such decisive moment.

What we decide to have faith in is the utmost mirror of who we are. I’d been looking into the glass darkly. And now I was seeing it face to face.

Allred pointed at me. “You’re coming with us. You too, Kimball. I don’t trust either one of you running around loose at the moment.”

I stood my ground, shielding Kimball with my—admittedly much larger—body. “I’m not going anywhere with you, Allred. I’ve had it with your abuse, your beatings, your sealing my daughter to a gross old man she doesn’t know.”

Allred’s voice became quieter in moments of anger, I knew. I always thought he was afraid his own anger would take control and he’d go ape. “You’re coming with me, woman. No two ways about it.”

He nodded at Parley, still holding that pistol. It was at his side, but I knew I should not hedge my bets, what with Kimball standing behind me.

But it was one of those times where your body wrests control from your brain. Clutching my sister-wife’s hand, I made a run for it, directly in between Parley and Allred.

“Come back!” Allred shouted.

Of course. He couldn’t relinquish control over anyone. Two women running
away
from him? It was unthinkable. He had God-like control over everyone in his realm, in the phony narcissistic kingdom he’d built for himself. No one could possibly ever run.

I don’t think my sister-wives expected it, either. I ran upstairs, Kimball now hot on my heels under her own steam. I was not leaving this time without my own belongings.

“Get her, Parley!” I heard Allred shout.

Only one pair of male boots stomped up the stairs behind us. I nearly smashed head-on into Vonda, who had apparently been watching the drama from our bedroom window.

“Mom! What the fuck?”

I automatically wanted to tell her not to swear, but my body had taken control and was on smooth unthinking autopilot now. My body knew what to do even if my moronic brain didn’t. I grabbed our packed suitcases from the closet. “Here! Take yours! We’re out of here!”

Wheeling my case with one hand and taking Vonda by the other, I shouldered my way past Parley. Maybe he’d never shot anyone before. I guess I had been banking on that. He sure had vanished in the book bindery when the bullets had started flying.

We bumped and wheeled our way down the stairs. The women stood in a gaggle open-mouthed.

“Where are you going?” Emersyn dared to whisper.

I didn’t whisper. “Someplace where I can be myself. Where my daughter can be a fashion designer. Where I can love a man who doesn’t beat me, and know that
that’s
normal.” I glared at Allred, who seemed stunned into submission, for once. “Because it’s
not
normal. Women are not sheep or lambs. We weren’t born your servants. It’s not in our nature to bow with our heads down and do your bidding mindlessly.”

Allred snarled, “You’re making a giant mistake, Mahalia.”

I snarled back. “You always said the call to faith shows us who we really are, what we love the most. Believing in something is the finest mirror image of what rests in our hearts. What lies in my heart had been sleeping until your abuse called it to action. I choose my actions freely, Allred. My terror of making a mistake is
not
bigger than my passion for the truth.”

I yanked Vonda, maybe violently now, down the front steps. I’d seen Kimball joining the group of women, clinging to the arm of one. Maybe her bravery failed her. I never looked back, but I could
feel
the women and Allred gathered there, watching us. Who the hell would give us a ride out of here, especially hauling suitcases like we were?

Maybe no one. Maybe I’d have to use the name of Immanuel Zabriskie to get the fuck out of there. But no one was forcing me to turn back.

“Is this it, mom?” I’d never heard Vonda that scared, and it angered me.
They
had done this to her.

“This is it, baby.” I maintained my stride past several cars whose drivers peered at us quizzically. Of course, no one dared stop to ask us what we were doing. “This is it.”

GIDEON

We were in
Dingo’s room at his desk setting up “Operation: Blackmail” as he called it when my old roommate Sledgehammer came to our front door.

After bro hugging it out, we went into the kitchen and cracked a couple of beers. I’d been drinking less and less since hooking up with Mahalia—one of her many good influences on me. But bringing Sledge into our operation called for one.

“What’s Papa Ewey up to?” I asked. “Has he wondered where Breakiron could be?” I’d told Sledgehammer a lot of the story, up to and including the glorious death of Breakiron in a warehouse shootout. I knew there was no love lost between Sledgehammer and Breakiron. They’d issued each other many a beatdown, usually over something moronic Breakiron was doing.

“Not a word,” said Sledgehammer, inhaling his joint with a hiss. His carrot-apple red hair was cut in a bald fade with a flat top, his bulging biceps decorated with sexy bomber cartoon gals and airplanes in a WWII style. He was a former military man like myself, so of course he had an anchor on his forearm. With his mutton chop sideburns and insane walrus mustache, he looked like the baddest motherfucker around, which he was. Aside from me. “No one’s losing any sleep over it. Yosemite Sam mentioned he tried to leave Breakiron a message, and that was about it.”

“I didn’t figure there’d be a giant stampede to get over here. I’ll need to face the music eventually, of course.”

Sledgehammer snorted. “Yeah, I suppose so. It’s cut and dried that it was self-defense though. Your scar and missing liver attests to that. I hear your new boy here put ears in Chiles’ guest house. Rocking.”

“Yeah, he’s been coming along fast, learning about new technology. He’s way surpassed me. Then again, a fucking sloth would be faster than me. Come check out what we put together.”

We went back into Dingo’s room where he proudly played us the video of Pipkin threatening me with a gun, Chiles taking my mine deed, me accusing him of marrying off an underage girl. Dingo had omitted the part where I was making time with Allred’s “wife.”

“Edited for plausible deniability,” was what Dingo said proudly. “The dramatic black moment is when Gideon here brings up the dead bodies.”

“What dead bodies?” asked Sledgehammer.

Dingo continued, like a film critic. “The tension, the crescendo, the way Chiles tweaked and bellowed ‘we will be avenged!’ is Oscar-worthy.”

Sledgehammer offered the joint to Dingo. He declined. “Yeah, but the big question is, how are you gonna use this to blackmail the polyg? If he calls your bluff, he goes telling this fed about you selling him Russian ladies.”

“Among other things,” added Dingo. “Well, that’s the thing. I can always edit it so that the only thing mentioned is the dead bodies.”

“That’s the best card I’m holding,” I said. I slapped Dingo on the shoulder like a chum. “You did good, Prospect.”

Dingo beamed widely. “You know, my mother never once hugged me or told me I did good. The only people allowed to make a child feel worthwhile are the father and The Prophet.”

Sledge said, “The more I hear about this motherfucker, the more I want to bury him.” Sledgehammer liked to bury people. He was a proud member of the “Filthy Few” club, allowed to wear the patch because he’d buried someone. I supposed I could wear that patch now, if I wanted to. I didn’t really want to. “Have you heard from Mahalia since all this shit went down earlier?”

I cringed inside. That she hadn’t responded to my text meant Chiles had taken away her phone and most likely seen my text telling her to join me. “No. Really, we need to move on this dead body thing.” I explained it to Sledgehammer, who nodded sagely throughout.

He said, “Sounds like we need to take a drive to this mine and document this shit. If you want to try to get ownership of the mine back, you don’t want these bodies on your hands.”

“Yeah, before he locks you out of the mine, too,” said Dingo.

I pulled out my phone. “We don’t need to. Dust Bunny already took photos.” As I went to find the dead body photos on my phone, Mahalia’s return text came in.

“It’s Mahalia!” I fled from the room like a star-crossed lover electrified into action. I could hear Sledgehammer and Dingo laughing at me, but I didn’t give a flying fuck. I went onto the front porch so their moronic voices wouldn’t bug me.

We made it out. We’re having a drink at the High Dive. I am thanking the powers that be for blessing me with you. Please tell me how to proceed.

“What the fuck?” I murmured. Striding back in the house, I texted, walked, and talked at the same time. “Guys! They’re at the High Dive!”

“What’s that?” Sledgehammer asked, emerging from Dingo’s room. “Some kind of athletic club?”

My fingers couldn’t fly fast enough on the fucking keyboard.

We’re coming to get you. Stay put. Don’t let that asshole bartender scare you.

Dingo was right behind me. “I’ll take my own scoot in case she needs to ride on your pussy pad.”

“Good idea. Sledgehammer, you take yours too. I don’t know how we’re going to ferry them all here, if she got her sister-wife with her.”

Sledgehammer chuckled. “Sister-wife. Man, Fortunati, you’re living in some reality show.”

I wasn’t in the mood to laugh, although Sledge was right. “What I fucking wonder is, why is she having a drink?”

Dingo was already mounting his ride. “Kimball must be with her. I used to watch her gardening in front of her house. She is very beautiful.”

“Yeah, well, she’s got a traitor for a fucking kid,” I said. I didn’t feel bad about calling a twelve-year-old a traitor. He had it coming to him. “Hope the others have more loyalty to their moms.”

I sped away, thrashing it around the potholes on the street.

The main drag of Crosstown Street was only about half a mile away. Strangely, Mahalia’s pickup truck was parked around the back. I wondered why she took the time and risked coming here for a drink when she could’ve come straight to my house. I proceeded with caution, making sure there was a bullet in the chamber of the weapon I’d borrowed from Sledge.

I waited for the other two before entering the bar, just in case. Dust Bunny, currently working at the mine, had been able to give Dingo a few lessons at the outdoor range. Dingo swaggered with the weight of his Smith and Wesson stuck into his waistband. He was still a weird amalgamation of biker and nerd. He wore the Assassins cut with the
PROSPECT
patch, but his piece was shoved into a pair of khaki cargo pants with a thousand pockets.

“Okay,” I said, “this could possibly be a setup. Who the hell knows who got ahold of Mahalia’s phone?”

“Right,” said Dingo. “Could’ve been Chiles texting.”

“We’ll go in like a SWAT team,” said Sledgehammer. He was always eager to reenact the glory days with his Marines special ops unit. “Gideon, you kick in the door.”

“It’s a swinging door,” Dingo pointed out.

I said, “We’re going in the front like regular people, man. No need to scare the fucking women and kids.” I didn’t text Mahalia again before going around the corner. There was also no need to give Chiles warning we were arriving, if indeed he’d absconded with Mahalia’s phone.