by Alta Hensley
Falling to my knees in front of her, I pulled her screaming and sobbing body into my arms. “Oh, Makayla,” was all I could say. I had never felt so helpless in my life. As she screamed NO over and over again, I would have done anything to absorb the pain from her body.
She clung to my shirt with her balled fists and screamed, “No! This can’t be! Why would he be saying this? Why is he saying he’s going to die?” She pulled back and looked at me. “Fix this! Please. I beg you. Fix this!”
I just shook my head and looked down at the ground in shame.
She hit me hard in chest, and then again, and again. “Fix it! Fix it, god damnit! Do you hear me? Fix it!”
“I can’t.” I hated myself for saying those words.
“Yes, you can. I know you can. There has to be something.” Her screams turned into full on sobs—so deep that her entire body shook as she did so. “Please, Uncle Alec. Save my papa. My papa…”
And just like that, the beautiful woman from this morning became the little girl of my past.
But this time, the little girl was broken. Shattered. Afraid. And in need of someone to take it all away.
I was not that man.
I couldn’t be that man.
I would do anything if I fucking could. But I was not the man she needed in her hopeful fairytale dream that a knight in shining armor would swoop in and save her father from the ugly dragon threatening to end it all with one puff of the fire.
We were not in a fairytale, and I was not the hero.
Rocking her back and forth on the dirt-covered ground was all I could do, and eventually her devastating sobs subsided. It gave me hope that maybe Makayla wouldn’t die in my arms from the enormity of her pain.
Standing up, she looked down at me with a new look of determination in her eyes. “Tell me about this ritual. What is Papa talking about when he says roulette and my name on the stone? I want to know everything. You are going to tell me all about it.”
I stood and brushed the dirt off my pants, preparing to tell her everything she asked. It was the least I could do.
“What is Papa talking about in this letter? Why does he think he’s going to die?”
“Why don’t we go sit on the porch,” I said as I placed my hand on her lower back. “It’s a long story.”
Makayla didn’t resist, but allowed me to guide her in silence to the two rocking chairs overlooking the lake.
“You know about The Iron Colt Brotherhood,” I began. “Every year they hold a ritual. This ritual has been occurring since long before the war was fought to end slavery. It’s an archaic ritual that many members hate, but have no choice but to be part of. Every year, rocks are drawn with people’s names on it. Females are drawn for the first part of the ritual, and six men’s names are drawn for the final part of the ritual—the roulette part. Your name was drawn to be part of the ritual, and clearly, your father is refusing for that to happen. Because of that, he is automatically part of the ritual himself. The Russian roulette part of the ritual. He will have a one in six chance at survival. He and five other men will be sitting around a table, have to place the gun at their temple, and pull the trigger. There is only one bullet in the revolver, and one man will definitely die. Rhett’s only hope is that the bullet goes into someone else’s head rather than his own.”
“Why was my name drawn? I never put my name on a rock or asked a favor of the brotherhood.” I was surprised to hear Makayla ask the question so calmly.
I sighed deeply. “Your father was desperate when your mother got sick. He was determined to save her. To beat the cancer even though the doctors said there was no hope. He wanted access to the best specialists and to have her participate in all the medical trials. To get these favors, he put his name on a lot of stones that were placed in the urn. He didn’t care how much he was at risk of having his rock drawn for the ritual. Eventually the brotherhood had felt that he maxed out his favors and entries into the urn. So, feeling desperate to save your mother, he put your name on the rocks too. He would have done anything to save Minka. And he had told me that if by some chance your name came up, he would refuse and face the consequences then. He would never allow you to be part of the ritual.”
“So, was my name drawn to play Russian roulette?” she asked.
I shook my head. “No. The first part of the ritual is where the women are used. Each woman is treated like an animal, a sex slave to be purchased by one of the members of the brotherhood to be theirs for the ritual in whichever way they choose. The women have no choice but to be violated, abused and treated like a plantation owner in the days long gone would treat a slave… but far worse.”
“Jesus. Why? Why would any of you want to be part of this?”
“It’s sick. It’s why I chose to leave it all behind a long time ago. The ritual is supposed to be symbolic of a society that thrived for decades. To demonstrate power, control, dark desires, and show that there is a price to pay for it all.” I paused, hating the way she was looking at me. “You have to remember that both your father and I were born into this. It’s hard to walk away from a heritage and tradition that has always been. Blue blood connections are almost impossible to break. It doesn’t make it right, but it was just the reality that your father and I were part of our entire lives.”
Accepting my answer with a slight nod, Makayla asked, “So, that’s why my father was so overprotective of me? He was worried I would be pulled into the ritual.”
“I’ve seen the ritual,” I confessed. “I would fear that as well. I can’t imagine you being part of it.”
“But my name was drawn when I left for New Orleans and that is why my father sent us here. Right?”
I nodded. “It seems so.”
“And because my father refused, they are forcing him to do the Russian roulette?”
I nodded again. “He’s sacrificing himself. It’s one of the rules of the ritual. Someone can sacrifice to save someone else. It’s rarely done, but it can be.”
“Where does this ritual take place?”
“Do you remember the Myers’ mansion?”
“That old plantation?” Her eyes grew wide. “I’ve been there so many times as a kid. We would go there for BBQs and parties. The Myers are part of this? This can’t be true. They were such nice people.”
“I can bet everyone you have ever known is part of The Iron Colt Brotherhood. Like I said, every powerful man in Georgia and the south is connected to it or knows about it and covets a spot. Not everyone involved is bad. Like I said, the pull by bloodline alone is what makes breaking away almost impossible. And if you want to be a rich man and succeed in any form of business, then you can’t just walk away. The brotherhood can make or break you.”
“This can’t be allowed!” Makayla shouted, standing from the chair. “I’ll call the police. They’ll stop it. I won’t let my father risk dying because of some fucked up old ritual done by power hungry crazed men.”
I sighed heavily, frustrated by the naivety of her statement. “Do you really think the police aren’t aware and paid handsomely by the brotherhood? There is no part of Georgia The Iron Colt Brotherhood does not control.”
Makayla collapsed back in the rocker in defeat and sat there in silence for several moments before asking, “So, do the women die? In the first part of the ritual that Papa is protecting me from, do I have a chance of dying?”
“No. Though I’m sure some wish for death during it.”
“But I wouldn’t die?”
“No…” I narrowed my eyes on her, pretty sure where she was going with this. “Makayla, your father refused. He already made up his mind and put his name in your place. So if you are thinking—”
“That it would be better for me to do it than him,” Makayla interrupted. “At least no one would die that way.”
I could see she was getting agitated and worked up again, and I needed to try to diffuse her belief that she could swoop in and save the day. She didn’t understand the way the brotherhood
worked, and as much as I wanted to fix this in any way I could, I just couldn’t think of a way.
“Do you know when the ritual is?” she asked.
“Yes, in two days.” I reached out for her hand and squeezed. “Makayla, I know this isn’t what you want to hear. But all we can do is sit here and hope for the best. There is still a chance your father could walk away from the roulette. Some other poor bastard could be the dead man. Not him.”
She didn’t answer me, but turned her head to stare out at the lake. I took her silence as a sign that, though she didn’t like the situation anymore than I did, she realized we had to just pray Rhett walked away with his life.
“I’m going to go get us something to drink. I think we could both use it.”
Very softly, she asked, “Will you go down to the wine cellar and get a good bottle?”
“Of course,” I said as I stood and bent over to kiss her on the top of her head. “All is not lost yet.”
“You’re right,” she agreed with a weak smile. “All is not lost yet.”
Chapter Twelve
Makayla
It was fair to say that I hadn’t made the wisest choice by deciding to steal Alec’s car while he was in the wine cellar. It also wasn’t smart to drive all day to attempt to find the Myers’ mansion only to wind up driving some desolate backwoods road in the middle of a rainstorm—at the beginning of the night. I fancied myself a wise woman in regards to books and academia but not full of street smarts, and definitely not self-reliant. My father had made sure of that by keeping me locked away from anything he considered a risk… which was everything.
Alec would be furious when he came back upstairs to find me gone, and I knew he would be quick to follow me. But the time it would take for him to find a new car would buy me some time, and I did have a head start. I had to do something. No way would I just sit at the lake house and hope for the best. Not when I could sacrifice myself instead of my father. I could, and I would.
Alec’s car’s windshield wipers barely kept up with clearing the massive amount of water sluicing across the foggy glass. I fiddled with the knob, hoping to speed up the back and forth motion to no avail. It was almost impossible to see the road without even a sliver of light in the cloudy night’s sky.
Where the hell was I? All I could see was a few feet ahead of me of a road that seemed to lead to nowhere. This was a recipe for a perfect horror story. Though my life had become one big horror story as it was. I had no phone signal, the GPS on my phone decided to stop working, the storm raged around me, and I just continued to drive into the woods of nowhere. I knew the plantation house was near, but enough time had passed by since I last visited with my father for the annual fourth of July celebration that was always hosted there, that I couldn’t one hundred percent remember my way in the backwoods of Georgia without some guidance. I remembered the plantation from when I was little pretty well. My father and mother had taken me to the house for large parties and BBQs. I remembered attending a couple of weddings there as well. But then it all stopped, and I had never thought to ask why.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something white sprint out onto the road and hit the right tire, or fender, or some part of the car. The slight bump, and then a crunching sound under the tire made it very clear that I had killed something. A rabbit? A raccoon? A deer—no not a deer—I would be dead by now if that was the case.
I kept driving. It wasn’t like I had hit the creature. It had hit me… right? And besides, the crunching noise under the car made it very clear that whatever hit me was definitely road kill. And even if I did pull over, I had no signal to call for help, and I hadn’t seen a car in at least an hour, if not longer. I needed to get to my father before it was too late, and the longer I drove, the more I panicked. What if I was too late? What if I never found the plantation house?
After a few more moments mourning the creature I hadn’t even really seen before it became road kill, I realized I could barely make out the lines on the road. The rain came down harder, and harder, and even harder if that was even possible. I had no choice but to pull over to the side of the road. Driving in these conditions was insane, no matter if my father’s life was at risk or not. When the car stopped, I pulled my shaking hands off the wheel and ran them through my hair, taking deep breaths to calm my panicky nerves.
I had to be close. Some things I seemed to recognize, but it was too hard to tell for sure. Taking a moment to look around, I could barely make out the trees in very thick woods all around. I couldn’t just wait out this storm in the middle of nowhere. My father’s life was on the line, and even though I knew deep down I could be too late, and there was maybe nothing I could do, I had to try. I wasn’t going to just sit in the lake house, pretending to be on vacation while my father was about to be killed, as he and Alec wanted me to do. I put the car back into drive and headed out. I knew I was close to the mansion and would eventually recognize a street or landmark for sure if I just kept going. It became my chant.
Keep going. Save Papa.
Keep going. Save Papa.
Mile after mile, I drove. The road seemed to go on with no end in sight. On and on I drove in pitch-blackness and torrential rain, praying that a deer wouldn’t jump out and total Alec’s car.
Pulling over to the side of the road again, I grabbed my phone and hopped out of the car, grateful that the rain had paused long enough so that I could stand outside without getting drenched. Holding the phone in the air, I watched the screen for any sign of a signal as I walked around. I knew I had to be close. I just needed to get the name of the street. Anything.
“Look what we got here,” a voice cut through the air from behind me. I spun around to see a car parked in the shadows off the road just as two strong arms grabbed me and wrestled me to the ground. How could I not have seen the car before? “It’s her. I recognize her face from the picture. Her daddy thought she wouldn’t come. Funny how we knew otherwise.”
“At least we don’t have to sit here in the rain waiting for her to come anymore,” the second man added as they dragged me back toward their car. “This was the second day in a row we had to sit here, if I had to do it another day, I would lose my fucking mind.”
A small sticker on the trunk of the vehicle of my captors told me that I had indeed found the plantation house—or that the house had found me. A decorative insignia with the lettering The Iron Colt Brotherhood written underneath was the last thing I saw before they had my hands tied together, and I was thrown into the back of the car.
Fighting against the restraints, I closed my eyes as I took deep breaths.
Calm.
Remain calm.
Clearly, they knew who I was. Who my father was.
A few minutes passed before the car came to a stop. I looked out the window at the large mansion that I remembered from my youth and prepared myself for what was to come. I had no idea how, but I knew I had to stay calm and collected. Fear would only lead to mistakes. I wasn’t a little girl anymore. My papa wasn’t here to tuck me in at night and tell me all my nightmares would go away.
No, my father could be dead.
Maybe I would soon join him.
The back door opened, and when the fresh air hit my face, it gave me a renewed strength. As the men yanked me out of the car, I gave it my all. Gyrating my body, screaming, biting, and scratching, I would do whatever I could to leave my mark on these men. I would make damn sure their DNA was all over me if in fact they decided to kill me. I was forced onto my back and straddled by one of my captors. A punch to the face finally stunned me into submission, and I had no choice but to succumb to whatever these men had in store for me as they pulled my stunned body back to standing.
I struggled against the bonds that were around my wrists. The two men shoved me forward, causing me to stumble on the rocky path leading up to a large plantation house that I remembered from my childhood. I looked around, remembering that at one time this estate had provided wonderful memories. No way
would I have known then that I would be standing here kidnapped and tied, fearing for my life and the life of my father.
“Walk,” one of the men ordered, breaking me from my observations with a kick to my calf. “Don’t make me kick you the entire way.” He led me up the stairs to the porch and into the house.
Several men came out from the rooms that lead to the large expansive foyer as I was kicked and shoved to the center area. All of the men were dressed in expensive suits, designer ties, and carried an aura of extreme wealth.
“Please!” I called out. Hopefully, one of the now ten or so men gathering around would take pity on me. They couldn’t all be heartless bad guys, could they?
“What treat have you brought us today?” a voice called out from my right. All heads turned to a man walking toward me. He approached until he stood inches from my face, so close that I could smell his thick cologne.
I refused to look him in the eye as he stood before me, raking his eyes up and down my body as if attempting to see through my clothing. Maybe if I didn’t look at him, he would somehow let me go.
“Where did you find her?”
“By the entrance. She had been driving around on our land for a while. We think she was lost, but definitely searching for us.”
I hated showing fear, but hiding the fact that I was terrified was impossible. My body shook, and my knees threatened to collapse at any minute. Tears filled my eyes, but I refused to cry. The man stopped examining my body to look around.
He stared directly in my eyes and asked, “Makayla right?”
“I want my father. Now!” I spat.
He answered my demand with a venom-laced smile, and said, “Take sweet Makayla and lock her up with the others. We knew Daddy’s Girl would come. It was just a matter of time.” Several men laughed as they all turned and went back to whatever they were doing before my arrival.
I was led to a room that had once served as either a billiards room or a large library, but I couldn’t remember. Everything about the inside of this house had changed from what I remembered as a child. It was now dark, haunting, evil even. This wasn’t the house it once was. The windows had bars on them and the one door of the entrance to where I was being led had several locks, as well as a man with an antique rifle sitting on a chair in front of it. The guard pulled out a ring of keys and began unlocking the door. Moments later, a near punch to the back shoved me into a dark room. It took my eyes several minutes to adjust to the darkness to make out what was around me. Huddled against the wall were five women, naked and chained like animals.
