Trouble, Tennessee 2
Heap of Trouble
One wrong turn in life lands Heather Powers in the heart of danger. Recognizing an opportunity to break free of captivity, she sends out an urgent cry for help. Soon, Trouble’s founding fathers are gathering round in hopes of saving one of their own, but the clock is ticking as they sneak up on Heather’s captors in a creepy forest.
Attempting to pull Heather out of a bad situation, Curt Caldwell, Justin Dare, and Gabe Reynolds uncover an evil family with a deadly agenda. Desperate to save an innocent victim, Trouble’s men march straight into the heart of spine-chilling danger. Soon, they’re forced to face off with the occult and a haunting wickedness far more sinister than anyone could ever imagine. The stakes are high as these men risk everything for love, including the very safe haven they affectionately call their home.
Note: This book contains double vaginal penetration.
Genre: Contemporary, Ménage a Trois/Quatre, Paranormal, Western/Cowboys
Length: 29,062 words
HEAP OF TROUBLE
Trouble, Tennessee 2
Natalie Acres
MENAGE EVERLASTING
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Ménage Everlasting
HEAP OF TROUBLE
Copyright © 2015 by Natalie Acres
E-book ISBN: 978-1-63259-104-3
First E-book Publication: March 2015
Cover design by Les Byerley
All art and logo copyright © 2015 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
PUBLISHER
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
Letter to Readers
Dear Readers,
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This is Natalie Acres’s livelihood. It’s fair and simple. Please respect Natalie Acres’s right to earn a living from her work.
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DEDICATION
Heap of Trouble is dedicated to those who started this journey with me well over ten years ago. You’re still an inspiration.
Trouble, Tennessee is dedicated to police officers and detectives who were nice enough to share their stories and patient enough to entertain an enthusiastic writer. Thank you for sharing your truths regardless of where they originated. Most of all, thank you for tolerating a pushy author who wanted more facts than fiction.
The Trouble series is also dedicated to those who live on or near Smith Place Road in East Tennessee. Your view of the mountains and the farmland stretching down to the Holston River is still heaven on earth as far as I’m concerned. Better still, you have some of the finest neighbors in the world.
I think about you all the time.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
About the Author
HEAP OF TROUBLE
Trouble, Tennessee 2
NATALIE ACRES
Copyright © 2015
Chapter One
“I want you to lookie here, sugar.” Markie, flamboyant and proud, waved his arm in front of the crosstie area. “I’m tickled all over my peach fuzz.” He pointed at Allister McCall. “Not there, sugar.” He stroked his chin as if to indicate a little hair on his jaw and quickly added, “Have you ever seen a cleaner barn?” He rested one hand in the curve of his waist, gave his body a shove and snapped his finger. “I think not.”
“Markie, I don’t have time for this.” Allister focused on the far end of the barn as soon as he spotted his brother. “Harley! Have you seen Bradley?”
“Not since early this morning.” Harley walked toward him. “What’s up?”
“I need to find him. Now.” Allister glanced at Markie. “Don’t you have somewhere you need to be?”
“I could go entertain that sweet lady friend of yours and ask her to go shopping. Would that suit ‘cha?”
Allister snarled. The last time Markie took Ellie shopping, it cost each of Ellie’s men about a thousand a piece.
“Ah for the love of cow shit on your boots, just spit it out.” Markie tousled his snow-white hair. “It’s not like I’ll rush off and find Bradley first.” He waited. “Then again, if it’s this important, maybe I will.”
“Have you seen Bradley or not?”
“He was through here about seven or eight this mornin’.” Markie grinned. “Let me guess. Bradley outsmarted the wolf and ran off with the little fox?”
“It’s about his sister.” The sooner Allister put that out there, the sooner Markie would straighten up his act.
“His sister?” Harley frowned. “What about her?”
“She’s in a heap of trouble,” Allister replied.
Harley brushed sawdust off his jeans. “Man, last I heard, that’s the only kind she liked.”
Markie clucked. “What he said.”
“What kind exactly?” Allister asked.
Harley shrugged. “Anyone that’s not tied down, she takes ‘em for a ride. I’m surprised Bradley hasn’t told yo
u about her. She’s a little con artist.”
Allister and Bradley were like brothers. They talked about pretty much everything—except Heather.
“On rare occasions he’ll bring her up, but he never says too much.” Allister paused. “No idea where I can find him?”
“I’m sure he’s around here somewhere.” Harley filled a grain bucket and set it on the ground. “Anything I can do to help?”
“Probably. Don’t run off. We may be loading up and heading out.” He nodded at the end of the barn. “Hang tight. Here he is.”
Dust flew everywhere as Bradley and Draegan reined in their mounts and entered the barn. They each slid away from their saddles in record time.
“You owe me!” Bradley called out, the obvious victor in whatever bet they’d placed.
“I don’t owe you. The last time I checked, you were in the arrears and down by fifty.”
“Wanna go double or nothin’?” Bradley grinned. “I’m feeling lucky today.”
“Somethin’ tells me your luck is about to change, Mr. High Roller,” Markie sang in his Southern twang.
Allister dragged his hand down his face. He was always the bearer of bad news. Some of the guys had even started calling him “the undertaker.”
Draegan turned his attention to his brothers Harley and Allister. “Been a long time since the two of you have been spotted in the same place.”
“Tell me about it,” Allister said. Harley and Allister typically worked opposite shifts. “I would’ve already been in bed but a call came in for Bradley.”
Markie rushed Bradley and took his reins. “It’s about your sister. I tried to find out more but you know how Allister is. If bad news is around, he wants to be the one to stamp it as delivered.”
Harley grunted. “Really, Markie?”
“He needs to get laid,” Draegan said, turning to Allister. “What’s up?”
Allister closed the distance between himself and Bradley. “A call came in about Heather.”
“What about her?” Bradley seemingly braced for the worst. “Is she alive?”
“As far as I know.” Allister reached in his shirt pocket and handed over the notes from his earlier conversation. “When’s the last time you spoke to her?”
“Two or three months ago,” Bradley replied, studying the sheet of paper. “What is this?”
Several boards creaked above them and Allister turned his attention to the loft. Standing next to the rail, Curt Caldwell looked like he’d seen a ghost. A huge man with dark features, Curt appeared more intimidating then, and Allister wasn’t easily spooked.
“What do you know about Heather?” Curt’s deep voice sounded more tortured than usual.
“Shit,” Allister grumbled, remembering why Heather’s whereabouts would matter to Curt. They had a past. She’d also dated Justin Dare and had a history with Gabe Reynolds.
“Well?” Curt slung his leg over the railing and climbed down the ladder. “What’s this about?” He peered over Bradley’s shoulder, eyeing the message.
Allister tilted his head at Bradley. “Do you know anything about Heather’s last whereabouts or what she’s been up to lately?”
“Other than the fact that she didn’t show up for our mother’s funeral? Not much.”
“I always told you there may have been a good reason for her absence.” Accusation was strewn through Curt’s voice.
“Damn right there was,” Bradley said. “She was too busy partying. For all I know, she was doped out of her mind.”
“And what if she wasn’t?” Curt snarled. “What if she didn’t even know about it because her big brother couldn’t be bothered enough to call her?”
“I called,” Bradley grated out. “And I left several messages.”
Allister cleared his throat. “Bradley, she may not have known about your mother.”
“Of course she did.”
Allister frowned. “I’m going to say she didn’t.”
Undoubtedly, Bradley noted the seriousness in Allister’s tone. He hurriedly scanned the note and directions.
“What are you driving at, McCall?” Curt clenched his fists.
Anger was good. They’d probably need some of it when they went to find Heather.
Allister took a deep breath. “According to the person who called on Heather’s behalf, she’s been held against her will for nearly two months.”
“Who told you this?” Bradley snapped the paper. More a peacekeeper than a troublemaker, Bradley was slow to anger but when his back was against the wall, he typically came out swinging fast and low.
“She placed a clothing order with an online boutique. In the comments section, she added a note and your phone number. She also gave directions to the place where she’s being held. She hasn’t been in touch with the outside world since she arrived there over two months ago. She stressed that much to the boutique owner and pleaded for her help.”
Bradley patted his pockets. Allister handed over his cell. “You left it behind this morning. The woman I spoke to said Heather’s message came in four days ago. The owner only checks orders before they go out and she said whoever processed the shipment apparently didn’t catch the note.”
“Heather is on drugs,” Bradley reminded him. “If she needs help, it’s money she’s after.”
“How do you know?” Curt removed his cap and slapped it against his leg. “You don’t know if she’s on drugs or if she’s ever taken the first drug. You haven’t seen her.”
“She dropped out of school so she could work to support her partying habits,” Bradley said, seemingly certain. “You think I’d make this shit up?”
Curt snatched the note and read the directions. “Wait a minute. I know this place.” He looked up at Allister. “This isn’t good.”
“You know who owns it?” Draegan asked, peering down at the message, too. He paled as soon as he saw it. “Fuck me.”
“Ah now, sugar.” Markie returned in time to grab a jab. “Don’t be comin’ on to others in front of your one and only.”
Best friends for most of their lives, Markie and Draegan carried on with something all the time. Allister rarely had the tolerance for it. “Not now, Markie.”
Draegan gave Markie a sideways glance. “Remember Toms Vance?”
Markie thinned his lips. He didn’t so much as whisper a response.
“Well if that name shuts him up, I’d love to know why,” Allister said.
“Hadn’t heard anything about the Vance boys since high school.” Markie massaged his temple.
“Wait a minute. Did you say Vance?” Harley was suddenly more interested, too. “That’s where she is?”
Draegan tapped the directions. “If Allister copied down the information correctly then yeah. She’s at the old Vance place.”
Curt sneered. “That place was scary way back in the day. Locals used to say it was crawling with ghosts and demons.”
“It ain’t the ghosts we need to worry about,” Harley said, giving Allister a sour look before directing his conversation to Bradley. “It’s the demons. If your sister is in Vance Holler, we need to get her out of there now.”
“Yeah,” Draegan muttered. “If there’s anything left of her.”
* * * *
Heather was cold, lonely, tired, and scared. She had been in the hole before, but this was different. Logic told her it was the same place. How many semi-dry wells could there be on one property? Besides, it smelled the same. The doldrums of dripping water seemed to echo with the same hypnotic tempo, a dreary little beat that had almost driven her mad the last time she’d been there.
“Hey! Hey! You over yonder! Got a light! Got a match! Wanna smoke? Wanna drink?”
Heather balled her fists and held her breath. How long had she been out? How long had she been locked up there in the dark with some fruitcake?
“Hey! Psst! You! You over yonder! Got a light! Got a match! Wanna—”
“No. I don’t.” She shivered, scared crazy by what she heard. H
eavy breathing resounded then, and a few times she could’ve sworn someone was breathing right at her ear. She swatted her arms around her head, but didn’t bump up against anyone.
The masculine voice hitched, and the nasally tone began again. “Got a light! Got a match! Gotta drink? Wanna sip?”
“Leave me alone,” Heather said, her teeth clattering. She backed against the damp stone wall, tracing each block until her fingers hit the mortar in between one square and the next. Some sort of slime covered some of them, but she tried not to think about it as she walked the circular interior, feeling her way around the cylinder shape in hopes of finding a ladder.
The last time she had been in the hole, she’d tried for days to find a way out, desperate for fresh air. When Rons finally came for her, he’d opened up the top and descended right down the ladder, one which had been there the whole time, but perhaps had a five or six foot drop from the last rung to the ground.
“Wanna smoke? Gotta a drink? Wanna sip?” The chanting continued. The vocals faded in and out, the man clearly content to ramble right on and talk to himself.
She ran her hands up and down the wall, took another sidestep or two, and let out a defeating sigh. Nothing.
Maybe she wasn’t in the same hole. Perhaps the Vance brothers had two or three similar wells on the property. Maybe they housed the troublemakers together. Considering what she’d done and her level of betrayal? Anything was possible.
“Why are you here?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady as she took another sliding step.
“Psst! Got a light! Got a match!” A wicked laugh resonated with an eerie vibration. “Got a name? Wanna name? Break it down now, bitch.”
Heap of Trouble [Trouble, Tennessee 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 1
