What was going to happen now?
Before she could contemplate her fate another moment, Georgia felt someone lay a hand on her right shoulder. “Georgia?"
It was Judd.
She wanted to answer him, she really did. But the genuine concern in his voice only made her sob harder at the thought of what she was about to lose. She loved him, and knew that he loved her. But all that would change as soon as she told him what had happened on that cold, dark night down in southern Virginia a couple years ago.
Judd was going to hate her. So were Blackie and Rebel and all her sisters-in-law, especially Dusty.
Feeling sorry for herself and unable to control her sobs, Georgia allowed Judd to roll her over. Then he helped her up and pulled her into his arms. The awkward way they were sitting on the ground made it difficult to find a comfortable position. But somehow, she managed to twist her body around his, wrap her arms around his neck, and settle in with her head resting on his broad shoulder.
Georgia had yearned for comfort—craved it—as long as she could remember. And finally, after all these years, she'd found it.
"Georgia?” he said again.
Didn't he know she had no intention of answering?
"Is she hurt?” she heard Rebel ask.
Judd answered him with a shrug. “I don't know, bro, I can't get her to talk to me."
Rebel touched her shoulder, but she ignored him, continuing to sob and feel sorry for herself. Why? Why now that she had found everything she'd ever wanted, was it going to be taken away from her?
It wasn't fair.
Judd sat still with her in his arms until Blackie's loud, sharp, “Georgia!” caused her to jump.
"Lay off, Blackie,” Judd ordered.
"Oh, I don't think so,” Blackie said sarcastically; the volume of his deep, intimidating voice increasing with every word. “I wanna know what the hell is goin’ on, godammit, and I wanna know now!"
With that, Georgia knew it was time. Even though Blackie was the only one who'd spoken up, she knew they all wanted an explanation; that they deserved one.
She sniffed, lifted her head from Judd's shoulder, wiped her eyes, and looked at Rebel. “I'm okay."
"Good,” Blackie spat, “now explain why the fuck the three of us got a call ten minutes ago about you flippin’ out. What gives?"
Unwinding herself from Judd, the two of them stood and brushed themselves off. Then, ignoring everyone else, she reached out and touched his forearm to get his attention. The instant he looked at her, fresh tears began rolling down her cheeks.
She didn't want to lose him, lose his love.
But she was going to, and there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it.
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Chapter 17
Up until Dusty had come back into his life two months earlier, until he discovered that he had a nine-year-old son and how easily everything that had been given to him could be taken away, Judd never realized he had it in him to be even the least bit emotional.
But he did.
And now that he had a younger sister who obviously and openly adored him, he pretty much considered himself capable of being quite, for lack of a better word, sappy.
Those kinds of feelings were murder on the reputation, but right this minute, Judd didn't give a damn. Georgia was hurting, and his heart was breaking for her.
Ignoring the fact that Blackie, Rebel, and all their wives were watching, Judd stepped forward and cupped her face, using his thumbs to wipe away her tears. “Talk to me, Georgia,” he said quietly, “tell me what's wrong."
She reached up and tentatively touched the back of his hand, then let her arm fall back down to her side. “I'm so sorry, Judd!"
"Sorry for what, Georgia? What did you do?"
"I was there,” she cried, “at the house. That night. I was there!"
House? What was she talking about? “What house, honey; where were you?"
"At the house,” she cried again, “Dusty's house."
"You've never been to Dusty's house, Georgia. It was blown up when the old man tried to kill us. The boys and I are rebuilding it now; that's why Dusty, me, and Jay are living here with Rebel and Gypsy."
"No.” She shook her head, sobbing almost uncontrollably. “Not that house. The one in ... Virginia. The one that burned down. It was all my fault!"
Well that was an interesting bit if information.
What could possibly have happened to make Georgia think that was her fault? Unless...
Out of the corner of his eye, Judd saw Blackie—who had been silent for a record-breaking sixty seconds—furrow his brows, look at Georgia, and holler, “What!"
Afraid Blackie was going to scare Georgia—who nearly jumped out of her skin every time their older brother raised his voice—into silence, Judd turned to him and yelled, “Shut up!"
Surprisingly, he did.
Turning his attention back to Georgia, Judd tried to figure out which question to ask first. He was saved when she continued. “He made me go. Dolan. In the middle of the night. I'd been giving him a hard time then; I had tried to run away earlier that day. He said he wanted me to see what happened to people who didn't do what he wanted.” Then she turned to Dusty, who had come to stand next to Judd. “I'm so sorry, Dusty! I tried to stop him, but I couldn't! If only I'd listened! If I hadn't tried to escape, your sister wouldn't have died!"
She had begun to shiver.
Judd wasn't sure if it was because she was so upset, or because it was so cold outside and all she was wearing was his old threadbare sweatshirt.
He wanted to suggest that they go inside, but was afraid that pausing the momentum she had for telling the story might put a stop to it all together.
Although he was anxious to hear the rest of Georgia's story, Judd knew that there was no way anything that happened to Dusty and her sisters was Georgia's fault. By remaining calm, he hoped to let her know that. “Tell us what happened, honey."
"I was sound asleep when he dragged me out of bed,” Georgia started to explain. “And it was dark that night.” She sniffed, and, for the first time, wiped at her tears with her sleeve. “So dark I could barely see. He had a flashlight, but wouldn't give me one, so I had to stay close to him. I didn't know what he was planning to do; I thought maybe he was just going to vandalize the house or something, but—"
"But what?"
"He pulled out a glass bottle filled with liquid. It had a rag sticking out the top. He called it a—"
"Molotov Cocktail,” Judd finished her sentence. Throwing those firebombs had been his father's favorite way of blowing things up and burning buildings to the ground.
She nodded. “Yeah, that's what he called it. I didn't know what it was or where he'd gotten it, because I didn't see it the whole time we were riding in his truck."
"So what happened?” Judd asked her.
"We were standing in the yard, maybe ten feet from the house, when he struck a match, lit the rag, and handed the bottle to me."
Georgia looked at Dusty. “I didn't want to take it. Please believe me! I tried to throw it to the ground, but he grabbed me, shoved it into my hand, and told me to throw it through the window. I kept refusing, telling him I didn't want to hurt anyone, but he didn't care.
"It was already burning and I was so afraid it was going to blow up that I agreed to throw it. Secretly, I had planned to miss in order to keep the fire away from the house. But Dolan must've known what I was thinking, because at the last second, he wrapped his hand around mine and guided it to where he wanted the bomb to land. It went through someone's bedroom window, then half the house burst into flames."
Judd watched in horror as Georgia buried her face in her hands and sank to her knees. Her gut-wrenching sobs tore at his heart. He didn't think it was possible that Dolan McCassey could've treated anyone worse than he'd treated his wife and sons, but what he'd done to Georgia was inhuman. He had tortured the poor girl when she was nothing more than a kid.
And then it hit him.
Damn, no wonder she feels the way she does about me.
Although he'd looked up to Blackie most of his life and knew what it was like to practically worship someone, Judd had never been on the receiving end of such admiration. He knew now that no matter what else happened, he had to help Georgia; it was his responsibility as her older brother to do what he could for her, just as Blackie had done for him so many times when he was a kid.
"Tell me the rest,” he urged, “what happened next?"
She took a deep breath and wiped at her eyes again. “Dolan dragged me into the woods and we hid behind a tree like cowards. Then I heard screaming. A lot of screaming. The fire gave off enough light that I could see Dusty when she ran out of the house carrying her son. She set him by a tree and told him to stay put while she went after her sister. When I realized there was someone else in the house, I couldn't just sit there."
"God, Georgia, what did you do?"
And what had the old man done to her for trying to do it?
"I wanted to help,” she stressed, obviously hoping they'd believe she never intended to kill anyone. “I jumped up while Dolan was distracted and tried to run into the house. I thought maybe I could help Dusty get her sister out. But Dolan caught me by my hair, then reached out and hit me with the butt of his gun here.” She paused, moved the hair away from her face, and showed them all a jagged, one inch scar on her right temple. “I've looked at this a thousand times over the past few years, but until today, could never remember how I got it."
Judd winced at the thought of how much it must've hurt Georgia to be clocked with the butt of Dolan's gun.
"It must've knocked me out,” she continued, “because the next thing I knew, I was waking up in my bed back at the house."
Georgia reached up and absentmindedly touched her scar. “The cut bled off and on for a few days. I was a mess and in a lot of pain, which meant that Dolan wasn't making any money. Finally, he sewed it up with a needle and thread himself."
Judd reached out and ran his finger over the raised scar. It looked bad, bad enough that Georgia would probably never want to wear her hair up.
Damn the old man.
From her seat on the ground, Georgia raised her head and, still crying, looked up at Dusty. “I'm sorry, Dusty, I'm so sorry. I never wanted to hurt your sister."
To Dusty's credit, she reacted exactly as Judd had hoped she would: by taking a seat on the ground next to Georgia. “It's not your fault, Georgia. No one blames you for anything Dolan McCassey made you do. If he hadn't forced you to throw that Molotov Cocktail through the window of my sister's bedroom, he would've done it himself."
"But I should've tried harder to stop him."
Dusty shook her head and took Georgia's hand in hers. “No matter how hard you tried, you wouldn't have been able to stop him. And he would've punished you even worse for defying him. Dolan screwed with each and every one of our lives. Some he ruined, but others he didn't. Look at all of us,” Dusty said reassuringly, “Thanks to Judd, we're here, and we're alive. Dolan isn't. He can't bother anyone anymore, Georgia, and that includes you. You're here with us, now, and you're safe. Your brothers aren't going to let anyone hurt you ever again."
More than certain that he couldn't have said it better himself, Judd was about to flash Dusty a look of thanks when Georgia jumped up and began pacing.
"No!” Georgia told them. “It doesn't matter. I can't stay here anymore!"
Noticing that Dusty had stepped back so he could handle the situation, Judd took over. “What the hell are you talking about, Georgia? Why not?"
"My actions killed an innocent girl! Don't you see, Judd? I'm just like Dolan! I didn't even remember the fire or anything that happened that night until I saw Dusty today. And when I did, it all came rushing back like the nightmare it was back when it first happened! Who knows what else I've done that I don't remember; what kind of person I really am underneath. I can't be around your wives and children. I'm not good enough! What if I wind up hurting someone else?"
Judd was at a loss about what to say this time, so he said the only thing that made sense. “I don't know what to say to convince you that you're wrong, Georgia. Dead wrong. Wade mentioned the little deal you two had; that he told you about our pasts. The three of us weren't too happy about it at the time, but now I'm glad you know. We've all taken lives before. Not necessarily because we wanted to, but because we had to."
"Yeah, Judd, you had to kill, or you would've died yourselves. You didn't have a choice. I did—"
"Shut the fuck up!” Blackie suddenly yelled, startling them all. Before they knew it, he was standing in front of Georgia pointing his finger in her face. “You didn't have any goddamn choice, either, Georgia! What the fuck do you think Dolan woulda done to you if you'd flat out refused to throw that bottle? Huh?"
Georgia remained silent, looking scared to death. If Judd didn't think there was a point somewhere in Blackie's speech, he would've put a quick stop to it.
"Huh?” Blackie asked again. “I'll tell you what he woulda done, little girl, he woulda killed you that night, too. He woulda tossed your scrawny little body through the window of that burnin’ house without thinkin’ twice! Throwin’ that Molotov Cocktail probably saved your damn life!"
Judd noticed, with much relief, that Georgia's tears had stopped. She still hadn't said anything, but was listening, which, in his opinion, was much more important.
"We all make choices, Georgia,” Blackie said a little more calmly, “they don't always wind up bein’ the right ones in the end, but we do what we have to at the time."
Surprised by how quickly Blackie had calmed down, Judd held his breath and waited for what was coming next. When Blackie started talking again, Judd couldn't believe what he heard.
"I became a member of the Renegades at the age of seventeen because I murdered a cop. Yeah,” he said when Georgia's eyes widened, “that's right. No one would ever believe it was an accident, but it was. I was aimin’ for his shoulder, but he moved at the last second and my bullet went straight through his heart.
"You want to know why I shot him?"
She nodded.
"Because the bastard took aim at me first. I made the decision to shoot him because it was him or me. I chose me. I told Judd and Rebel that story a couple years ago. You know why I'm tellin’ you now?"
"Why?"
"Because there ain't a day that goes by that I don't think about that man and what his family had to go through when he died. To this day, I regret killin’ him. But I don't regret shootin’ at him. Do you understand that there's a difference?"
She nodded again. “You shot at him so he wouldn't shoot you, but you didn't mean to kill him, and you're sorry you did it. But what does that have to do with me?"
"If I'd been the one to die that day, little girl, there wouldn't have been anyone around to watch out for them two,” he motioned toward Judd and Rebel, “and the old man probably woulda killed them. If none of us were around, there wouldn't be anyone to look out for you. We're all sittin’ here today because of the choice I made that afternoon."
"And because of a choice I made,” she repeated, “I'm sitting here today?"
"You're damn right."
"But what about Dusty's sister? She didn't choose to die. I was responsible for taking her life."
"No, you weren't, Georgia,” Dusty reassured her. “Blackie's right. If you hadn't done what Dolan had told you to that night, he would've killed you, too. Maybe even done something worse."
Judd wanted to ask what could possibly be worse than being killed, but then it hit him. Dolan could've raped Georgia again, and for a teenage girl, living with that probably would've been much worse than not living at all.
"But what about you,” Georgia asked Dusty, “why don't you hate me
for what happened to your sister?"
"Because it wasn't your fault,” Dusty said matter-of-factly. “And because Dolan would've killed Benni one day whether you were there or not."
Lightly touching Georgia's knee to get her attention, Blackie continued. “Reb killed a handful of men the day we shot it out with Gypsy's father on Ten Acres,” he told her, picking up where his story had left off. “Me and Judd did, too. And all of us, includin’ Angel, took out over a dozen Renegades inside their own camp. Do you know what my point is?"
"That I come from a family of killers?"
Blackie actually chuckled, which made Georgia smile and lightened the mood considerably. “And?” he asked.
Georgia shrugged. “And I'm supposed to be proud of that?"
"Proud or not, little girl, it's who you are. We're all the same,” he explained, “you, me, Judd, Rebel. Our wives, too. We've all done shit we ain't proud of, shit that needed to be done to save our own asses. We ain't bad people, but we are a family. You're a McCassey just like everyone else sittin’ here, so I don't want to hear no more that you ain't fuckin’ good enough to be around us!"
Blackie had taken the long way around, but he'd made his point. Georgia seemed to understand that she hadn't done anything wrong and that she was welcome in the family because, whether she liked it or not, she was just like her brothers.
"You understand what I'm sayin'?"
"I understand,” Georgia told him.
"Good. I don't want to have this fuckin’ conversation again. You got anything you wanna say before we end it?"
Unable to imagine what Georgia had to say, Judd held his breath when he saw the corners of her mouth curve into a smile.
"Yeah,” she said, “has anyone ever told you that your mouth needs a filter?"
They all laughed then, including Blackie, who used the arm he'd draped around Georgia's shoulders to give her a slight, playful shove. “Shut the fuck up, smartass."
"Hey,” she responded, righting herself, “you asked."
"Fair enough,” he nodded in agreement, “and now I'm tellin' you that if you ever take a swing at me again, I'll beat your ass so bad that you'll have to forget about sittin’ down for at least a week."
The Long Road Home [The Final McCassey Brothers Book] Page 13
