“If she’s a girl, Talulah. Loosely translated, it means Leaping Water in Choctaw. If he’s a boy, then Dane Jared Newcomb.”
Mom pulled me closer and whispered, “Perfect choices, baby girl. Perfect.”
We paused at the bottom of the stairs as Dad looked at the two disheveled women in front of him. He’d been around females long enough to sense something was amiss. He tried to break the tension he felt with an attempt at humor. “If you two are havin’ a conversation about womanly things, I can always head back to the diner. Because if one of you is about to ask me to head to Wilson’s Sundries to grab a box of feminine products, I’m outta here.”
Mom and I both burst out laughing. She let go of my arm and moved next to Dad, grabbing his elbow and leading him to the couch. The smile on her face would have lit up the living room had it been dark. “Oh, we were discussin’ womanly things, but a trip to buy feminine products isn’t necessary. Won’t be for another, what Sheryl, six months at least?”
Dad’s face was unreadable as I sat down next to him. His watery blue eyes searched my own and I just nodded in agreement. I then took his hand and placed it on my belly. A wide smile of understanding crossed his face when he felt the dainty kick. He pulled me close and enveloped me in a bear hug. I felt Mom’s arms wrap around us both, completing the family circle.
I knew then, at least for the time being, as Nana used to say, my world was right as rain. Our love would trump the hate from my enemy’s lineage. Love for my parents, Dane, Meemaw, Papa Joe, Nana, my people, and mankind, would win out. Darkness didn’t stand a chance. We wouldn’t let it. I would raise the baby surrounded by love so strong, my child would never even consider turning into something evil.
I couldn’t stop the low, rhythmic purr of contentment as it vibrated deep from within my chest, the love of my family filling me with peace.
God, the purr of happiness was so much better than the growl of anger.
About the Author
To learn more about Ashley and her other works, please visit her website www.ashleyfontainne.com
Sneak peek of "Blood Ties - Book One of The Magnolia Series"
Chapter One
It took all of his concentration to keep his foot steady on the accelerator and the truck hovering at the speed limit. He clenched his jaw hard. The sound of his teeth grinding filled up the entire cab. He was still pissed off he was out doing this in the middle of the frigging night. He knew his eyes were bloodshot. Lack of sleep and staring at the dark highway for the last three hours made them feel like he’d poured salt into them.
“You ain’t your own man, Lucas Hill. Your ass is owned by another. Just his bitch to jump when he snaps those meaty fingers and points,” he grumbled to himself.
He swirled another mint around in his mouth, hoping it hid the smell of the three beers he had earlier. He didn’t even want to think what would happen if he got pulled over. With his luck, it would be for something like speeding, not waiting the full three seconds at a stop sign, or not using his turn signal before changing lanes. He blinked twice and made sure to keep the truck in between the white lines. All or any of the minor screw ups would put him in the middle of a shit storm for sure. He had no desire to make headline news like other runners from committing some stupid traffic infraction. Jail time for drug running was stout enough, but he shuddered at the thought of what his sentence would be if some nosy pig poked his face inside the cooler and got the shock of his cop life viewing its contents.
A shiver of panic travelled down his spine, and he gripped the steering wheel of the inconspicuous black Dodge truck with a bit more force. While chewing on the well-worn spot on his bottom lip, he double-checked the side and rearview mirrors. Nope, he was safe. No blue lights behind him and no strange vehicles following either. Normal, sane people who lived normal, sane lives weren’t out at three o’clock in the morning. He let go of his crushed lip when the nasty rust taste hit him.
“Damn, another piece of my flesh offered to him. Damn!” he muttered after he swallowed the droplets of his own blood.
Lucas didn’t fear much in this world, especially not the frigging police or even a stint behind bars. He could handle both with ease. And it wasn’t like he sought out trouble; it just seemed to come to him. Like a damned homing pigeon or boomerang—it kept landing right on his lap, no matter how hard he tried to stay on the straight and narrow. His last six-month stint in Lafayette County, Tennessee, had been a walk in the park. A brawl with the bouncer at Gigi’s Strip-n-Tip landed him in the slammer after he got too friendly with a damned stripper. What a joke. How were you not supposed to touch all that flesh when it was in your face? When it was all said and done, he was convicted of battery after a dust-up with the bouncer. Lucas had some bruises, but the bouncer suffered a broken nose and was missing two front teeth.
Time spent in county lock-ups was a breeze compared to doing hard time like his old man was doing down in Tucker. The sorry excuse of a father would die behind the concrete walls of the maximum security prison.
His minor run-ins with the fat, slow, and lazy cops of the Southeast were as easy to handle as banging a virgin. Slip in, slip out, and leave a slight stain of blood behind as a reminder you were there. He didn’t fear the police, the court system, the frigging President of the United States. Not even God himself. There was only one person who set his guts on fire and turned his blood cold. The cold-hearted devil with black eyes and no heart ruled his life—and the lives of others—with an iron fist. Lucas feared the man enough not to even think his name inside his head, much less speak it out loud. If he made some asinine mistake tonight, and the contents of the cooler in the passenger floorboard were discovered, Lucas was a dead man.
No doubt. Dead, dead, deadski. Then someone else would be delivering his organs in the middle of the night to some sick, rich douchebag with enough cash to pay for new body parts on the black market.
He squinted as he fought to see through the dirty windshield, looking for the blue Hospital sign. He couldn’t believe he checked everything else on the frigging truck but the washer fluid levels. If he knew who the dick was who prepped the truck, he’d introduce himself the proper way—with a fist to his face. Christ, he needed to get a grip on his nerves. After all, this was his twentieth delivery and every time prior, the goods were dropped off without a hitch. Still, he knew he couldn’t let his guard down or focus his attention on anything else until after the package was in the hands of the buyers.
And the Devil was off his ass.
This was all Ray-Ray’s fault. Dumb bastard. He wanted to kick his own ass for becoming friends with the little prick. What the hell had he been thinking? The moment he met Ray-Ray in tenth grade, he knew the dude was trouble with a capital T. But Ray-Ray had access to the life he had wanted to live—girls, drugs, and hot cars. His mom struggled to put food on the table every day and keep the lights on in their small apartment. Clothes were bought at second-hand stores, and it was a rarity if they fit. Or lasted longer than a few weeks.
His piece of shit, no-good father hadn’t been around since Lucas was a sperm stain on his mom’s panties. Coward ran off the second his mom told him she was knocked up. The old geezer never coughed up a red cent to help support the fruit of his filthy loins. When he was a young buck, he hated his old man for it. Now that he had grown up some and spent some of his own life behind bars, he understood—at least a little. Can’t pay for a child when you have no income or way of making any. Plain and simple.
His less-than-stellar home compared to the fancy, upscale one Ray-Ray lived drew Lucas in like the old moth to a flame. And like all moths, he got burned. But if Ray-Ray hadn’t gotten his brains blasted out of his head two days ago by his ex-old-lady’s jealous boyfriend, Lucas would’ve given him an earful about the situation he’d left him stuck in. He wanted to go two years back in time and drink about three more Jack-n-Cokes so he would have passed out on Ray-Ray’s couch. If he had, he would never have ridden with him to “m
ake a delivery for some quick cash” as Ray-Ray called it.
“Five hundred bucks? For just ridin’ shotgun? What you deliverin’, Ray-Ray? Gold dust?”
“Nah, man. Just a one-of-a-kind piece for my uncle. That’s all you need to know. You just watch our tail, got it?” Ray-Ray had said as he smiled at Lucas, half-drunk in the passenger seat.
And then Ray-Ray sealed his fate by telling the Devil about him. Lucas had been the one who noticed something wasn’t right about the set up when Ray-Ray was about to pull and drop off the package. No sooner had they driven past the designated point, the cops swarmed the parking lot like a horde of locusts. Ray-Ray and Lucas watched the entire scene from across the street at the Waffle House after they hid the truck in the back parking lot. They tried to act casual when they sat down, but both of their hands shook with fear.
The Devil had been so impressed with Lucas’s skills, considering he had been drinking, that the job as runner was pulled from Ray-Ray. Lucas was forced to watch as the Devil had his henchmen beat Ray-Ray unconscious as punishment for including a stranger in the run and the loss of the expensive package. The broken bones, bruises, and burns inflicted served as a reminder to never deviate from the Devil’s careful plans. Neither of them said a word of protest when their sentences were handed down. Lucas’s street instincts lit up like a Christmas tree when around the Devil. After witnessing what the man was capable of doing to his own flesh and blood, Lucas knew better than to question his orders.
So did Ray-Ray. The two friends never spoke again about the day both of their lives changed as they stood on the dirty carpet inside the Devil’s lair. He thought about that for a second—nope, their friendship ended when they walked out from the smoke-filled office of the man. And now, at twenty-five, Lucas was stuck in a job he didn’t want and no escape route was in sight.
When he first started, he assumed he was trafficking drugs. But on his second delivery, he made the mistake of lifting the lid of the cooler to see what type of drugs he was transporting. When he saw the heart and lungs tucked inside the slushy mess of ice, he puked for twenty minutes. After that fun experience, he made sure never to open the lid again. His mom’s warnings about hanging out with the wrong crowd from his youth slammed into his thoughts. He was glad she was dead and hadn’t seen what her only son was doing for a living.
Though Lucas hated shuttling the cold body parts—and it gave him the willies just to think about it—he had grown quite fond of the cash his deliveries put in his pocket. Ten thousand dollars a pop. Unfortunately, his wallet was running on fumes after being behind bars for so many months. When he was released from jail, he went back home and tried to find a legitimate job. He hoped his time away would have given the Devil a good reason to find another runner, but it didn’t work. It was the beginning of his third week out of the joint, and he had celebrated his newfound freedom and the lack of contact from the Devil with a few beers while watching a basketball game on television. But his brief taste of freedom ended with a phone call around midnight.
He pulled his head out of the memory. He needed to concentrate on the task at hand. No mistakes. He noticed the moon was hidden by a thick blanket of rain clouds. The streetlights were a joke. He wondered why in the hell would someone want to live in the backwoods, redneck city. For Christ’s sake, the streetlights were no better than a flashlight with a low battery. He wished the sky would open up and let the rain out, but then he wondered if the frigging wipers worked.
A bright, flashing yellow sign ahead on his right beckoned him to Fill your tank and your belly! He glanced at his watch and then down at his gas gauge. He had plenty of time to stop and refuel, and he needed to hit the head. Thinking about his boss made the beer and coffee run through him. As he pulled in off the main highway, the faint neon of green from the old dashboard cast an eerie glow on the white cooler. He swallowed his disgust and fear, looking away from the thing before he really did freak out.
Once he pulled up to the pump and cut the engine, he yanked off his jacket and tossed it over the container. He reached over and pulled on the black ball cap down low over his forehead. The brown wig attached underneath made his neck itch but he ignored the urge to take it off. The two, crisp twenty dollar bills sat on top of the instruction letter that had been taped to the underside of the driver’s seat. The surgical glove slid with ease over his left hand and then he picked up the cash. Before he stepped out of the truck to go inside to prepay for the gas, he scanned the area. No other cars…no one lurking in the shadows.
No paper trail was to be left behind. No cell phones, GPS, or anything electronic were to be used during the delivery process. Even the old Dodge didn’t have the fancy tracking equipment of the newer vehicles available. A different disguise was to be used each time and was provided, along with the cash for gas and instructions, under the front seat. The rust-bucket was always parked in the same spot each time—at the back end of the funeral home, hidden behind the storage shed under an old tarp.
As he stepped out of the truck and into the sweltering heat of the Tennessee evening, he shot a final glance over to the floorboard and made sure the cooler was hidden. Satisfied, he held the twenties in his gloved hand and the ignition key in the other. He pushed the lock down and headed into the store.
As his boots crunched the pavement under his feet, Lucas couldn’t shake the sensation that Ray-Ray was with him. Well, at least part of him. After all, it wasn’t like Ray-Ray’s uncle to let any body part go to waste.
Forcing his emotions to remain in check, he walked inside. There had been an additional note tonight. A handwritten one that had made his head spin when he read it.
Glad you are back. Stop getting into trouble and keep your nose clean. I’m watching you and don’t want to hear any more news about my favorite courier locked up behind bars. Because if it happens again, there won’t be enough of you left to fill a baggie. Got it?
Lucas got it. Message received loud and clear. As he walked to the counter and paid for his gas, he thought about the line from a movie in his youth. You ever dance with the devil in the pale moonlight?
Yes, yes he had. And he wanted nothing more than to get off the dance floor and never waltz again. But the Devil owned his dance card. Lucas was so dizzy from all the spinning, he knew he was stuck in the tight embrace of the macabre leader’s arms.
Growl Page 24
