by Sala, Sharon
****
Anson strutted from his bed to the bathroom, satisfied that he was, once again king of his castle. He paid no mind to the fact that Delle had neither moved nor spoken through the entire sexual act. He didn’t care. He’d just as soon fuck a corpse as a whining woman.
Delle’s heart was broken. She’d finally accepted the fact that the man she loved existed only in her mind, and the one she was married to was a madman. She’d escaped once, but he wouldn’t let it happen again. Her chance for redemption had come and gone.
The moment he shut the bathroom door, she leaped out of bed, grabbed her clothes, and made a run for the door. He would most certainly want a repeat performance when he returned, and she had no intention of being available. She dressed in an empty bedroom with her hands shaking and her heart pounding. As soon as she was decent, she bolted for the stairs in her bare feet, carrying her slippers.
The rumbling thunder sounded as disgruntled as she felt. The first drops of rain were beginning to blow against the windows as she reached the first floor and she didn’t know where her daughter was. And then the moment she thought it, the kitchen door flew open, slamming against the wall with a bang. When she heard her children’s voices, she sighed with relief. Sam had found her.
“There you are!” Delle cried and opened her arms.
Linny ran to her mother and buried her face against her breast.
Delle brushed the flyaway wisps of hair from her daughter’s eyes and then tilted her chin until they were looking eye-to-eye.
“You shouldn’t have run away with the storm so close,” Delle said, then watched her daughter’s eyes well with unshed tears.
“Daddy didn’t even say hello.”
“I know. I’m sorry,” Delle said.
Linny shrugged. At the early age of nine, she already knew it wasn’t wise to show a weakness. “It’s okay. He’s just the Evil Overlord, and I don’t want to talk to him, either.”
Delle frowned. “Don’t talk like that. Your daddy wouldn’t like it.”
Linny’s chin jutted. “And I don’t like how he treated me. Like Bren says, things go both ways.”
Delle had no answer for the truth. “Your clothes are wet. Go change into something dry, okay?”
“Is he upstairs?” Linny whispered.
Delle frowned. “Don’t be so dramatic. Go change your clothes.”
Linny glanced up at Sam.
“I’m not going anywhere, sugar. Go do what Mama said.”
Linny feet were flying as she ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs.
****
When Anson came out of the bathroom, he was pissed that Delle was gone. But his mood quickly shifted as a clap of thunder rolled overhead, followed by a shaft of lightning so loud he thought it had struck the house. When he heard footsteps in the hall and then a door slam, he began to dress. By the time he came out, whomever he’d heard was gone. Once again, he felt abandoned and didn’t like it.
He was walking toward the stairs when he heard footsteps behind him, but when he turned, there was no one there. He looked down. There was something on the floor only a few feet away.
It was a match.
“What the fuck?”
Before he could move, thunder rumbled again, this time closer.
Linny came flying out of her bedroom and ran past him without acknowledging his presence.
When he looked back down, the match was gone. He frowned. Had he just imagined it? He must have. It couldn’t just appear and disappear on a whim. Then he heard the sound of distant drumbeats, and then closer, he heard the sound of rattles. He turned abruptly, fearing a rattlesnake had gotten into the house and was at his heels, but there was nothing to be seen.
Sweat beaded on his upper lip. He flashed back to the little black coffin on his doorstep, the same coffin he’d taken to Voltaire LeDeux’s.
Was this part of what happened when someone was cursed? Refusing to believe it, he started toward the stairs.
The rattle sounded again and he moved faster.
“No way,” he said, but he lengthened his stride.
The rattle was louder now, encircling him—then it was in his head, drowning out the sounds of the storm.
“NO!” he shouted, and all but threw himself down the stairs in an effort to escape, but there was nowhere to run. Not when the enemy dwelled within.
****
Two weeks later
Even though Juliette’s nights were stuck on a rewind of waking up in Chub Walton’s arms and the ensuing events, her body was healing at a steady pace. Portia March continued to run interference with Grayson and Lana, giving Julie time to regroup. As she began to heal, the ability to cope with her parents constant pressure became easier. The bottom line was obvious. They didn’t want to be associated with the name Poe, no matter who wore it, and she wasn’t going to leave Brendan to suit their social status.
Brendan visited daily, sometimes to bring cupcakes from Julie’s favorite bakery or cold, smooth vanilla shakes for both Julie and her grandmother, and always to bring her mail.
Today, when he rang the bell at the gate to Portia’s house, Julie was the one who came bouncing out, eyeing the mail tucked under his arm.
“Neither rain not sleet nor dark of night,” she said as she unlocked the gate to let him in.
When he swooped down for his hello kiss, she resisted the urge to throw her arms around his neck. It wouldn’t do to make out on Portia March’s front lawn.
“Come in,” she said.
“Only for a minute,” he said. “I’m going for an interview in less than an hour, and don’t want to be late.”
“Ooh, come tell me about it,” she said, then led him into the house.
Portia came out of the library, delighted with their guest’s arrival.
“Welcome, Brendan. Will you stay and have lunch with us?”
“No, ma’am, I have an interview shortly, but thank you for the invitation.”
“Another time then,” she said sweetly. “I’ll leave you two to visit. If you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen with Janie.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Brendan said.
Portia was still smiling as she walked away.
“Nonny adores you,” Julie said as she led him into the living room.
“Can’t ever have too many people loving on you,” he said.
“As long as I’m at the head of the list, I’ll share,” Julie said.
He leaned in for a long, hungry kiss, then caught himself, shortened it to a quick kiss, and quickly backed off.
Julie frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“What do you mean?”
“You kiss me and then act like I taste bad.”
Brendan was quiet long enough that it made Julie nervous. She scooted closer.
“Talk to me, Bren.”
“I don’t want to push you into something that makes you uncomfortable.”
Her frown deepened. “What do you mean? We’ve been naked together too many times to suddenly get weird here.”
Brendan’s head came up and the look on his face startled her.
“Yes, but that was before you were kidnapped and beat half to death. We haven’t talked about any of this because I didn’t want it to seem like I was in some big-ass hurry to get in your pants after all you’d endured. For all I knew, you would be disgusted with the thought of ever having a man touch you again, and I would gladly spend the rest of my life doing without, as long as you didn’t stop loving me.”
“Oh, Brendan.” Julie’s vision blurred.
He wrapped his arms around her.
“I do want to be with you again, but not until I can look at myself without cringing,” she said.
“Duly noted, and totally agree,” he countered.
“We’ll seal this deal with a kiss, please.”
He happily obliged.
And now that the moment of crisis had passed, Julie was back to the question at hand.
“So where are you
going to interview?”
He shrugged. “It’s at a car dealership. Just grunt work that will keep my bills paid and food on the table until I finish what I really want to do.”
Julie slid off his lap. The certainty in his voice was a new facet.
“What’s that?”
“I made a decision the other day that came from something Detective Carson told me the night you were rescued.”
“What did he say?”
“He said I had good cop instincts, and that if I was interested in going to the police academy, he’d put in a good word for me.”
Julie’s eyes widened, and then she threw her arms around his neck all over again.
“I think that’s wonderful, and I support you one hundred percent.”
“You wouldn’t mind being married to a cop?” he asked, then watched her eyes widen.
“We never used the word marry before.”
His heart sank. “Sorry, I just—”
“No, you misunderstand,” she said quickly. “After all the crap my dad has put you through, I was afraid you’d write me off as too much trouble.”
He laughed. “Oh, you’ll always be trouble, but not too much for me.”
And just like that, her fear that he would leave her was gone. She grinned.
“I’ll make you pay for that.”
He grinned. “And I’ll hold you to it, but not today. I need to leave. The interview is on the other side of town and I don’t want to be late.”
“Will you call me later and let me know how it went?”
“Absolutely,” he said.
A few minutes later, he was back in his vehicle and heading across town. It felt good to be making plans for a real future. The Black Garter burning down had forced him out of a comfort zone to nowhere. For the first time in his life, he was thinking long-term, and part of it had to do with his mom and sister. If he ever got out of his apartment into a real house, he firmly believed Delle and Linny would leave Anson and stay with him on a permanent basis.
****
Sam had been potting bamboo plants for so many years that he could do it without thinking. Now that Chance had quit, it was strange working alone. Anson had always issued orders and they’d done the work, but lately Anson was as off-center as Sam felt, and as the days passed, he was forced to admit that something else was happening to his father—something he’d never seen before.
Anson spent days in the family library digging through old books on voodoo and spells. If he wasn’t screaming at Linny for being underfoot or ordering Delle around like a slave, he was talking to himself. He was a man living on the edge of insanity and they didn’t know why. Even stranger, he began making everyone else take the first bites of the food Delle made as if he believed she was trying to poison him. For the first time in his life, Anson Poe looked old and didn’t seem to mind he wasn’t pretty anymore. No one knew why, but they all felt it was only a matter of time before he reached a crisis.
****
Chance had the first legal job of his life working as a parts man at an auto supply. It was somewhat boring, but the fact he didn’t have to look over his shoulder for the cops every day was a plus. When he talked to his brothers, he refused to discuss anything that had to do with Anson. He’d only called his mother once since he quit, and when Anson caught her talking to him, Anson ripped the phone out of her hands and started screaming at him for running out on them like a coward. Chance disconnected and hadn’t called back. He didn’t know how to fix what was wrong with his family, and was too sick at heart to even try.
****
Linny was a ghost in the house, slipping from room to room like a little mouse, staying in the shadows, never making noise, never looking up. Her theory was that if she couldn’t see Daddy, he couldn’t see her.
Rabbit had become her talisman. The secret phone inside the stuffed toy was her connection to Sir Brendan, her most brave and faithful knight. At night, she slipped the cord to the phone charger into the rabbit and plugged it in, then tucked Rabbit beneath her arm. Each morning, she hid the cord so as not to give away the phone’s existence and kept Rabbit within arm’s reach everywhere she went.
She knew something bad was wrong with Daddy and Mama. Mama cried when she thought no one was looking, and Daddy threw things and screamed. She said prayers each night for God to protect them, but was afraid to talk too loud. All she could do was hope He was listening.
****
Anson couldn’t sleep. Everywhere he looked, things burst into flames, and then he’d look again and the fire would be gone. In a moment of desperation, he went into New Orleans and knocked on Mama Lou’s door for help. As soon as she saw who was there, she shut it in his face.
Anson went wild. First he cursed her, then remembered why he’d come and begged her to let him in, offering her large amounts of money for her help, but nothing happened. She was the one person he knew who might be able to remove a curse, unaware she was the one who had created it.
He went home in a rage that carried well over into the evening, and then just before bedtime, his cell phone rang. He answered without looking at Caller ID then frowned when he recognized Wes Riordan’s voice.
“Hey, Anson, it’s me. I’m checking in to see if you’ve located any new product.”
Anson thought about the million dollars’ worth of pot that had gone up in smoke, then rattled the ice cubes in his whiskey and took a quick drink before answering.
“Not yet. The law’s tightening down around here on growers, and I was the only one paying for protection.”
There was a long silence afterward that left Anson in fear his ass was about to get dumped, but he was wrong.
“Well, anytime you have something else to sell, will you let me know?” Riordan said.
There was a noise out in the hall that made Anson jump, and when he got a glimpse of Linny darting past the doorway, he frowned.
“What was that you said?” he asked.
“I said, anytime you have something else to sell, let me know.”
And just like that, he remembered Riordan mentioning what a kid Linny’s age would bring on the open market. The moment he let himself consider the notion, he realized he’d rather have the money than her. It would be what he needed to get back on top, and at the same time get Belinda out of his hair. But he’d have to figure out a way to make it happen so no one would suspect.
“Yes, I’ll definitely let you know,” Anson said, and then put down the phone and walked out into the hall, but Linny was gone again. The little bitch was like a firefly, here one moment, gone the next.
Delle came out of the library carrying a dust mop and a can of furniture polish. She saw Anson too late to turn back and moved the dust mop from her left hand to her right in a subconscious need for self-defense.
To her surprise, Anson made no move to grab at her breasts as he usually did or pull her into a room and take her standing up without care for who might see. Grateful for small favors, she put her head down and kept on walking, unaware of what was going through his head.
****
Four days later
The sun was barely above the horizon when Anson locked himself in the library and then opened the wall safe to count the cash. There was a difference between the money on hand and the money in the bank. The one in the bank was for their legal business, the one on hand had been from the marijuana, and it was dwindling at a scary rate. They had another shipment of potted bamboo nearly ready to go, but it would never bring in what he wanted.
A couple of days earlier, Sam had come up with the idea of delivering the bamboo themselves to flower wholesalers, rather than wait for buyers to come get it. Even though they would be renting a truck to deliver, they would be the ones going to market. No more short sales to others.
Anson had been hesitant to put out the money for a rental, but had to admit it was a good idea. His daddy always said you had to spend money to make money, and he was still toying with the idea of making a deal w
ith Riordan.
Before the fire, he had coldly planned to kill Delle to get back at Brendan and conceal her body in the attic in the crawl space. He knew she regretted coming back, and it would have been a kick to know she would never leave Wisteria Hill, not even in death.
But after spending time out here on his own, he’d come to realize he liked his food hot and ready and a hot and ready woman in his bed. So, killing her was out because it would impact his comfort. The bigger revenge would be getting rid of the kid, a loss that would affect all of them, and get him back on his feet at the same time. He would make a deal with Riordan, and when Sam left to deliver the bamboo, he’d snatch the kid and make the sale off-site. When Belinda didn’t show up for supper, he’d make sure they believed she’d become a victim to the dangers in the swamp. It was a beautiful plan—just like the night he’d set up Grayson March’s guards to self-destruct. He loved it when a good plan came together, and it was time to make this one happen.
He scanned the contacts in his cell phone and when he came to Wes’s name, hit call. Riordan answered on the second ring.
“I figured you’d be calling me,” Wes said.
Anson frowned. “Why?”
Wes chuckled. “Because we have a good working relationship I assume you don’t want to lose. Did you find some new stuff?”
“Something better.”
Wes quickly countered. “Like what?”
“You said you were in the market for prime females of a certain age,” Anson said, and when he heard a slight gasp, he knew he had Riordan’s attention. “Well? Are you or aren’t you?”
“Who are we talking about?” Wes asked.
“Mine.”
There was another moment of silence and then a hesitant question. “You’re offering your own kid up for sale?”
Anson was immediately defensive. “This is no different than what my ancestors did. They fucked their slaves and sold their by-blows. The kid is a commodity. Are you interested or not?”
