Then somebody hit him hard with something heavy, right at the back of his head, and everything went black.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Thuy sat in the chair opposite Julianne. She noticed the books that were shelved throughout Julianne’s office— a leather-bound set of Encyclopedia Britannica, brown bindings with blue bands and gold lettering. There were framed photos of the library throughout the years. Obviously, there was a lot of history here.
“I didn’t realize I needed to discuss asking for donations with you,” Thuy said. “I see that I should have asked for your input. But since they were donations, similar to drives I’ve contributed to over the years, it genuinely didn’t occur to me that it would be a problem.”
Julianne nodded. “I can see you were trying to be helpful. But you see, you haven’t been here that long. You don’t know what the needs of the community are, and you… well, you don’t know how we do things here.” She steepled her fingertips together, looking at Thuy through her glasses with a thoughtful expression. “Naomi has been here for years. She’s taken Sabrina under her wing. They’ve grown up in this town, and they know the patrons. They know what books circulate and what books don’t. We have lots of elderly readers, people who grew up with Rex Stout and the Perry Mason mysteries. We have children who love story hour. We have poetry readers. We have our craft night on Tuesday. I know that you’re just trying to be helpful, but… well. We’re not a café. We’re not some hip spot for people to ‘hang out’. We offer treasured reads, and valuable services, and I take what we do very seriously.”
“I take what we do very seriously, as well,” Thuy countered. “And I may not be from this town, but I think you’re doing them a disservice by only catering to what you think they want, and what they’ve always had.”
Julianne’s eyes went wide. “Excuse me?”
“It’s not just the kids,” Thuy said. “Although they’re a good start. You’ve got a whole, well, crop of teenagers in this town. A lot of them will be working farms, but a lot more of them will be going into cities for work. Shouldn’t they learn more about the world outside? Diverse reads would help with that, and there are so many that are coming out now. It would also help with the kids who are already here, ones who aren’t seeing themselves represented in books that are on the shelves. Aren’t they patrons, too?”
“Of course they are,” Julianne said, looking troubled.
“And I know you don’t want people getting ‘caught’ in the internet, but the fact is, the internet is a big part of people’s lives. Even in a small town like this,” Thuy said. “People pay bills online. They find jobs online, like Jim Thompson. They do research and get their news and entertainment online, when they can. For people who live out on the farms, the ones who have slow internet service, coming in to stream shows or Youtube is a big deal.”
“So you’d have them come to the library to watch T.V.” Julianne sneered. “Surrounded by books, you’d have them…”
“It’s not just shows and movies,” Thuy said. “Although what if it was? Is watching a movie on Netflix, if they have an account, worse than reading a novel? We loan DVDs, after all.”
“We’re a library,” Julianne said sharply. “Do you want people to stop reading? Is that why you think comic books are a good idea, for goodness sake?”
“Comic books are an art form!” Thuy felt her head throb a little. She’d seen old school librarians like this before. “Graphic novels are addressing more and more complex topics, and they can be diverse. They’re also very attractive for kids who might not otherwise be drawn to reading!”
Julianne looked unconvinced.
“Or take eBooks…”
“It’s not the same thing as real books,” Julianne quickly interrupted. “People here like the feel of a real book. The smell of it. That’s the kind of tradition I’m talking about.”
“Oh? And how much of your budget is dedicated to large print?” Thuy countered. “You’ve got an elderly population whose eyesight is deteriorating. With eBooks, they can adjust font size automatically. And if they have internet, even slow connection, they don’t have to come in to check out or return books. They can do it in the comfort of their own homes, even on sleepless nights, without worrying about transportation or library hours.”
Julianne fidgeted with a pen. “They like coming here,” she said, her chin raising a bit. But she looked away for a second, uncertain.
“And nobody’s stopping them,” Thuy pressed. She felt like a Pentecostal minister at this point, all but singing her case. “It’s about choices. It’s about giving more resources and more information and more options. I know that your budget’s tight. It’s a war for funding, especially in rural public libraries. I studied it, and I’ve seen it,” she said. Then she swallowed. “When I was a kid, I lived in a… well, let’s say it wasn’t an affluent neighborhood.”
She thought about the tagging, the needles, and used condoms and empty beer cans that littered the sidewalks and bushes. “Not affluent” was the understatement of the year.
“There was a library in walking distance in one of the places we lived. It was my sanctuary,” Thuy said quietly. “From the time I learned to read, the library was the place I could escape. I felt Sarah Crewe’s nobility in The Little Princess, as well as admiring Tasha Tudor’s gorgeous illustrations. I rode dragons in Anne McCaffrey’s books. I went to the restaurant at the end of the universe with Douglas Adams. I read romances and mysteries and thrillers.” She swallowed for a second, feeling emotions welling up inside. “When we moved, I found the nearest library, even though it was two bus transfers away. I went there, and I found non-fiction: cookbooks and how to knit and how to stay healthy, even when we didn’t have health insurance. Most importantly, librarians helped me figure out how to prepare for the SATs, get into college, and get my life back.”
Julianne had fallen silent. Thuy regretted sharing so much, but she’d gone this far. She had to continue.
“I know you feel like I’m just this young nobody, tromping into your nice library, thinking she knows better than the people who have been here for years,” Thuy said sincerely. “I promise, I wasn’t trying to. I’m just reaching out to my resources, to help with yours. To help the teens. And, if I stayed, I would’ve helped the elderly population, as well.”
“How?”
Thuy thought about it. “It would depend on funding,” she said. “And what you were willing to do. But I’d volunteer time, or work it into a shift, to help teach computer stuff. Like using Office, or Photoshop. I’d look at our intra-library lending options. Do you have a collective, between the other rural libraries, or maybe the larger libraries in cities like Knoxville or Nashville?”
Julianne shook her head. “There hasn’t been much need,” she said, but looked troubled. “Or interest.”
“That might be because people aren’t aware they can ask for books from other places,” Thuy said. “That would open up so many more resources, for everyone involved. And I’d look at fundraisers. There are a lot of books in the collection that could use updating. We could donate older books to assisted living facilities, places that would love more books to read.”
Julianne was quiet for a long moment. “You’ve given this a lot of thought.”
“I love libraries,” Thuy said. “I respect your position here, and I know how hard you all work. I would’ve liked to have worked on it, too, because I like the people here, and I think there’s a lot I could contribute.”
“I haven’t fired you.”
“Yet.” Thuy grimaced. “But you might be right. The things I’m suggesting, my mindset — it clashes with what you’re used to, and I’m sorry for that. But also not sorry. I stand up for what I believe in.”
“I see that.” Julianne’s mouth curved into a small smile. “You know, I make some people nervous.”
Thuy thought about her family. Her past. “It takes a lot to make me nervous.”
“Did you say you were goin
g to quit?” Julianne said. “Or are you just considering that course of action?”
“I may be leaving town, after all,” Thuy said. “For a number of reasons.”
“I’ll give what we’ve talked about a lot of thought over the holiday,” Julianne said. “And I’ll give you our decision about your employment when you come back next week. Is that all right?”
Thuy shrugged. “I’ll know by then if I’m going to leave, anyway.”
“It was good talking with you.”
Thuy felt lighter, grateful that she’d cleared the air and spoken her mind. She held out her hand, and Julianne shook it.
“You’re a good librarian,” Julianne said, with a firm nod.
Thuy nodded. “So are you.”
The older woman grinned. Thuy walked out the door, headed back to the farmhouse, feeling a little better than she had. Even if she was leaving, at least she’d made a difference — and an impression.
Chapter Fifty
Drill came to in the back of a truck bed, sore as hell. It took him a minute to realize where they’d gone. They’d taken him to the farmhouse.
They’re going to burn the place down.
He realized he’d been bound and gagged. Struggling, he sat up, looking over the side of the bed.
There were a lot of bikers that had traveled from the bar out to the remote location. It must’ve sounded like Sturgis, with all these motorcycles. Obviously, a few people had brought trucks, since he’d been dragged out in one of them.
They were making him an example. They were “teaching him a lesson.”
In that moment, he could’ve killed them all.
Timothy King stood on the porch. “Anybody there? Come out, come out!”
Drill let out a low growl of menace.
Tim knocked on the door. “I see lights on. Anybody home?”
Drill could only think of Maddy, probably terrified, unable to move quickly, worried about the child inside her. Even with the shotgun, she was horribly outnumbered. He prayed that she got out when the trouble began.
But what if she didn’t?
“We cut the phone lines, darlin’,” Tim yelled, winking at the bikers around him. Some of them laughed, rubbing their hands together against the cold. “I know reception out here sucks. And it’ll be a while before the police could get here anyway, so — I hate to say it, but unless you want to go up like a tinderbox, you probably want to get that fat ass of yours out here.”
The laughter around them grew a little more nervous, and Drill saw several of the bikers warily exchange glances. We’re not really gonna burn up a pregnant woman in her own house, are we?
But peer pressure was at the wheel tonight, as was stupidity. And Catfish, God damn it, was doing nothing to pull the brakes on this thing.
“Start pulling out rags, boys,” Tim ordered. Then he looked at Catfish. “I mean… that’s the order, right? We’re burning the joint down?”
Catfish shrugged. “We’re all alibied up: we were all at the Dragon last night,” he said. “And yeah, Drill needs to be taught a lesson. Nobody’s bigger than the club. We’re about the Wraiths,” he yelled. “We protect the club at all costs.”
There was a cheer from the members. Then several guys went to one of the trucks, pulling out gas cans and rags and bottles. They were going to stuff rags under the eaves, he realized. Maybe throw a few Molotov cocktails, just to give the guys a fun, interactive experience.
Please, Maddy, he prayed. Please, please, don’t be in there.
He struggled to break his bonds, but his feet and hands were tied tight, practically cutting off circulation. He shifted on his back. He couldn’t yell, couldn’t do much of anything.
From that position, he could see the barn. He squinted. Was that… movement?
It was. He saw a head peer out, then disappear into the darkness. A man. One who nodded at him.
He assumed it was Maddy’s boyfriend. At least, he hoped it was. If the guy was up there, then he probably had Maddy hidden. Now, he just hoped that the idiots would stop with the farmhouse, and not burn all the outbuildings.
Wait. Where’s Thuy?
He squirmed again, raising himself, looking desperately for the Chevy.
“So you’re awake.” Burro’s gap-toothed smile was wide and cruel. “Look! Drill decided to show up for the party after all!”
“Bring him here, then,” Tim said from in front of the house.
A few of the members dragged Drill out of the truck bed, letting him drop from the tailgate to the ground. He groaned as the pain resonated from the fall. Then they dragged him to a standing position, his feet trailing behind as they got him to the front. “On your feet!” Burro said, kicking at him.
Drill stood as best he could. He glared at Tim.
“Ah, don’t be like that,” Tim said insolently. “It’s not my fault you’re in this mess. You got sloppy. I cut my family off. I know where my loyalty lies. So does every other man here.”
“Or he will,” Catfish said meaningfully, his solemn gaze sweeping the crowd. The men nodded, some looking nervous.
“Apparently you need a bigger reminder, so we’re just going to burn your family’s house. Your sister’ll go away, and that’ll be that.” Tim smiled viciously. “And you have the honor of torching the place yourself. To show that you finally understand the lesson. Got it?”
Drill felt himself sag. He nodded.
“Good boy,” Tim said, patting him on the head like a dog. Like a goddamned dog. “Cut his hands free.”
Drill waited until Burro’s knife cut through the bungee cord that had him bound. He waited until Burro had his knife put away, and that the man was heading for the truck to get a tiki torch.
He waited just long enough. Then he lunged for Tim.
Tim was ready for him, but he still wasn’t quick enough — or big enough. Drill heard the satisfying crunch of Tim’s nose breaking. Drill hit him again and again, kneeling over him, until various members dragged him off.
“My nose!” Tim sounded like a squealing pig. “He broke my goddamned nose!”
Drill drove his head into another guy’s face, kicked out with both his legs. He was damned sure going to take out as many guys as he could this time. He noticed that not everybody was as enthused to get into the mix with the club’s muscle, even if his feet were still bound.
“Take him down,” Catfish ordered.
Drill put up his fists, but he was vastly outnumbered. They might kill him now, he realized. Catfish might have had enough of his rebellion. At this rate, he couldn’t be trusted; he would never be a trusted Wraith.
He was a liability.
“Should we kill him?” Tim said, pinching his nose. “We should kill him! That fucker broke my nose!”
Shit.
“Not here,” Catfish said firmly. “But he’ll be dealt with.”
Like that, his friend Curtis vanished, and Catfish, president of the Wraiths, was fully realized. He’d sacrificed his soul to keep his perceived “family” together — a family that no longer included Drill.
“Come on, then,” Drill said, his hands up. “Come get some.”
And they descended on him like locusts, a cloud of fists, boots, and mayhem.
Chapter Fifty-One
Thuy knew immediately that something was wrong. As she drove closer to the farmhouse, she could hear the commotion. She saw a crowd of people in the headlights of the truck, and immediately killed the beams before they noticed she wasn’t one of them.
This wasn’t a party. This was a riot. What the hell was happening?
It was the Wraiths. It had to be.
Was Maddy all right? Thuy’s heart pounded. Where was David? And where the hell was Drill?
Fear pulsed through her veins. She pulled out her phone before anyone noticed she’d pulled up.
No bars. Damn it! Her mind raced.
Should she pull away? Drive to where there might be phone reception? Go back downtown and find the police station? S
he didn’t even know what was happening, and if anything was wrong with Maddy, it could take over an hour to get anyone out there, between her hunting for the cops and actually getting them out to the farm.
She needed to see what they were doing here. But if she walked out there, she’d get surrounded — and taken. Then she’d be no use to anyone, especially if Maddy was in trouble.
“Yeah! Kick his ass!” She heard a man’s voice yell out. “Fuckin’ Drill! Thinks he’s too good for us! Fuckin’ pussy!”
Her chest clenched, and she felt her breathing speed up.
They were beating up Drill.
Her heart was racing. She looked around. There were lights on in the house, and it looked like guys were stuffing rags up under some of the shingles of the house, up in the eaves, under the porch.
They were trying to burn the house down.
By the time she left and got help, they’d have burned it all to the ground. And Drill might be dead.
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
They had Drill, were beating him. They might have Maddy. They were going to burn down the farm. She couldn’t call the police, didn’t have a weapon. She was one woman in a truck.
No. Fuck that. Think, dammit.
She wasn’t just one woman in a truck. She was born to one of the most dangerous men in the country, and she’d seen shit that most people couldn’t even imagine in their worst nightmares. She’d survived worse things than a bunch of drunk, stupid bikers in a small town. She wasn’t going to let them tear down her friend’s dreams and hurt or possibly kill the people she loved.
Fuck. That.
She blinked.
Her father. Her past.
For once in her whole godforsaken life, it might actually work to her advantage.
Fury and purpose driving her, she felt the yelling of the crowd seem to diminish, time slowing to a crawl. She felt cold, a numbness that had nothing to do with the bite in the air. She squirmed out of the truck’s window, climbing onto the roof of the cab. It put her up high, out of reach of the sprawling gang below.
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