CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Ruby
This house feels like it’s tripled in size since the boys pulled out. It’s a clear night. The sky is lit up by the bright, Gulf moon. The stars are strung up like a fancy painting with the way they twinkle against the dark back drop. It’s eerie and every sound, no matter how trivial, makes me nearly jump out of my skin.
I go wander through all the rooms to make sure the lights are off. I pace the hallways to stay clear of any windows. I even attempt to sit and read for a bit, but it gets too difficult sitting in the dark.
The clock on the wall ticks by at a snail’s pace.
I was out of my damn mind when I agreed to stay behind. I’ve finished all the laundry, folded it neatly, and placed it on the appropriate beds. That’s the only time I go into the guys’ rooms. The few seconds I spend in each gives me better insight about my new family.
It’s funny how different they all are.
Wyatt is a real neat freak. He’s got to be the most organized bachelor on the planet. Everything in his room has a place and you can sure as shit bet he’ll notice if any of its been moved even a smidgen. His bed is clean, made, and wrinkle free. His dirty clothes are in the hamper where they belong, and all his sparkling trinkets on his dust free dresser are lined up and in a perfect row.
A little too tidy, but it suits him. He needs it.
Now, on the other hand, Fournette might as well be living in an actual dog house. I can smell his room before I make it all the way up the stairs. It’s the combination of sweat and dirt. And I don’t know what it’s about because the man showers twice a day, but I’d bet good money that his sheets haven’t been washed in the past year. You can’t find the floor for all the dank laundry or the tops of his dresser and end tables. They’re scattered with dirty dishes and trash. I don’t touch anything of Fournette’s unless it has come straight out of the dryer.
When all this shit blows over, I think I’ll clean up his area. I’ll cover it up by telling him it’s a thank you gift. I’ll figure out something for the others to keep from hurting his feelings. My gaze falls on the far corner where I spot a crusty sock and a pair of underwear that he’s left inside out.
I wrinkle my face. Yeah, maybe I’ll just get him a bottle of whiskey as a present.
And then there’s Kingston. I hadn’t thought much about his space. Not until now. Now that I’d give my right tit for him to be sprawled out across his full-size bed with his bare feet dangling off the edge. The best sound in the world would be him sawing logs after one too many beers.
I place the clothes basket on the floor and rock back on the mattress. For the first time, I really observe his bedroom. Our bedroom, I suppose. He’s a simple man. He likes simple things. No clutter. No fuss. He takes the basics and that’s about it. I pick up Kingston’s pillow and clutch it to my chest. When I inhale his strong, natural scent it makes my tummy flip flop. Tears spring to my eyes and I hate it. I hate everything about being weak, about being human.
If I weren’t a stupid human I would be out there right now helping my clan. And they wouldn’t be handicapped by worrying about me. I’m helpless and it makes me angry. It sends me back to the time of cowering down in the bathroom as Robbie cracks his knuckles on the other side of the door. It was his way of letting me know he was getting ready to break my face.
Now, I’ve found a man who lives to protect me. He’s gentle. He’s kind. His touch draws exciting quivers and chills. Not blood and broken bones.
So, why does all that happiness still feel so far out of my reach?
I take another look around at the bare room. A simple man whose idea of simple pleasure is a cold beer, and me. I mean, don’t get me wrong. That man wouldn’t thumb his nose at a couple pounds of spicy tails and a shot or two of good whiskey, but that’s about it. He really just wants to know his loved ones are safe and happy. It’s what helps him sleep at night.
Simple.
It doesn’t take me long to run out of chores. The house is standing tall, at least the parts I allow myself to touch, but something’s still missing. I think the Mercier clan needs a pet. Having something to cuddle right now sure would help pass the time. Maybe a little puppy.
No, scratch that. That would be too weird with Fournette.
Maybe a bunny.
*
Where the hell is that incessant dinging coming from?
I manage to pry open one eye, but it only takes a split second for me to realize I’m still in the main house, and like a moron in a b-rated horror flick, I dozed off.
The ringing comes to a stop. My heart races thinking I missed a call from Kingston, so I scramble for my phone and horrible images spin through my head. When I check the caller ID, I don’t know whether to panic or be relieved when I see Gus’s name flash.
“Hey, everything ok?”
“Cher, there you are! I been calling and got worried when you never answered.” I notice the way his lungs whistle and wheeze with every labored word.
“No, I’m good.” I check the clock on the wall. “Gus, it’s going on ten o’clock. What’s wrong? Do you need a ride? Need to go to the hospital?”
I roll my eyes when he answers. The old man is really testing me.
He gives a raspy chuckle. “Girl, nah. I’m peachy keen out here. But there’s a big storm brewing. Just wanted to make sure you were safe and tucked away.”
I refrain from going into a rant about the current situation. That would send the old man into a tizzy and that’s the last thing I need on my hands, especially tonight. This must be how Kingston feels about me running around rogue.
“Damn, it’s been clear skies all day. Are you sure about the storm? I can’t turn on the TV right now.”
Gus gasps, but it’s in a playful and exaggerated tone. “Are you trying to hurt my feelings, girl. I don’t need no me-te-or-olo-gist to know rain’s comin’. I feel it in my knees and my bones ain’t never lied to me. They ain’t ‘bout to start now.”
“I suppose those rattly old bones didn’t clue you in on a time frame, huh?”
“You got jokes. That’s ok, ‘cause when it comes up a flood, we’ll see who’s laughing. For real though, you ok out there? Your boys taking good care of ya?”
The lie comes to easy. That’s probably from years of plastered on smiles and made up excuses, but I don’t think twice. “Only the best. You know them. And I really do appreciate the thought. You know if you need me, you better not hesitate to call me. You got that, old man?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I can practically feel his flashy smile all the way through the phone.
I hang up and cradle it, holding it close to my chest. I realize that, even though I found myself thankful to hear Gus on the other end of the line, I’d do just about anything to hear Kingston’s deep, comforting growl right now. They’ve been gone for a couple of hours. I guess it was foolish to think they’d leave at dusk, whip up on a few wolves, and then be home in time for dessert and Jimmy Fallon.
Stupid.
Stupid human.
I wander into the kitchen and start to boil a pot of water. I’m looking for a caffeine high to help me stay alert. I foresee a long night ahead. I use two fingers to crack open the blinds over the farm sink. There’s not a cloud in sight and stars flood the sky. That’s why the gust of wind that kicks up and hurls a branch tapping into the window pane takes me by surprise.
I’d never admit it, but I squeal like a girly girl and stumble backwards into the butcher block.
“Shit.”
My pulse skyrockets and it makes me try to control my shallow breaths. I’d hate to see what would happen if I ran into anything more than a piece of bark.
I change my mind and turn off the stove. I pull down a half bottle of Jack Daniels and a single glass. After I pour a double and swallow it down, I think about putting it up, but pour another and toss it back. I revel in the burn. I decide that a third would be too much and I screw the cap back on the bottle. I need to keep my wits about me.
I catch a whiff of smoke and hurry over to the stove, assuming it’s from the water pot. I move everything and hover my hand over the burner, expecting to feel heat rising, but there’s nothing. It’s already cool enough to touch. I sniff the air and it’s clear the smoke is getting thicker. It gets caught in my throat and the bitter taste of singed wood coats my tongue.
I inhale again, and then a second time to suck in air. I follow the trail through the house and try to find the starting point, thinking it might be something that didn’t get unplugged. But I never expected to find the source coming from right outside.
I slip to the floor and crawl to the front window. I inch closer and the smoke strangles the fresh air. Crackling pops and loud sizzling seeps through the boards. I shimmy up to the wall and brace myself to take a peek when a bolt of thunder claps and rolls through the sky, shaking the entire house.
Gus’s knees must be giving him some real shit right now.
I pop up to a squat and try to get a better view. I’m still steady and calm. I’ve dealt with a lot of brush fires. Something was probably sparked by lightning, but panic soon sets in when I get a scan of the front porch.
Flames lick against the glass window. The orange and gold flickers across the night sky. I rip off for the next window and find more of the same. I fly across the house and try to ignore the way my lungs burn. Smoke billows through the air and works to fill up the room. When I check the window in the dining room, I realize the house is surrounded.
The fire is intentional.
A lot of good a hidden closet will do…
I fight with the locks on the back door and struggle, gasping for huffs of fresh air. Once I’m outside, I dart my stare and try to search for the best direction as I punch the call button next to Kingston’s name.
Th service fails to connect. I hold the phone high in the air and my attempt is met with nothing. Thunder snaps and so does my back. It might as well have been the pop gun at the start of a track meet because my mind goes blank and I tear off for the woods.
All the hair on my arms stands up like static.
I’m not alone.
I try to call him again and nothing. My feet pound the soft dirt and I try to call Gus. When it doesn’t ring, I scrap the urge to throw it at a tree. Instead, I shove my cell back in my pocket and I do the only thing that comes to mind.
Run.
I try not to think about how my running is pretty much futile against a pack of hungry wolves out for blood. Yeah, me out here running like a chicken with my head cut off through the woods in the pitch dark will definitely out smart those fire happy beasts.
Yep, because that’s how my luck works.
I suck in the ashy, swamp air and attempt to pull it down to my lungs. Leaning against a tree, I double over to catch my breath and glance back behind me. I can’t make out the house. It’s just a silhouette with the fire growing in the background. The wind dies in my throat when I see it, the figure. I squint and strain to get a better look and then it’s confirmed. I’m not alone in these woods.
They’re toying with me. Like playing with their food. They’re out here on foot instead of paw, and I’m sure it isn’t to give me a chance at winning this sadistic game. When I see the shadow move, I move, ducking down and darting behind the thick brush. I make it a little ways further into the swamp and pull out my phone. I roll it up in my shirt to conceal the light and check for a signal.
Fuck.
I don’t want to die out here. Hell, I don’t want to die. I want everything I’ve had dangling in front of my face. I want Kingston. And the boys. Gus and the marina, my job. Dammit, I want the bayou. I want this God forsaken swamp.
I can’t outrun the pack. If I have any kind of chance at coming out of this alive, I have to face them. Ayden and the others. Kate was Bryce’s sister. He’s definitely out for blood.
I feel it when it starts welling up inside me. It’s not surrender. Not like when Robbie hammered his fists until he collapsed. Back then, it just became easier to roll up in the fetal position and let him wear himself out.
No, this is different. It’s not surrender. It’s survival.
I stop in my tracks. I turn back to face the house. I see the shadow when he moves through the trees and his shape becomes an actual shape. I try to make out his stature. He draws closer and I cement myself in place and refuse to take another step.
I refuse to surrender.
I may be marked, but I’m a survivor.