11. Ora

11

ORA

I 'm a freaking idiot.

Whoever else thought that I was responsible enough, or in any way, shape, or form qualified to be in charge of other people, is also a mega-super-fucking idiot.

And while I know that my grandfather was not a fucking idiot, the fact that he thought that I could lead these people means that he was a fucking idiot, and I'm a fucking idiot for going along with it.

No offense to the entire town relying on me.

I don't know how Grandaddy did it.

Actually, I do. I watched him.

Which is what I am trying to emulate now.

"Duuuude."

"Tommy-gun. Stop calling everything and everyone dude." I huff, scooping up another load of wood.

"It's also an exclamation of wow ," he sighs, flopping back, equal parts dumbass and genius.

"I'm about to wow my foot up your ass."

"No, you're not. 'Cause I just fixed the radio."

"Bullshit."

"I mean, big-sexy helped ."

"You mean big-sexy—and I suggest that you'd better not let Gavin hear you call him that—got the part, did the work, and you held the flashlight?"

"That's a gross simplification. Grizzly. Tell her how much I helped."

"Hmm." Conn Grizwald. A true enigma.

"Eloquent, as always. I have to assume that grunt also means that Tell participated, leaving Tomlin on ass-watching duty." I clap the gargantuan troll on the back and return to hauling the wood he's been chopping all morning. To be clear, he's the prettiest troll I've ever seen, nearly seven feet tall and the weight to match his namesake.

"You're so cute when you brag about me." Tomlin grins, swinging back and forth in his hammock.

They definitely win the award for oddest couple in the camp.

Maybe cutest, too.

"Clive! Got another group of refs coming in. Where should we put ‘em?" Myra hollers from the bottom of the hill.

"Dammit," I hiss, dumping the load of wood onto the hand wagon, "Where's Roller and Rook? They're supposed to be doing bunks and assignments."

"Nah, I heard JoJo talking about them all going fishing earlier."

"Fucking lazy?—"

"Just the messenger, Boss." She waves a hand and heads back toward the center of town.

That's what I've started calling it, anyway.

This is the stuff that is wearing me thin. Running a town with limited resources is one thing. When you are supposed to have enough people, family, most of them, you're supposed to be able to rely on them to help run the show.

Grandpa never warned me about this.

About turnover, attrition. But I see it in retrospect, how he held the crew together with loyalty, purpose, a firm hand.

He was gracious. He was also hard as nails.

"Tommy-gun, where's Gav and Tell?"

"Why would I know?"

"Because you've been drooling over them both since they got here."

"Learning. The word you're looking for is learning."

"Hmm." Grizz sniffs, working worlds of meaning into a veritable harrumph.

Leaving my brain trust behind and wondering if keeping them around as my tech crew makes me an even more questionable leader, I head back down to the main building. No doubt, there will be a list of things waiting for me to take care of even after only an hour away.

Put on your big-girl pants, Ora.

And your mean face.

And cuss. A lot.

The cool confines of the clubhouse ease some of my woes, at least on the physical end of things. I'm through the door into my office before anyone can bombard me with requests, rooting through my fridge a moment later.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Alaya chirps from behind me.

So I make a show of wiggling my butt while I dig around for a soda.

"Penny for anything you want, sugar-buns," I shoot back instantly. Alaya has such a way of getting me on point.

Best. Wing woman. Ever.

She plays defense, offense, has my back like I can't believe.

And she might or might not rev my engine just a little. In a ‘keep each other on our toes' sort of way.

"Hmm, I'll keep that in mind if I need a little company in my bunk." She jingles her pocket with a clink of coins.

"What do I look like, a vending machine?"

"You are a snack."

Speaking of snacks. Dayum.

She's sitting in my chair, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, wearing a cutoff tank top straight out of an 80s rocker vid, with ripped jean shorts to match. Shorts might be a generous term.

The untied combat boots seal the deal, though, kicked up on the desk.

Legs for fucking days.

"Go ahead."

"Here? Now?" Alaya drops her feet, sitting forward with a lip-biting grin that would make any guy jizz his jockeys.

"I fucking wish. No. I mean the bad news you've been sitting in here waiting to give me."

We both sigh, just slightly. In that way where I can't decide if I'm bummed that it didn't escalate, or relieved that it got diverted again.

Or maybe it's that I don't really know whether she's joking with me or not.

And I can't afford to lose my best lieutenant.

"Lieutenant. Fuck." I huff another sigh, this time of exasperation at my frame of mind. Grandpa Xavier really tried to hammer a lot of his military training and regiment into the framework for the Block.

"Yes."

"What?"

"Yes, I was. 2nd Lieutenant."

"Oh. That's not surprising. But not what I meant."

Alaya shrugs, then salutes before standing and circling the desk, offering me my seat.

"Out with it."

"My tits or the bad news?"

"Both, please, to soften the blow."

"Right away, sir."

Good. Goddess. The way she says that in that cool, low, sarcastic tone makes me simultaneously scared of her and ready to wrestle. Mostly the scared thing, though.

The woman was, or is, a notoriously deadly assassin. Hit-person. Ex-mercenary.

And Gavin Rorshak's ex-wife. Those. Two. Together.

What.

A thought that has absolutely never crossed my mind during bathtime.

Ahem.

"I've been exploring ways for us to fight back against the druggies."

"Great. Cause I haven't had time to explore fucking anything other than how to feed all the people in this valley and how to make sure that we're protected when that psychopath Marco comes back to town."

"And dice to dicks you're doing a hell of a job, too.'

"Thanks. I think?"

"I guess ‘fighting back' isn't the right way to say it. We need a cure. Or we need a way to wipe them all out."

"That's…"

"A little too genocidal, even for my tastes."

"So…"

"So, I've been looking into who might be qualified to work on a counteragent or drug. Found a couple of biochemists who came in just last week. One was a professor at the university, other was a former Devonde employee."

"Does he know what this Devo shit is?"

"No. But he and our local pharmacist who's already been helping us with meds for the general public?—"

"Dr. Chan is the best!"

"Agreed. She said they can probably reverse-engineer some if we can get our hands on a vial."

"I thought you said this was bad news?"

"I'm working my way there. First, there's the whole army of junkies that harass us at every turn. Makes it hard to figure out where the stuff is coming from."

"Take whatever you need to get it done."

"You know what we need."

"You want to send Gavin and Tell back out."

Alaya tilts her head in a begrudging acknowledgement.

We've already been through this, how much help they can be around here, providing a solid foundation to my council of ever-problematic leadership. Frankly, I was sort of hoping Gav would take over for me.

He's way more qualified.

And he doesn't want anything to do with it.

Why couldn't Hellena have just stabbed that whack job in the throat and stuck around to help me?

My thoughts are drifting to unhappy places, missing my best friend. It's a spiral I don't let myself go down.

Normally.

"Which brings me to the worse news."

"Yay."

Alaya leans over the desk, pressing her arms together and giving me a front-row seat to titty-town. She's such a good friend and sidekick, always cheering me up as she shits on my day.

"Hellena's back."

My head caves in.

"Uh, what? I mean, wait. Start over. Why is that bad news?"

"Because she came here with a squad of Vice clowns."

"I'm going to take a wild stab in the dark to say she's not in chains?"

"Looks like she's chief cunt over the lot of them. And they're making a fuss and a fire all over town. Especially down by the docks."

"She's stirring up shit with the Ghosts?"

"Makes you wonder if their leader just showed up to call the shots."

"No. No fucking way. Hellena would never…"

"Tell told us what they did to her. She might be compromised."

"It doesn't matter. Hell is too fucking strong to give in."

"But if she has, we gotta talk about contingency plans."

"I'm not having that conversation again." Tears spring to my eyes. Again. "Fuck, Lia, I am not cut out to make these calls."

"We're all a little broken, sugar."

The only thing I hate more than her terrifying deadliness is when she calls me that.

When she says it in that voice.

I've only ever heard her use it with me.

And it makes me want to fall apart and let her put me back together again. Which has always been my weakness. To run when it gets tough. Get drunk. Get laid.

"Someone else should be in charge," I whisper, burying my head in my arms.

"Not all of us are built to lead, Ore. For Gavin and me, it was Damon, especially Gav. And some things like that in people don't change. Man's about as flexible as a rail tie."

"Then I have to believe Hell hasn't changed, too."

"I hope that's the case. She's a firecracker. And none of us are giving up, just… planning for the worst."

"Yeah, cause the worst keeps sticking a hot poker in our asses. So, what, I'm just supposed to boss around Gavin and Tell?"

"Damn skippy! Just like you have no problem doin' with me."

"It's different with you."

"Why?"

"Because you're like… a cat."

"What."

"Cats. They do their own thing. You and me? We're cats. Wily. Unpredictable. We get things done our own way."

"And how's that different from Gavin?"

"Gavin is like a bulldog. Or a rottweiler."

"So make him fetch!" She grins wickedly.

"You just said how stubborn he is!"

"But that's not necessarily a bad thing. Use him. Give him tasks. He'll get them done better than anyone."

"What if?—"

Alaya lunges across the table, snatching my T-shirt and dragging me face first into her chest.

Holy. Ba-fuckin-nanas.

When she lets me go, I flop back in my seat, my head spinning. Words. Uh. Mouth. No. Work.

"Get outta your head. Doubt's out of fashion and it looks like shit on you." She slams one palm down on the table, leveling one of those pants-pissing stares. "Quit. Bein'. A. Little. Bitch."

"Hey!" I snap, rising out of my chair and slamming my hands down, my blood hammering in my veins. "First of all, I. Look. Great. In. Everything ."

I put my face right up in hers.

"And secondly, I might be little. And I might be a bitch. But it's a stone-cold, ass-kicking, whiskey drinking, bike-riding, dancing fairy of a bitch!"

"There she is!" Alaya cackles, hammering her fist on the table.

"Now get me Gavin and Tell and find me a way in to talk to Hell. It's past time I whoop her ass!"

"YES!" Alaya cheers, flicking her tongue out to lick my bottom lip before pulling away and marching out of the room without another word.

Leaving me with my mouth hanging open. My heart pounding. My panties soaked.

And a fucking fire in my belly.

It's time to fucking rally the troops.