52. Fable

Chapter 52

Fable

R ight now, Rhett's face is as serious as I've ever seen it. When he'd first started singing, it was muffled, barely penetrating through the static in my mind. Slowly, he'd pulled me out, song after song falling from his lips, until I'm able to stare up at him with clear eyes. I know I must look a mess. I know my face is probably puffy, splotchy, and covered in tears, but he doesn't look at me as if any of that is there. Instead, Rhett looks at me as if I'm something precious.

And I don't know how to feel about it.

Of the men, Rhett is probably the one with the best mask. Not to say that he has a good poker face, but that he's very good at pretending everything is fun and games until it isn't. In the barn, he'd looked angry, intimidating. Right now, he looks open and raw. It's such a juxtaposition to the normal flirty smile and carefree attitude that it takes me a few minutes just to digest it.

"Let me explain," he whispers when the song dies out. "Before you condemn us. Before you call the cops. Please."

I stare up at him, at the honest vulnerability on his face, and nod. I'm not sure if I can speak. Right now, I feel both numb and like a livewire at the same time. The way Rhett is holding me in his lap makes me want to press closer to him. Instead, I sit up, trying to have some sensibility, but I don't move away completely. Logically, this is still a terrible situation. I want to trust them. I do. But. . .

It would be foolish to do so.

I've seen what drugs do to people. I grew up with a mother who always chose the drugs over me. I've seen the damage it does. And these people, this ranch, they have their hand in that. It's easy to think they're not, that they're removed from the damage done by addiction and drugs, but that's not the truth. Even out here in the mountains, even dealing with only a few people, they are a part of the drug machine. And I don't know if anything Rhett says can make that okay.

Rhett blows out a breath and looks up, away from me, as if he's gathering his thoughts.

"I was sixteen," he begins. "I was playing football, focused on school, planning for things like college and the future, when all of that was wiped away because of a drunk driver." He looks down at me. "My parents and my little sister were in the car. In an instant, they were gone, and still, no one came to tell me until Trent and I got off the bus from school. They waited. I went through an entire day, laughing, fooling around in school, while they were just dead." His expression is tight. "Cop said pulling us out of school was useless. They were dead. There wasn't anything that was going to change that."

His fingers start to softly stroke my arm. I consider pulling away, but I don't. Instead, I sit there almost in his lap and listen to the origins of Circle Bee.

"I was so angry," he rasps. "Nothing Trent said, nothing anyone said, made a difference. That anger clawed its way up my throat and demanded to be let out. Good people. My parents were good people, fucking saints, and that drunk driver chose to hit them." He swallows thickly, as if he's fighting back tears, and I find myself reaching up to touch his hand, covering it, holding it. "I told you I got into a lot a trouble after, but. . . it was worse than that. I did everything wrong. Circle Bee was profitable when my parents were alive, but barely. We were one bad season away from trouble. When they died, I had no idea how to run a ranch. Trent didn't either. Mel and the gang tried their best to help, but there was only so much they could do. We were sinking fast, and I was looking at the possibility of losing a ranch that had been in our family for three generations."

"What happened?" I croak.

He shakes his head. "We were four months behind on the bills. The bank was sniffing around, foaming at the mouth at the thought of getting one of the thirteen. Realtors appeared daily, begging for a chance to sell, and all the while, I spent the time high, drunk, or both. I wasn't capable of saving this place, had no idea how I could get us out of the hole. I asked Steele Mountain for help, and they gave it, saved us for a few more months, but there was only so much goodwill I could rely on." He looks away. "I considered taking the easy way out at some point. Loaded the gun and everything."

I freeze, my eyes on his face as he looks away from me, as if he can't bear to meet my gaze. "But you didn't."

He shakes his head. "I was too drunk. Passed out before I could. When I woke up, there were no bullets in the gun." He laughs, the sound strained. "I always assumed it was Trent. Turns out it was Colt."

Rhett shrugs, his voice rough as he relives his memories.

"So how did. . . how did this happen?" I ask, gesturing to the door. He understands what I'm asking and sighs.

"You know Colt was a cop?" When I nod, he closes his eyes. "He had. . . connections. Some bad guys that he knew how to get ahold of. We were drowning, and there were no other options. No one would give us a loan because they wanted one of the thirteen for themselves. I couldn't ask Steele Mountain for any more money. So. . . we cooked up the idea to work with a gang, The Eight Balls from the west coast. At first, we were only supposed to be doing guns, but they stopped trafficking those at some point and switched to drugs where the real money was. Within a year, we were okay. We saved the ranch. But. . . you can't just leave that life once you get in it. We've spent every year since trying to think of ways out, only to dig our way deeper." He frowns. "A year ago, we were approached by The Crows, a mafia level gang from the east coast. We took their offer and began double dipping. We've been scrambling ever since to find a way around this, to get out, but Circle Bee isn't as big money as Steele Mountain. We can get by. We can even do well, but like any ranch, two bad seasons can destroy us if we're not careful."

I study Rhett, the look on his face, and I can tell he's being honest and open with me. I believe him that it was never supposed to be this large scale, that they never wanted to do this, but they were a bunch of desperate kids trying to be adults. I get it.

But it doesn't change things.

"You can't just. . . get out?" I ask, watching him carefully.

He shakes his head. "It's near impossible. Not only would we have to buy our way out with money we'll never have, but we'd have to convince the leaders to accept it on both sides. One could decline. Both could. We have no way of knowing, but we can't just stop without endangering everyone here."

I bite my lip. "Mel and all the others know?'

"They do. You weren't really supposed to be here. We missed the reservation in the systems until the last minute and well. . . we need the money. We thought we could keep it quiet while you were here, but. . . as it turns out, you were a wild card none of us expected. And Colt, Colt has always been a little trigger happy."

"Why tell me all this?" I ask, watching him carefully. "Why give me more evidence against you?"

He shrugs. "I trust you. If you go to the cops, you're not just turning me in, you're taking down all of us. I don't mind going to jail, but Mel, the others? They don't deserve that. I drug all of them through this and they stayed out of loyalty." He squeezes my hand, three times, and my heart throbs painfully in my throat. "You can leave here, Fable. We're not holding you prisoner, but I ask you to keep our secret and that you wait until your scheduled flight to leave. Let us convince you. We'll keep you safe. We just. . . we want you to stay through the rest of your trip."

"Bullshit," Colt spits from the doorway. I'd never even heard it open. "Stay forever, not just four more days."

My eyes widen. "What?"

"You heard me," he says, crossing his arms.

Rhett scowls over at him. "Don't be such a dick."

I swallow, my throat thick with the turmoil in my heart. On one hand, I get it. I really do. It's easy to get in too deep and they clearly want out. On another hand, they're in a life I want nothing to do with. Do I care about them enough to forgive that? I can't stay here. I want nothing to do with what they're doing, even if I want everything to do with them. They're still the same men I'm falling hard for, but. . . some things can't be overcome.

"Can y'all go?" I whisper. Rhett looks down at me and I glance away, refusing to meet his eyes. "I need some time alone. Please."

Colt straightens, and with a lingering look toward me, disappears back out the door. Rhett carefully releases me, helping me to stand before he does the same.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry you had to find out this way," Rhett says, a sad smile tugging at his lips. "I'd like you to remember me as the carefree asshole, not the idiot who ruins everything."

He turns to leave, but I have to ask.

"What about you?"

He looks over his shoulder at me. "What about me?"

"Do you want me to stay forever?"

It's a stupid question, one that the answer shouldn't matter, but Rhett, of the four men, has been the most resistant to any kind of commitment. Granted, that resistance makes even more sense now that I know what they're up to, but part of me has to know. I need all the puzzle pieces. I need to know everything.

He studies me, his eyes tracing over my face, taking it all in. He'd told me it was just sex before, that he doesn't do anything past that, but now, something flickers in his eyes. Something that gives me my answer before he does.

"Every hive needs a queen, Wild West Barbie," he says. "And I've never seen someone more suited to a crown than you."

He disappears, closing the door behind him, and I'm alone again in the cabin.

Every hive needs a queen.

"Shit," I moan, covering my face with my hands. "Fuck. This is bad."

I wait for Jinx to pop up and agree with me, but she doesn't. Instead, silence closes in on me.

"No advice?" I ask, looking toward the urn. "Bad or good?"

No answer.

I press my hand against my chest and Jethro moves closer to me, whining softly at my distress. My fingers curl in his fur and I feel a little better, so I tug him into a full-blown hug.

"Thank you," I whisper to him. "For everything."

I don't leave the cabin for the rest of the day. At some point, someone knocks and leaves food outside the door, but I don't touch it. The longer I sit in the cabin, going over every detail in my mind, the more everything feels like a lie. Am I imagining their care for me? Were the relationships I had with them all just a way to keep me distracted and happy, so I didn't stumble into their business? Could I really stay here knowing what I know? The longer I ask myself these questions, the easier it is to convince myself that this is all a ruse, so I don't go to the cops.

They said I could go at the end of my trip, that they want me to stay the rest of the time. That's four days from now. But do I trust them to let me go when it's time? Part of me thinks they could still just kill me and save themselves all the trouble. They wouldn't have to pretend anymore. Four days is long enough to figure out where to hide a body.

God, I feel so stupid. They'd all known. They were all in on it. Nothing was true. How can I trust them not to change their minds and just kill me instead of going through all this trouble? Do I think them capable of killing me even?

"I can't stay here," I whisper out loud, looking around the cabin. But how can I go? I don't have a car. They'd see a ride share pull up. They won't let me leave if they know I'm leaving.

My mind flickers to Kate and Naomi. They're just over at Steele Mountain. Circle Bee butts up against their ranch. It's still really far away. It would take me at least a few hours of walking to reach the edge of Steele Mountain, but I can do it. I can either hitchhike on the road or just walk the entire way. If I leave at night, no one will even know I've left until morning. That's plenty of time to get out of here. Maybe I can cut across the pastures and shave off some time even.

I look around the cabin and wince. I won't be able to take everything. I'll have to pick the most important pieces, which means the sewing machine and the urn. Any more than that and it'll slow me down too much.

The breath I let out is shaky. The thought of leaving kills me, but if I stay, they might kill me. Especially if I can't separate the men from the crime.

Slowly, I pack up the sewing machine and stare at the little cabin that quickly became home. Part of me, when I leave, will always yearn for this place. Part of me will stay here forever.

And I'll have to be okay with that.