Chapter 11

Chapter

Eleven

U lysses

"Your turn." Sebastian grins over at me, rubbing a towel through his inky black hair. The liquid mercury of his eyes, so like that of his half-brothers, Mathias and Ananias, trains on me.

"Fuck no," I say, giving the water tank a hard look. "No way. I'm making myself a sitting duck in that thing with so many Loves around."

"Nah." He waves dismissively. "Aside from Marlene, you're the most liked Shelby."

"That would be you," I tell him with a nod.

"I don't claim you, motherfuckers." Smirking, he shakes his head. "Not about to ruin my reputation."

Chuckling, I don't argue. We both know everything about him says he's a Shelby despite his denial. Those gray eyes are sign enough not to mention that he's the spitting image of his father and brothers in height and build. The only difference is his darker skin tone giving credence to his Columbian heritage. No young woman who worked on Shelby property was safe from my uncle and that includes his mother, Antonella.

"Where are the girls?" I ask, letting the subject drop looking around for his twin daughters.

"Over at the petting zoo, Val set up. Hang on while I change and we'll go over so you can say hi."

Turning from the tent he ducks in to look at the market festival and I can't help feeling a pang of regret Mom can't be here. She's having one of her bad days. I hate seeing her suffering like she is. We've already got what we need when she can't take anymore thanks to Angel's connections, but still, she hesitates and though it tears me apart, it's not my place to make this decision for her. I was flat out against it when she first asked, but seeing her in so much pain slowly moved me over to her side on the issue.

"Careful with this, amigo. Don't open it until you're sure you're a hundred percent ready. It's highly concentrated and one whiff is going to have you meeting the Most High right along with your beautiful mom. Gloves, mask, and don't get any on you," he instructs as he passes me the highest concentration of fentanyl.

I just hope today's not the day. Knowing how fucking selfish the thought is, I push it away. I don't even deserve to feel this way when I stayed away for so long.

"Ready?" Turning to my not-cousin, I nod.

"You alright, man?" It must be something in my expression that gives me away that prompts him to ask.

"Just thinking how Mom would love this." I nod to all the tents and the folks around having a good day now that everyone is hale and whole after we lost so many people in our community during the pandemic due to lies and misinformation.

"Yeah. I'd say it gets easier, but that's a lie." His face clouds. He lost his mom from covid and his wife by suicide due to post-partum psychosis when his twins were newborn. If anyone understands, he does. Slapping me on the shoulder, he gives a little squeeze that closes my throat and comforts at the same time.

Every few feet we're stopped by citizens with either praise or complaint for one or both of us.

"We need another traffic light. You see all these folks coming into town for work," Mrs. Louise grumbles on her way to The Camelia tent.

"There's a lot of debris on highway seventeen, I heard Ezekiel-Jane had an accident down there a week or so ago," Mr. Stinson says, unaware that we cleared the debris and saw no evidence of a wreck other than some skid marks. Not that it would be a surprise if it did happen, Loves rarely involve others in their business, especially the law and definitely not a Shelby.

Not for the first time do I wonder how her family is taking the news that she's with me. I've seen some of her cousins giving me hard looks, then turning to talk among themselves. I'm either going to be invited to the cook-out or find myself in the Tombigbee.

Krie, in a heated conversation with the Takeda CEO, draws my attention. Pausing, I wonder for a moment if I need to intercede. From everything I heard, he's allowing the kids to work off their offense with public service and a mere slap on the wrist. Now, looking at their interaction, I can't help but think Takeda has a more personal punishment planned for the beautiful little chef.

He steps away from her before I can decide if Krie needs help. The way she looks after him tells me everything I need to know about them. She's obviously taken with the man. And if they aren't lovers, they soon will be.

"Everything alright?" my cousin asks following my gaze.

"Yeah," I tell him, falling back into step with him.

"The Camelia has been taking a hit since everything those kids pulled with the Creative Chaos plant," he tells me, his gaze already trained on his kids. They are feeding a kid, giggling as the animal munches on the mix of grass and hay from their hands.

Approaching the little petting zoo, Dr. Val has set up for the kids we watch her and the volunteers she's recruited for the event. Nikki is swarmed with kids feeding the bunnies as they hop around her giant turtle, Bernice Sanders, who was Bernie until about a month ago. Maxim is walking, talking softly to other autistic kids about the horses in calm tones.

"Max's been helping Dr. Val with equine therapy," Sebastian says, causing Summer who hears him a smile over her shoulder.

Right before my cousin's face hardens to granite, I see a softness I haven't seen since his wife Amira died.

"Girls, are you ready?" It's a polite request but nobody — especially not the little vet in training, who moonlights as a seamstress, misses the iciness in his voice.

"Yes, Daddy," the twins say at the same time. I watch as both girls hug Summer.

"Daddy?" Esmerelda, always the bolder of the two, turns to her father, gray eyes matching his as Emmaline looks on with happy excitement.

"Summer says she'll make us some new dresses since the last ones got ruined."

"Did she?" The heavy growl in his voice and the way his stare settles on her has my brows raising.

The smallish college student rises to her full diminutive height and looks at my cousin as bravely as she can.

"It's no problem." She shrugs with a nonchalant air I can tell is forced.

"What if I say it is?" he challenges, his eyes looking like striked flint.

Opening the gate, I allow the girls to duck under my arms. Feeling like a messy bitch, I grab the girls' hands, calling over my shoulder, "Seb, we're getting ice cream."

He barely glances my way as he beckons Summer over. Even from here, I can see the tension crackling between them.

"What flavor would y'all like?" I ask the girls. "Chocolate?"

"Butter pecan," they chime together.

The girls are halfway done with their treat by the time their father joins us.

"Everything okay?" I ask Seb.

"No," he sighs, shaking his head. "I can't talk about it right now. Girls? Ready?"

"Yes, Daddy," they chime, rushing over to hug my waist, thanking me for the treat.

"Hey there, cousin," comes the snooty, whiney voice of my cousin Clara-Lee. I turn to see her malice laden gaze resting on me.

"Clara-Lee," I say with practiced boredom, knowing the best way to get rid of her is to not give in to her taunts. It's always been her desire to laude over me, the lowered status I had in the family compared to her. Like her mother, she keeps the Shelby name despite being married. They'd rather be known by the name that carries weight rather than the one they married for alliance or money. Believing in serial monogamy, Clara again like her mother was on her third marriage or rather alliance — this time to a Shelby executive and former champion swimmer who sunk into meth and booze the moment he did his duty of giving her more to add to the Shelby legacy; her only purpose is to create more Shelbys. Mother to four brand-new Shelbys is all she needs to make my uncle happy. For that, she's given a monthly stipend, put at the helm of various useless committees where she can rule over the vapid matrons of society.

"Hear you were slumming with the town slag, Kandie Love." She screws up her face in disgust.

"Still mad she won't make cakes for your little events?" I drawl, popping a toothpick in my mouth, knowing why she's really mad.

Clara-Lee likes to keep the feud going between the families. No one even knows how it originally began, only that the Loves got the upper hand during The Great Depression when through sleight of hand they got possession of a large swathe of Shelby land then quickly entailed it as Heirs Property successfully removing it from our hands forever.

"All of this used to be Shelby," my dad would say when we'd drive through town or out back through the lush land good for pasture or plowing. "Just let that show you how sometimes justice prevails. Nobody needs this much of anything."

"But the Loves own it now," I tried to press him.

"Yeah, but they all own it, not one person. One person is not lording over everyone else, trying to bend them to their will." He gave me a hard look, letting that sink in.

It made perfect sense then, and it does now. Why some folk in my family insist on this fruitless cause of trying to get the land back into Shelby's hands seems so ridiculous to me.

"You're making us all look bad taking up with the town drunk, but I guess that's an apple tree like thing. How is Marlene these days, anyway?" Mouth dripping acid, she tilts her head to the side with false concern.

"Goodbye, Clara." I turn from her before I snap her fucking neck.

Heading deeper into the throng, I pivot at the shriek of "Santiago," and a rush of people over to the rockstar who decided to extend his stay in town. We had to make extra patrols around the property he was renting the first few days to keep the lookie-loos out so that man could have some peace.

He'd won everyone over by making sure local coffee and baked goods were supplied for our efforts. It wasn't like there's a whole lot to do except on weekend nights when the bars and juke joints let out.

Watching Santiago and Mrs. Howard make speeches about how he's doing as an artist in residence at our new Creative Chaos sponsored creative arts center draws a huge cheer from the assembled crowd. I see Krie clapping amongst the crowd and don't miss the hard look on Takeda's face as he watches her. Everyone is delighted with the news. Making a mental note to meet with them about more security, I move further through the market festival. Underage drinking and vaping are the main illegal activities at these events, so I keep my eyes out for that.

"Hey, stranger," comes the honeyed tones of LaShaun Montgomery, my once lover.

"Hey, yourself." The corner of my mouth kicks up. Good pussy needs to be acknowledged, and this girl had some.

"When you coming by to see me?" she asks in that teasing way she does. Once her divorce was final, she didn't hesitate to seek me out and let me know she was more than happy to feed me and throw in a little fucking if I was so obliged and I was. We had a good thing, but neither of us wanted anything permanent.

"Not anytime soon, darling," I tell her matter-of-factly, watching her umber eyes widen before an arched brow and cocky grin spreads across her lush lips.

"Oh, so it's true, you're back with old girl?" I nod, not bothering to say we were never together like that is mute. This town has made up its own lore about me and Kandie since that all too brief visit.

"Well, if I thought she was the sharing type, I would tell you to invite her along. See ya around, Sheriff." Before I can get a word out, she launches herself into my arms.

"Thanks for being there when I needed you," she whispers, pressing a light kiss on my lips.

I don't respond. I can't because in that moment I'm looking into the furious eyes of Kandie Love.

She's too far away, but I can sense her rage as she watches us until LaShaun releases me, steps away, and waves.

My gaze swings between the women for the rest of the few hours of the market festival. As the night looms and fireflies start to light the sky, the smell of honeysuckle is thick in the air. Kandie is giving away the treats she didn't sell as Krie packs up plates for her staff and other vendors who didn't get a chance to eat.

Kandie's tossing back her flask bejeweled with pink crystals. After she takes a healthy swig, she looks over to me. This time, she acts like she's looking through me. No, she's looking past me. Turning, I see she's watching LaShaun make her way over to her van. Her kids are piling in and she gives me a wave when she sees me looking in her direction.

Throwing my hand up, I turn back to Kandie, but she's busy breaking down her kiosk. All the snacks are gone, and she makes quick work of the task. I can't help but look at the way her thick thighs flex from the work she's doing.

Her cousins, Nebraska and his brother Oz, load the tents, stands, and sundries into Pa-Pete's truck. Instead of one of them driving it, that menace Oz hands her the keys before pressing a kiss on the top of her head.

Tossing the keys up in the air with one hand in a nonchalant manner, she turns to me, blowing a big bubble of gum before letting it pop as she saunters over to The Shack's tent, leaning in to chat with Ms. Queen.

She has on a tiny ass pair of Daisy Dukes that ride up her juicy ass, showing the underside of her cheeks tempting every swinging dick in the vicinity. I catch several heads on swivel for the view as she idly kicks the dirt scuffing her boots. The plaid shirt she wears pulls tight against her back as she leans further, laughing at something Ms. Queen says. She nods, taking a large bottle, which can't be anything but moonshine from the mason jar it comes in and the clearness of the liquid. I watch as they talk more. Ms. Queen gives her a puzzled look, then goes to the back of the tent. When she returns, she hands Kandie a funnel and a longer empty liquor bottle.

Kandie gets busy redistributing the liquor from the jar to the bottle. Why, I don't know when she's doing this very illegal activity in front of the law — me, like a big fuck you. She corks the bottle then leans over, giving her friend a hug before heading back to where the stall has been broken down.

"Hey, Sheriff," Mr. Lemonhopper calls, getting my attention just as I'm about to head her off before she tries to take the wheel of that truck. For all I know, she's been sipping off that flask all day, not to mention how many times she's had it refilled by her local enablers. Sharing a drink is as common around here as a hug. She wouldn't have any problem being topped off by friends and family — hell, even enemies.

"Yes, sir?" I call, turning to the tall dark-skinned man waving me over. Heading over in his direction, I notice immediately what he wants. There's a scuffle between some local boys.

Territorial over shit that doesn't even belong to them. There is a faction from the elite Shelby Academy in a tussle with some of the kids from the public Shelby-Love High School. The public school is a mix of all kids from the all over community while the Shelby Academy is exclusively white.

It takes me and along with several of the local men to break the squabble up. Making note to set up the community service so they will be forced to work together. I'm in the middle of calling parents when a huge whoosh goes up just as flames shoot up to the sky.

"It's on the south lot," Mr. Lemmonhopper shouts, starting out in a full out run the defies the man's age of at least seventy.

I take off behind him, stopping short when he hits the back lot. Pulling to a stop, I watch the bed of my truck going up in flames. Men rush past me with buckets filled with water from the nearby well and the reserve we keep for wildfires in the park. Grabbing one, I help them douse my truck.

A loud blaring like someone is laying on the horn draws every last person's attention. Then there is Kandie's little evil ass flooring Pa-Pete's truck leaning out far enough to shoot me a bird.

"Dirty motherfucker," she shouts out of the window, tearing down the street so fast she fishtails.

"I coulda told you that was going to happen," Mr. Lemmonhopper chimes in as a rage burns through me like a grass fire.

"Letting LaShaun rub all up on you in front of everybody like that — I'm surprised she didn't neuter you right then." Shrugging, Mr. Lemonhopper shakes his head. "Truck's still drivable, though. Ya might want to go get her before she does something else."

Slapping dust from my jeans, I'm already heading over to my truck. The fucking door's hot to the touch when I pull it open. "Dammit."

Slamming the door shut, I take off after her.

She's deep into Love land by the time I catch up with her. The way she's going is unincorporated, for the most part. I don't think she anticipated me putting out the fire as quickly as I did or that I would even be able to drive my truck. But that's what happens when you do shit half sober. You don't think the execution is off; you make unnecessary errors.

She also doesn't anticipate running out of gas. One thing I know for sure. Older people who don't drive that much maybe fill their tanks once a month. Between her cousins taking her grandparents to their various appointments and errands, I'm not surprised to see her pulling over because she's run out of gas.

Kandie bails out like an episode of COPS , taking the nearby woods. Her Stetson flies off, her two ponytails looking like thick ropes flying behind her.

Swerving to stop behind Pa-Pete's truck, I set my flashers so I can see them after I track her ass down.

Gravel crunches under my boots. Lifting my head, I scent the air like the predator I am. She's a fast little wildcat, but I'm an apex predator. I was born for this shit. Hunting her has been bred in me deep from the time of my Viking forbears, conquerors, and annihilators.

"Run, wildcat," I call into the night. "Run as far and as fast as you can. When I catch you, it's going to be your ass."