Here Comes Trouble (Trouble, Tennessee 0.50)

Draegan should’ve set the record straight then.

Denny and men like Denny would never see beyond the bright spotlights, double swinging gates, and high fences. They’d never know the security of living in a place like Trouble because Trouble had been founded on the premise that men like Denny needed to know the psychological pain found in alienation, true separation.

“Nothing to say?” Denny searched the tower behind the gate. He likely noted the guns pointed in his direction. “She’s here, asshole. Don’t try to deny it.”

“Never said she wasn’t,” Draegan drawled, hoping some of the others were on their way. Draegan wasn’t afraid to throw a few punches with the best of them, but considering these fifteen fellas were probably packing, he’d appreciate it if his brothers and their buddies would show up say sometime in the next—oh—fifteen seconds!

In his periphery, Draegan caught movement. He didn’t need to verify who had his back. He’d take what he could get at the moment, and truth told, Markie was an accurate shot.

And at least he was there.

Harley had taken one of the residents to a shopping outlet in a nearby town. Trouble’s other marksmen were undoubtedly in bed with this fellow’s ex-wife. All things considered, Draegan would have more help from Markie than anyone else.

The only trouble with Markie holding a gun was one they’d all recognized as a future potential problem. Markie liked shooting and normally, if he aimed, he pulled the trigger.

“I just want to talk to her.” Denny shrugged and his lips seemingly followed suit. “It shouldn’t take too long.”

“You’ve had plenty of time to make amends.” Draegan stood his ground.

“Ever been married, Draegan?” The long-haired redneck reeked of liquor. Draegan didn’t have a problem with long hair. He once wore his loose around the shoulders, too. His issue existed with the drugged-up idiots who thought it was cool to spend their loot on meth rather than shampoo.

“Never found the right one,” Draegan finally replied. He should’ve pissed ole Denny off by telling him he had thought about joining Allister, Derek, Ryan, and Bradley for a little taste of his sexy-as-sin ex.

Draegan checked the clearing behind him. Come to think of it, he might be well served to keep his mouth shut until his backup showed their freshly fucked faces.

“I guess no one has been good enough for the great Draegan McCall.”

“Something like that.” Draegan stood a little taller.

Behind him, Markie groaned and muttered, “Leave it to the local meth head to call out the cock in cocky.”

Denny never averted his eyes. He seemingly concentrated only on Draegan. “I can’t fault a man for not knowing any better. Ya know. A lot of fellas stick their noses where they don’t belong and sniff out a lot of problems rather than solutions.”

“Going poetic on him? Are ya, Denny?” Markie appeared at Draegan’s side. The shotgun was aimed at the ground for the time being, and given the fact the fellows in front of them never so much as flinched, it was probably safe to assume Denny and his boys didn’t see Markie as a real threat.

“Markie?”

“You’re surprised, no doubt,” Markie drawled. “In any event, I had to step forward when you started that nose analogy because I know you weren’t meaning yourself there. See…from what I understand, the nose attached to your face sniffs three things—prime coke, cheap meth, and even cheaper pussy.”

Denny snarled. “And here I thought you and Ellie were friends.”

“He wasn’t talking about Ellie.” Allister finally made his appearance. Taking long strides, he carried himself with plenty of confidence and apparently had rounded up the founding fathers—minus two or three—before starting his stampede.

Forty-eight fellas lined up in front of Denny and his crew.

“In case you’re wonderin’, Denny,” Markie drawled, hitting the highest of Alabamian notes. “They ain’t just armed, sugar. They’re downright dangerous.” He shifted his shoulders and squealed. “My oh my. Isn’t this just some kind of fuckin’ party!”

Before any of them could stop him, Markie swung his shotgun around and hit the butt of his weapon against his shoulder.

“Markie, no!” At least eight or nine of the guys yelled out in protest.

Denny’s men quickly drew as well. With the exception of one or two, Denny’s crew sported knives while Trouble’s citizens showed off their automatic firearms.

“Relax, honeys,” Markie drawled, jerking his shotgun from one man to the next. “I just always wanted to do that.”

Draegan released a burdened sigh thinking it was a miracle no one had twitched their finger against a trigger.

Threats were exchanged and Denny stepped away from his men once again. “I ain’t leaving here without her.”