Heap of Trouble (Trouble, Tennessee 2)

Where was he? She turned around quickly and whispered, “Jims?”

She heard shuffling and could tell something was in front of her. She backed away a step, assuming Jims had gone for the water, something she should’ve done as well.

High above them, Toms called out, “Rons says your brother is part of that Trouble bunch. Says that older guy you snuck around with—what’s his name again? Ah, it don’t matter—Rons says he’s in Trouble, too. Sort of figured on that’s why you called your big brother. Reckon ya wanted that man of yourn to come fetch ya.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yep. Ya do. Gabe. That’s his name. Gabe and Bradley. Brother and boyfriend.”

She closed her eyes, willing her tears away, not that anyone would see them in the darkness. For a minute, she could’ve sworn her mind’s eye was playing tricks on her.

She pictured Gabe on his twenty-first birthday, driving around the high school parking lot. He had heard a rumor that day and he had been out looking for proof, trying to find out if gossip held truths.

Heather grinned then at the memory. He had slowly crept up one aisle and then another, movin

g through the rows of parked vehicles as he searched for her. She’d hidden from him, darted in between vehicles in an effort to stay out of sight.

Prior to that particular afternoon, Gabe had believed she’d just celebrated her twentieth birthday. In fact, she’d been seventeen.

Heather still remembered the look on his face when he found her crouched down behind her old Plymouth. And the words he’d spoken? Well, those sentiments still haunted her to this day. “I wanted you. I had set my sights on having you. And you’re nothing but a kid?”

Now, twenty-one, Heather wondered if Gabe still thought about her. They’d kept in touch by emails prior to her stop at the Vance family farm. Before arriving at the Vance property, she had heard about Trouble and someone had suggested that he worked there with her brother, but that’s not why she reached out to Bradley. She had reached out because she was frightened and she wanted to go home, wherever home was now. She’d been away for so long, she couldn’t be sure.

“Ya quiet for a reason, cupcake?”

“Please.”

“Beggin’ is not attractive, Heather.”

“Why won’t you let me out of here?”

“’Cause I got some plans for ya. Ain’t’cha figured it out yet?” Toms laughed “Rons says to me, ‘Let her have a little freedom. See if the drugs are still in her system.’ He was guessin’ no and he was right. He wanted to know if you were still feedin’ on this poison or doin’ yer own thing.” Toms grunted. “Guess you was a’playin’ us, huh?”

“Toms, I always liked you.”

“Did ya now?” He laughed. “I took ya for a woman more apt to spend time with Dons.”

She shuddered at the mention of the older Vance brother. He was about six feet tall and two hundred and eighty pounds or so of pure wickedness.

“I’m not anyone’s type.” She wondered if he’d thrown out a name for a reason. Did the brothers plan to feed her to Dons? She hated to think of herself as his next meal, but there were strange happenings around him. The women Dons brought to the mountain never left his room and she never saw any of them again.

“I want to go home,” she said, staring up. “Please. Let me walk out of here. You don’t have to give me a ride. I just want to go home.” It was then when she realized those tears were coming in droves. Her face was wet. Her lips quivered.

“Ha! Ya ain’t got a home, girl! Ya ain’t got a song or a prayer neither. Ya betrayed us and here we treated ya like family. Listen at’cha. Sayin’ ya wanna go home.” He moved the boards and slammed them to one side or the other. “Ya are home, bitch! Pick a corner and get comfortable cause ya ain’t goin’ any gosh’d damned where!”

Chapter Two

“What the hell were you thinking out there? Saying all that nonsense in front of Bradley?” Allister threw a right punch at thin air as he followed Draegan into the main office. Markie and Harley stayed right on his heels.

“He was speaking the truth,” Harley said, sitting on the edge of the sofa. “The Vance boys are ritualistic sons-of-bitches.”

“Explain that,” Allister said.

“What he means is—”

“I didn’t ask you, Markie.” Allister nodded at Harley.

“Actually, Markie knows them better than I do.”