Bounty

2. Willa Jean

Chapter Two

WILLA JEAN

December 23rd - Twenty Four Years Old

I tip toe out of my room, making my way down the hall without turning the lights on. The whole house is silent tonight. No one is talking in the kitchen or sitting in the living room. There’s no music playing or people milling about.

This should make my escape easier, but it makes me worry. The house is never this silent, even at this time of night... Is everyone away or sleeping?

The door opens quietly, and I take the first step out into the humid night air. I wait for something to happen—for my mom or Father Mannix to catch me sneaking out—but no one comes after me. As I walk to the woods, the moon sits in the sky, smiling down on me as she always does. I love looking at all her phases, but the full moon is my favorite.

Each step I take brings me closer to it…to the place I’m not meant to go. The boys told me not to stay out of the woods, that it wasn’t my business to come here. Cain said Father Mannix would tan my hide at the next gathering, probably to deter me, but he doesn’t understand.

The whole curiosity killed the cat thing isn’t true. Curiosity is much more insidious. It picks at me, like a buzzard pecking at a festering corpse. Picks, picks, picks. Until I can’t take it anymore. I have to find out what’s back here. What’s so dangerous that Jude threatened me to keep me away?

The ground beneath the trees is softer, cushioned by dead leaves and moist dirt. Each step takes me closer to whatever they’re hiding. I can feel it.

A snap sounds from behind me, and I gasp. Turning around, I see nothing. At least not right away. The longer I stare into the trees, the more I feel like someone is watching me.

Waiting for me.

Another snap, from much closer, makes me jump. I turn back toward the direction I was walking in, and a man stands in the path. I can’t tell who he is, because his hood is up.

But he must know who I am, because he cocks his head as he looks at me.

He takes a few measured steps toward me…and I run. He comes close to grabbing me, but I weave around him, escaping by a few inches at most.

The man chases me through the trees, trying to gain on me, until I reach a giant wooden barn. The weathered red sides and white trim are muted in the moonlight, but I know this isn’t a barn I’ve seen before.

I run up to it, and try to pull at the locks. They won’t budge. A large hand grips my shoulder, spinning me around and slamming me against the door.

It’s the man from the woods. I struggle, slapping at his hands and scratching him, but he doesn’t budge.

A shiver of fear cuts through the adrenaline of finally finding this place. Whoever this man is, he caught me red-handed out past curfew. He can take me to Father Mannix and have me punished in front of everyone for breaking the rules.

“Keep shaking, thistle. Your fear only makes hunting you down and catching you that much more rewarding,” a familiar, unbothered voice says to me.

Jude pulls his hood down, revealing his void expression. Well, everything is expressionless except his eyes. They’re hungry, and threaten to swallow me whole. He licks his bottom lip, and it breaks me from whatever dark lake my mind was floundering in.

“Get off me, now.” My tone is firm, even. Without all the emotions boiling inside me. I’ve learned early on it’s best not to show Jude any emotions. He’ll only use them against you and manipulate you to fit his own needs.

“No.” He tightens his hold on me. “I told you to stay away, so did Colin and Cain. But you never listen. You’re a woman now, and you won’t get away with breaking rules anymore.”

His hand moves to hold my throat. He puts moderate pressure on it with his long, calloused fingers, and I swallow against his palm. “I need to know…”

“Once I show you what’s behind those doors, you'll never see us the same way again. Your two little lover boys will never look the same to you, and God only knows what I’ll be.” His smirk warms my insides, even though I don’t want it to.

Before I can think better of it, I spit out, “You’ll always be a monster to me, Jude.”

His smirk falls, and he takes my arm, leading me up to the barn doors. Goosebumps erupt all over my skin at his touch, and I mentally reprimand myself. He takes a ring of keys out of his pocket and opens each lock. When it’s done, he pulls me in, past what seems like a regular barn. It has spare farming equipment. Bales of hay. Nothing out of the ordinary.

It’s not until we stop at a door at the very back. Solid steel, but no doorknob or locks. He puts his fingerprint on a scanner—like something out of a goddamn spy movie, and it slides into the wall, letting us inside a dark staircase.

I turn the flashlight on on my phone and light the way from behind him. He doesn’t say thank you, or anything. He’s eerily quiet.

We go down each step carefully until we reach the bottom. This door is also opened only by fingerprint.

“This is your last chance,” he warns me, dropping my arm. “You can go back and pretend none of this exists. This is your final warning.”

I shake my head. “Fuck off, Jude. I need to know.”

“You don’t tell a soul about this. Do you understand me? I will fucking ruin your life, and everything you hold dear if you do.”

I don’t doubt he will. Jude torments me daily without a reason. I would hate to give him an actual reason.

He unlocks the door and pushes it open. Crates are stacked against the walls, almost covering them completely. They’re stacked in rows down the room, too. Jude squeezes my hand too hard, and I remember he’s still holding it. I try to lose him, but he only holds on tighter. He walks me to a crate and uses his pocket knife to pry it open.

Moving the packing fluff to the side, I see black, metallic guns. Large guns. The kind you see on the news and in the video games the boys used to play growing up.

I freeze, as all the pieces finally come together.

“Don’t you wish you never opened the door, thistle?” He whispers in my ear.

I wake up, startling myself. I’m not in a humid barn back on the farm. It was just another dream, or rather, a memory that haunts me.

I stretch, raising my hands over my head, past my pillow, and lengthen my legs. Flexing each foot, I take a few deep breaths. I feel stiff and cold. It’s a bone-chilling, ominous cold that goes beyond leaving the window open by mistake. My breath puffs in front of my face. As soon as I leave the comfort of my bed, I know I made a mistake. In just my sweat shirt and boyshorts, without my blankets, it’s glacial.

The alarm clock on my bedside table is blinking. No, fuck, no! I scurry over to the lightswitch, but it doesn’t turn on. When I get to the kitchen, the oven clock is too.

The power is out.

I thought I’d have more time to pay the bill before they shut it off. It wasn’t even two months late. But I guess when you’re chronically late, they give you less leeway. How am I supposed to survive the winter without heat?

My phone only has twenty three percent charge, and it’s already 7:45. I have forty-five minutes until I need to be at work. My boss is going to flip his lid if I’m late. Scouring the cupboard for breakfast gets me nowhere. The only food I have is half a stale loaf of bread, a protein bar that’s past its expiration date, and an apple with too many bruises. The sad part is that I’ve had worse options before.

I throw on a pencil skirt and a white blouse. Brushing through my curls, I try to tame them into a high bun. My heels pinch my feet, a size too small, but they’re all I have. They were Aunt Norma’s… A slice of agony splits my heart in two. One of the only things I have left of her are a good-for-nothing pair of scratched black heels. A tear trickles down my face as my breathing stutters.

Pull it together, Willa, you do not have time for this.

Imagining her telling me to pull my big girl panties up puts a small smile on my face, exactly what I need to keep moving through this awful day. Shoving the protein bar into my pocket, I brace myself at the front door for the snowstorm I’m about to walk into, without a coat. My old one ripped last season and I never got around to replacing it. And money isn’t even tight right now—it’s nonexistent.

When I go outside, the small semblance of perseverance I mustered dies. My front gutter isn’t attached to the house anymore…it’s on the ground. My landlord never returns my calls, unless it’s to pester me for my rent money, which I may not have in full this month. I doubt he’ll fix this until after I pay. Hell, he said it himself—he’s going to evict me unless I pay this month's rent, and the remainder of last month’s rent.

My anxiety feels like a thousand little spiders crawling up my back, taking me over before they devour me. I feel my control start to slip, until I see the package on the ground, next to the gutter. It’s a large, sealed bag, no address or name, just like the last four. I take it into the house.

Should I be worried that anonymous packages turn up on my doorstep in the morning? Probably. But my life has been such a shitshow this year that I don’t care. Between Aunt Norma getting sick, her swift decline and death, the bills piling up, and all the toxic stuff at work heaped on top, the packages are the only silver lining. I tear it open, and pull out a black, faux-fur lined peacoat, with matching gloves. It’s a good quality and whoever dropped it off must have spent a ton of money.

They must be watching me, to know I needed it. Instead of continuing my earlier panic attack, I smile. As stalkery and messed up as it is, it’s a solution to one of my problems. The one light in my dark, lonely life.

As I put the coat and gloves on, my mind wanders to another time in my life, when I wasn’t so lonely–when I had people to depend on and everything didn’t seem so impossibly hard–but I quickly rein it in. That time is over now.

And no matter how difficult things get, I know I’ll find a way to come out on the other side. I have to, because I’m the only person I can depend on.

Running through the woods in my bare feet. Picking wildflowers as I dance under the sun. Eating berries right off the bush. The wind blowing through my hair as I harvest the fall crops with my brothers and sisters. Snuggling at night with Bandit, my big black dog.

“Willa Jean!” Mr. Johnson shouts, breaking me from my daydreams five minutes before the end of my workday.

“Look alive, missy, I need you to make some copies for me. Thirty of each for the staff meeting tomorrow morning, then you can leave.”

Cringe.

My boss, Tim Johnson, is an absolute pig. Not like the cute little teacup pigs you see on social media, but the misogynistic kind that repeatedly makes unwanted advances towards his female employees, even when they plainly ask him to stop. I made it quite clear I’m not interested, and at this point it’s toxic.

His gaze zeroes in on my blouse, right at my breasts, as usual. I repeat my daily mantra in my head.

You only need to be here another year, then you’ll have enough experience on your resume to get a better paying administrative assistant position. By this time next Christmas, you’ll be gone.

“Yes, Mr. Johnson,” I reply, taking the papers from him on my way to the copier. His hand grazes my ass as I’m walking by, and my whole body stiffens.

“Please don’t touch me again,” I grit out, holding all my rage deep inside me.

I wish I could scream at him–smack him right in his red, puffy face. Or punch him in his bulbous nose. If I ever do, he’ll have me fired on the spot, no matter how badly he wants to bend me over the desk for an afternoon delight. I never went to college, and I’m not dumb enough to think I’d ever get a cushy desk job like this again without a degree.

I may hate my job, but I need it to survive, especially with my Aunt Norma’s passing. She was sick for a long time, and it’s nice to know she isn’t suffering anymore, but I still miss her everyday. After we left Harvest Farm, she was the only family I had.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and I feel him standing behind me. I keep my breathing even. Sharks like him can smell fear.

“Willa, I told you to call me Tim…” he says in a low voice. He’s trying to sound sexy, but his nasally pitch is the furthest thing from it.

“I’ll drop these off at your desk so they’re ready for the staff meeting tomorrow.” Hopefully he gets the hint and leaves me alone.

Of course, he doesn’t. He never does.

He moves closer to me. “Willa, when are you going to wise up and let me take you to dinner after work? I’m a nice guy who owns a home, has a dog, and can take care of you. You don’t want to be a spinster forever do you?” he asks.

I go ramrod straight as goosebumps prick my skin. I don’t like him being this close to me, especially when no one else is around at the end of the day. And seriously, a spinster? Does this man not know we’re in the twenty-first century?

Universe, please give me a Christmas miracle and make this asshole get stuck in a chimney.

“You don’t want to live in a run down house on the outskirts of town for the rest of your life, do you? That place is busted up so bad it should be condemned. So unbecoming for a beautiful young woman like you,” he continues, completely uncaring of how stalkery and creepy it is that he knows what my home looks like. “You’re twenty-four—should be married already with a child on the way. I can give you the life you deserve.”

He grabs my arm, and alarms go off in my head. He’s never blatantly touched me before, just an occasional brush here and there. I try to keep my breathing even, to stay calm.

“Mr. Johnson, please stop touching me. I’m not interested in you and your repeated advances make me uncomfortable. You’re being inappropriate.”

He spins me around and I accidentally throw the papers. They float down around us like the snow raging outside. Pulling me against him, he wrenches my head back by my hair.

“You trollop ,” he hisses at me, his spittle flying into my face. Bile climbs up my throat as his erection digs into my thigh. “You think I don’t notice you flouncing around the office in your tight skirts and flimsy blouses—that I don’t see those perky tits and that fat ass bouncing every time you move. You had to know there would be consequences.”

He digs his grubby fingers into my cleavage and I go into fight mode. My knee slams into him. Before I know what happened, he’s in the fetal position on the floor, screaming at me.

“Dumb bitch, you broke my nuts!” He rolls over, pulling his cell phone from his pocket. “You’re fired! Get out before I call the cops!”

Fuck . I can’t lose my job. Panicking isn’t going to do me any good right now. Focus, what do I do? I have to keep control of the situation somehow. Now is not the time to spiral.

“I asked you not to touch me Mr. Johnson. You didn’t listen, and I was forced to use self-defense. I’m going to Human Resources and reporting you.” I try to sound strong, but his derisive laughter breaks my thin semblance of bravery.

“You’re a stupid whore, you know that? HR isn’t going to believe you. They didn’t believe the last three girls who ran crying to them, either. They’ll fire you on the spot. Get the fuck out and don’t come back tomorrow, or you’ll be arrested for assault,” he yells.

I rush to grab my purse as tears flood my eyes. I lost my job. How the hell will I keep a roof over my head? Or afford food? My rent is due at the end of the month, and I can’t pay it or the $150 left over from last month without this week’s check.

How will I get another job, especially without a good reference from this one? I’m so screwed.

My tears are a river. The winter wind lashes my face as I push out of the lobby doors and snow clouds my vision, making it difficult to find my car in the parking lot. Christmas used to be such a happy time in my life when I lived on Harvest Farm with my family—before everything changed. Now the holiday season is so lonely and depressing.

Memories of Aunt Norma and I eating our Christmas meal warm my heart for a split-second, before a sharp longing cuts through it. I miss her. We may not have had much, and our Christmas dinner may not have been the feasts we had back at the farm, but we at least had each other.

We’ll always have each other, love. That’s what she always told me after Mom died.

Now I’m alone.

More than anything, I wish I could go back to Harvest Farm and be with my family. With my boys, even if they don’t want me anymore. I understand why we had to leave—it wasn’t safe anymore—but ever since Aunt Norma and I left, I’ve been a heartbroken wanderer who’s been trying to find a new home and never fits in anywhere.

Five Years & Ten Months Ago

“Little flower, you’ll never belong anywhere more than you do here, with us. Why can’t you stay?” Colin begs, grabbing my hand and refusing to let me go.

“I don’t have a choice.” I hate crying in front of them, but fat, wet tears roll down my cheeks.

“You can’t leave me,” Cain says with a distraught expression. “I’ll miss you too much.”

“I’m going to miss you both so much. You’re my best friends.”

They both wrap their arms around me in a bone-crushing hug, which isn’t hard because they’re larger than life. Even though I’m eighteen now, they’re still so much bigger than I am.

Colin kisses my forehead before whispering, “But you’ll miss me more, right?”

“Just because you baby her doesn’t mean she’ll miss you the most, asshole. She’ll miss me more,” Cain fires back, pushing him out of our hug and scooping me up for himself. “She knows I’m her favorite because I make her laugh. Always have.”

“Put me down, please,” I ask him. When he gently lowers me back to the ground, I kiss them each on the cheek, then go back to packing my suitcases. “You’re equally my favorite, and I love you both the same.”

“You’ll keep in contact?” Colin asks.

“I promise to write as much as I can. It may take a while, because Aunt Norma and I have to settle down somewhere first.” Wherever that ends up being. “Where’s Jude?”

“He has night watch, but he’ll be around to say goodbye to you tomorrow,” Cain assures me. My face falls, and the look he gives Colin isn’t hopeful. “He’s your stepbrother, of course he’ll come to see you, don’t worry.”

Crossing through my tiny room to the window, I unlock it, hoping Jude will come through when he gets home. I can’t imagine not saying goodbye to him.

Except he never snuck in to say goodbye, and he didn’t come around in the morning.

After my aunt and I stopped at the first motel on our drive to upstate New York, I opened one of my bags and found a note from Jude Harvest, in his neat handwriting. I still have no clue how he managed to hide it in my suitcase. When I read it, my heart shattered into a million jagged pieces. Even six years later, I can’t read it without a tightness gripping my chest. I keep it in my wallet as a reminder that everything good comes to an end—everyone eventually leaves. I have to be strong for myself.

Thistle,

I never planned to visit you before you left. The guys may not agree, but I think it’s time to treat you like an adult and tell the truth.

I’m glad you’re leaving. You’re a weed in my garden, and weeds always get pulled out, no matter how persistent they are. Ever since we were kids, I couldn’t stand you. Your face, your voice, and everything about you is repulsive to me. You’re the most overrated, obnoxious woman I’ve ever met. I don’t understand why Cain and Colin are so hung up on you. I think it’s because you so easily let them up your skirt.

There’s no room in my heart for a backstabbing whore. The Farm is my family, and someone like you can never belong here. Please don’t contact me. If you do, I’ll tell Father Mannix you’re breaking the agreement.

-Jude

After I read that note, I spent the whole night silently sobbing into my pillow so I didn’t wake my aunt in the dingy motel room we shared. It was that moment that I realized my entire life would forever change.

I went from having a whole community of people who cared for me, my best friends, my mom, and my aunt, to having no one.

My new reality settled in…I’ll always be alone.