Chapter 35 Woman of the Hour
Woman of the Hour
RIPLEY
“Raph, you want bacon and pancakes?”
Preacher’s brother stumbles into the kitchen, all messy hair and puffy eyes, grunting as he wanders over to the coffee maker and helps himself.
I’ve been up for a while now, feeding the horses, moving the cattle, and cleaning out the stables with Preacher while Raphael slept in. It’s a small blessing because I don’t think I could listen to him yammer that early in the morning without wanting to take a shovel to his skull.
“So long as it’s not human, I’ll eat anything.” He sighs, taking the first sip of his drink. “Coffee’s good.”
“I made it,” I chirp, chopping up some melon.
“I take it back. Tastes like ass.”
I point my knife at him.
“You wanna try that again, because it turns out I’m pretty damn good with this thing.”
He snorts.
“I’m not scared of you, sweet thing.”
“You two, cut it the hell out.” Preacher flips the bacon in the pan, his face twisted up in irritation. “Raph, drink your coffee and shut the fuck up. Rabbit, finish up with that melon. Breakfast’s almost ready, and I didn’t sign up to be a goddamn babysitter.”
Raph plunks himself down at the kitchen table like a pouty teenager, scrolling through his phone, but I can’t help but notice he’s still drinking his coffee. The petulant little prick can’t even pretend he hates it with any conviction.
“Did she say how long before she gets here?” Preacher asks after a few moments.
“Nope. Just said it would be sometime before noon.”
We set the food on the table and the three of us dig in, eating in total silence for a few minutes as I’m left wondering why nobody’s bothering to tell me the details on Raphael’s ex-wife.
“So… who is this woman?” I ask. “Feels like you guys won’t even say her name. Are you scared of her or something?”
Preacher’s lip curls into a smart-ass smirk.
“Raph is.”
It’s hard to imagine him being married, given how insufferable he is, but at least that part’s believable.
“Jesus Christ, Preacher.” He drags a forkful of pancake through the lake of syrup on his plate. “Look, I’m not scared of her, but even if I was, it doesn’t matter. There’s not gonna be any girl-on-girl commiseration, because you’re not gonna say a damn word to her, we clear?”
Suddenly, I hear the roar of engines outside and Raphael smirks.
“Speak of the Devil, and she shall appear.”
I move to the window, pushing the curtains aside as four people in helmets kill their engines and climb off their bikes.
I watch intently as they walk toward the house, three of them dutifully following behind the other in lock-step, barely even reacting as Hades and Charon let out brief warning-barks as they trot out toward the door.
“Boys, heel,” Preacher rumbles.
Three loud knocks shake the house as I follow behind him, excited to meet the woman who’s got his brother so completely twisted up at just the mention of her.
Preacher opens the door just in time for me to catch the curtain of dark hair that falls over her face as she removes her helmet. She has a scar over her milky left eye, and an aquiline nose. The patch on her beaten leather vest says FOUNDER, but none of that is what really catches my attention.
It’s something about the color of her right eye.
Still the same, piercing blue.
“Wren?”
Just like mine.
She stares right back, perplexed for a moment before her entire expression shifts.
“The fuck’s goin’ on?” Raphael asks, waltzing out of the kitchen. “You two know each other already?”
I turn, just about ready to shoot some barb back at him before suddenly I’m reeling, a brutal hit to the side of my head sending me stumbling backward. I’m on my ass before the commotion even starts, everyone shouting, the dogs growling and barking, but she follows me down, hitting me again.
“You bitch!”
And again.
“Wren, stop!”
I try to shield my face with my forearms, but only manage to let out a howl as she grabs my injured hand and digs her nails into the still healing wound.
“You fucking left me in that house to rot!”
She gets in close, striking me across the face hard enough to knock me flat, straddling me between her legs and prepping for another strike.
“That’s enough!” Preacher bellows.
The next thing I know the two brothers are hauling her backward as she snarls, still raging like a beast.
“Calm the fuck down, Wren!” Raphael shouts, slamming her up against the wall. “The fuck’s gotten into you?!”
It looks like her men had been surprisingly well behaved during our scuffle, but they’re starting to look a little nervous, one of them slowly reaching for his gun as Preacher takes a step forward.
“I’d rethink that move, fellas. I promise you we don’t want any trouble, but remember that you’re in my home.”
The men share a pensive look, but thankfully Wren gives them a signal to stand down before things get out of hand.
“You knew?” She pushes Raphael off of her, shoving him another time for good measure. “You knew she was fucking here for— god, how the fuck long has she even been here?”
“Wren, I had no idea you two even knew each other until five seconds ago. What the hell is going on?”
“That’s my sister,” she spits, pacing back and forth on the spot.
“Your— are you fucking kidding me?”
The last thing I saw when I left that house in the dead of night was Wren staring down from her bedroom window.
“You told me your last name was Monroe,” Raphael mutters, sliding a hand through his hair. “This one’s I.D. said Winter, so what the fuck’s going on?”
I can feel myself almost crack up. Some Like It Hot was her favorite movie growing up.
“After our daddy went to prison, I wasn’t going to be the daughter of a fucking pedophile. I’m not a victim.” She turns to face me, her words full of venom. “But more importantly, I didn’t want to be associated with her, or my cunt mother who let him—”
She starts to shake, her knuckles bone-white in her clenched fists. There are tears in her eyes, and I’m hit with a strange pang in my chest that begins to ache.
Is that guilt? It’s been so long since I’ve felt anything like it.
Wren and I were never really close— we got along, sure, and she knew some of my dirty little secrets, but any chance of a sisterly bond was fractured early-on by our family's overabundance of secrets and lies.
“I created a whole new me: new name, new personality, new family. All you have to know is that Wren Winter is long dead.”
Raphael grips his head with both hands, his mouth hung open in disbelief.
“I can’t believe this is happening to me,” he whispers, taking a step backward. “This explains so much, there’s fucking two of you.”
“Alright, that’s enough,” Preacher snarls. “If you ladies need to hash some shit out—”
“We can do that later,” Wren snaps back, the leather of her jacket whining as she folds her arms over her chest. “Right now I want to know why the hell I’m here.”
“You didn’t tell her?”
Preacher’s staring at his brother incredulously. I didn’t think he could look more annoyed than he did a moment ago, but here we are.
“You want me to air all our dirty laundry over an unsecured line? I fucking told her she’d get everything she needed to know when she got here.”
Preacher blows out a breath, tipping his head up toward the ceiling.
“Alright, you three in the kitchen. Wren, your boys can wait outside.”
“My men should—”
“Your men will be just fine outside,” Preacher growls. “You know we’re not going to try anything, and they can come in when we’re done.”
She takes a moment, stuck halfway between frustration and smoldering rage, but manages to regain her composure.
“Fine, but you’d better have some damn good whiskey in that kitchen.”
“Little early for that, isn’t it?”
She flashes him a death glare and he raises his hands, chuckling softly.
The three of us follow him into the kitchen, sitting awkwardly at the table while he fills four mugs with piping hot coffee and a splash of whiskey each before taking a seat.
He’s all business, as though a cop on our trail is nothing more than an inconvenience, but something about his demeanor tells me this whole thing’s made him more than a little unsettled.
I wrap my hands around the scalding mug, savoring the way the burning sensation takes my mind off the last few hectic minutes.
“Alright,” Preacher murmurs, locking eyes with Wren from across the table. “You know this ranch has got a hell of a lot of secrets, ones that need protecting.”
“You mean the cannibalism, or just the murder?” Wren asks dryly. “You can say it out loud, I’m not a fucking toddler.”
“I just want to make sure you understand—”
Her chair grinds against the tile floor as she leans closer across the table, not shying away from his steely gaze for even a second.
“How much?” Her eyes flick to Raphael, giving him a look. “Someone was very vague about payment.”
Preacher sighs.
“How’s ten grand?”
“Ten?” She scoffs. “That’s chump change, try again.”
Raphael lets out a disgruntled groan, putting his head in his hands.
“Christ, Wren. Ten is—”
Her head whips in his direction.
“Excuse me, asshole. You’re not the one I’m negotiating with right now, so unless you want to take charge and get absolutely fucking fleeced—”
“Hey, you know all the money goes through me, how about you show me some respect!”
“God, do you even listen to yourself? It was always money money money, and you’re still just as obsessed with it as you were the day I walked out on your ass.“
I might be wrong, but for the briefest of moments there’s a look in his eye that says Raphael might not hate her quite as much as he likes to let on.
“Wren, be reasonable, you can’t just—”
“Do you remember what you said back then? You kept telling me on the phone you wanted to make things right. Well guess what, it’s time to make them right, and pay me.”
“Ten grand is—”
“How’s fifteen sound?”
Preacher’s voice cuts straight through the argument, and I watch Raph deflate as Wren lets out the slightest snort.
“At least one of you is reasonable. I accept, obviously contingent on what exactly you’re asking for not being fucking insane. Fair?”
He nods.
“Let’s get down to it then. There’s a cop on our ass, knows things he shouldn’t, but not enough to really hurt us. Yet. Plan is to lure him out and take him, but he’s got some hefty connections, and in case he decides to bring a few friends… well, there’s power in numbers, ain’t there?”
“Who’s the cop?” Wren asks.
“Justin McKinney,” Raphael replies, grabbing his phone and showing her a picture. You wouldn’t know him, he—”
“I’ve tangled with him before,” Wren replies curtly, not even looking his way.
“Tangled with him?” Raphael asks, shooting her a look of disbelief. “You fuck him?”
Wren’s face twists up in disgust and her gaze grows steely.
“Did you somehow manage to get even more stupid after I left?”
“Alright, ignoring Raph’s… colorful commentary, how do you know him?”
It’s honestly a little funny watching Preacher try his best to keep shifting the conversation back to business; it seems like a near-impossible task with these two in the room. I can’t imagine what the marriage was like.
“Nothing big. Picked up a couple of my men who were trafficking heroin from Calgary to Swift Current, something like two years ago if I remember right. They offered him a cut to keep his trap shut. Little surprised how quick he took it.”
“Lines up with what we found,” Raphael mutters. “Good to know he’s consistent.”
“And what about Adonis Murphy, you know him?” Preacher asks.
“The Biker? Gang banger, sex trafficker, dealer…” She frowns. “And he’s dangerous as hell, too, why’re you asking?”
“Because right now, that’s who officer McKinney’s playing fetch for.”
“It’s never simple with you Blackthorne boys, is it?” Wren chuckles, shaking her head as she leans back in her chair. “Let me make a call.”