Chapter Three
Bix didn’t know if she was doing the right thing or not. Normally, she had a pretty fair sense of what to do, based on gut
reactions. She always trusted her gut. Hell, a woman in her position had to. But this guy was a giant red flag. Wrapped in a uniform. He was everything
she didn’t like. He was a big strong man who was also a cop.
She wanted nothing to do with him, and yet he was offering her something she wanted very badly.
She wanted to be warm. She wanted to be clean. She wanted to be full. And the idea of work. A real job that paid an hourly
wage, that maybe would get her a little bit further than trying to get the moonshine made and sold before she headed south...
Well, the problem was he’d found the still. So, her plan to get some product made and sold to finance her trip was fucked
anyway. She wasn’t sure about taking the work, but she knew she might as well have the dinner.
She knew a moment of feeling quite miserable as she followed him through the forest. They came out the edge, and there was
his cop car.
“Get in,” he said.
She went toward the back seat.
“Up here,” he said, gesturing to the passenger door.
She frowned. “Wow. Never ridden in the front of one of these before.”
She opened up the door and slid inside, and only then did she realize that she’d betrayed more of herself than she meant to.
“Ridden in the back, though?” he asked when he got in beside her.
“I plead the Fifth.”
“So yes,” he said.
“No, I’m just exercising my constitutional rights.”
“A word to the wise, Bix. Anything you say can be used against you, but what you don’t say will form opinions.”
“Aren’t you just a six-foot-four-inch magic eight ball.”
“Shake me and find out.”
She snorted. She knew that she smelled like sweat, and the earth, the trees. She knew a moment of embarrassment sitting next
to him. All clean and well pressed in this uniform. He was muscular, broad shouldered. His jaw was square, like an old-fashioned
Hollywood movie star. His nose was straight, and his lips looked like they might even be appealing if he ever smiled.
He was flat out handsome . She didn’t normally waste time pondering the handsomeness of men.
Threat or not a threat , that was all she needed to know about men. And whether they were handsome-shaped or not didn’t inform that assessment.
Neither did him being a cop.
She’d rather take her chances with a convict, generally speaking.
Depending on what they were convicted of.
Cops were just government-funded mafia in her estimation and she’d do well to remember that.
She rested her elbow on the door’s armrest, and the rest of her chin on her fist. She winced. She had forgotten that she had
a scab there. She couldn’t even remember now how she’d done it. But it just added to that feeling of inadequacy. He owned
a ranch. He was someone who had things. She wondered what his family was like. They must be wonderful. They must have pushed
him to have dreams. To have goals.
Goals other than being a shady criminal.
She shoved that to the side. There was no earthly point in feeling sorry for herself. It wasn’t useful. Not in the least.
It only took a couple of minutes for them to turn off the paved road and onto a dirt driveway.
“This is Four Corners Ranch,” he said. “It’s been owned by four ranching families since the late eighteen hundreds. My family
is one of them.”
Elitist. Inherited wealth. He would have no idea what it was like to have inherited nothing but poverty and a sketchy relationship
to morality.
“Interesting,” she said.
She was not interested.
They rolled up to the farmhouse some five minutes later. It was idyllic. Lovely. Two stories with a wide front porch. There were trucks parked out front, and she had the feeling that there was a whole mess of people inside.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d hung out in a group. Well, a group where they weren’t making moonshine.
“You all right?”
She wasn’t sure how she felt about him being intuitive to her mood. Maybe intuition hadn’t been required. Maybe her discomfort
was obvious and she’d just so profoundly forgotten how to be around another human.
She’d thought any feelings she had about people judging her had vanished a long time ago. But the idea of going in there...
to see his family, who were probably all as clean and beautiful as he was, looking like a raccoon that had just been dumped
out of a garbage bin was a hit she didn’t think her pride could take.
He’d already looked and seen something was wrong. So, she might as well just swallow said pride now and ask for what she wanted.
“Is there...? Can I have the shower before we see anyone else?”
His face relaxed, and the pity she saw there was wounding. She didn’t like to be pitied. But right now, she was a bit pitiful,
it had to be said. So maybe she just had to own it. Take what she could get.
Raccoons from garbage cans couldn’t afford to be choosers. Or something.
“Let’s drive over to my place. I thought that you would maybe want a little more security... you know, to not be alone
with me.”
“To your point,” she said. “You had a gun on you this whole time.”
“True.”
He pulled slowly away from the farmhouse and drove her farther down the dirt drive. “I got my own place just down here. Denver
lives in the farmhouse, but the rest of us live on the property.”
“Denver is?”
“My oldest brother.”
“Oh. How many siblings do you have?” She wasn’t really used to making small talk.
“Three brothers and one sister.”
“That’s a lot of siblings.”
“It is. How many siblings do you have?”
She snorted. “No fucking idea. I’ve got bros in different area codes.” She stared at him as if she expected him to react to
that. “Anyway, I’ve got one half brother that I lived with and know pretty well. But I can’t actually be sure how much seed
my dad has sowed out there.”
“Well. In total fairness, I suppose I could have some half siblings out there.”
She looked at him, frowning. “Really?”
“I don’t really know what my parents are up to either.”
She sat with that, uncomfortably. Because he did not seem like the type to have wayward parents.
He seemed like the type to have it all together.
Especially given the way that he talked about the family all being together for dinner.
Her family had eaten together sometimes. Usually chili out of a can on a TV tray.
He’d successfully surprised her with the revelation that his family might not be normal.
“Do you smoke?” Since he was going to be a whole surprise and everything. She might as well see if she could get a little
nicotine out of the deal.
“No,” he said.
“Rats.”
They pulled up to the front of a neat-looking cabin. This looked like the kind of place he should live. It was woodsy and
clean. Respectable, but somehow rugged.
She was putting way too much thought into him.
“Why?” he asked.
“I don’t smoke either. Anymore. Because I can’t afford it. I would like a cigarette, though.”
“It’s bad for you,” he said.
She looked up at him, made sure to angle her face just right so he could see the scab under her chin. “Is there something
about me that says I’m all about living a superhealthy lifestyle?”
He gave her a dispassionate look, those intense blue eyes flickering over her. It made her feel vaguely uncomfortable.
“I don’t suppose.”
“Do I look like I’ve ever touched kale?”
“Can’t say as you do.”
“I don’t even know what kale is,” she said. “I’m a whole-ass mess.”
“Well now, you’re not that bad.”
She got out of the car. “Here for a good time, not a long time.”
“You don’t look like you’re here for a good time either, Bix. You look like you’ve been around for a hard time.”
“Rude,” she said.
But there was something about that that slid under her skin and made her feel fragile.
It had been a hard time.
Something about acknowledging that made her throat go all tight.
Wow. Suck it up, Bix.
There were plenty of people who had it way worse. There was a whole catalog of shit she hadn’t been through. And some she
had been. But whatever. That was life. She wasn’t born with a silver spoon in her mouth. Hell, she wasn’t even born with a
plastic spoon in her mouth. She didn’t take anything for granted; she couldn’t afford to. And she didn’t sit around feeling
sorry for herself, because she didn’t have that kind of time.
She sniffed and walked toward the front of the house. He moved up behind her, and unlocked the door.
She tried to keep from flinching. He was so close that she could feel the warmth emanating from his body.
He just smelled so good. He managed to smell like the pine trees, the dirt and the air, but it didn’t seem like lingering
poverty clinging to his skin.
It smelled fresh. Clean.
He threw his keys on the coffee table next to what looked like a very nice couch. It was a small place, but it was perfectly well ordered, just like the outside. And everything inside was in great condition. It was warm in there. She felt a stinging pressure at the back of her eyes, and she ignored it.
“Hang tight,” he said.
He disappeared down the hallway and returned with a black sweatshirt and a pair of black sweatpants. “These are going to be
a little big.”
She blinked up at him. If they were his, they were going to be more than a little big. But maybe they were his wife’s?
For some reason, she felt instantly bothered by the fact he might have a wife.
“These belong to some woman you fucked?”
She didn’t know why it came out like that. She didn’t know why she was being mean. He might actually be doing something kind
for her. But she couldn’t wrap her head around it. And so, she couldn’t accept it. And she sure as hell couldn’t be nice.
“No,” he said. “They’re mine. From police academy. But the drawstring on those pants cinches pretty tight.”
He led her down the hall and pointed toward the bathroom. “Here you go.”
He closed the door, and she locked it. She turned on the water, and just stood there for a full minute, not quite sure what
had happened. Not quite sure how this was how the day had gone. She took her sweatshirt off and her beanie came with it. Then
she took off her T-shirt, and her bra. She looked at herself in the mirror for a long time. She wished she hadn’t.
The woman standing in front of her was so thin that Bix hardly recognized her.
She could see her ribs; her stomach sank in pitifully. She looked at her breasts critically. They weren’t very big. And that was even more true with the weight that she’d lost.
Her face was thin and drawn. Pale. She took the rubber band out of her hair. Her hair was greasy, stringy. Dull.
She swallowed hard and turned on the shower, ran her hand under the water and found herself delighted by the warmth. She couldn’t
worry about how she looked when she had a hot shower to look forward to.
She slid her jeans off her hips and didn’t bother to look at herself again. She got into the shower, and she really did just
about cry. The water felt so good. So soothing. She had been cold down to her bones, and she just felt... dirty.
She swallowed at the lump in her throat. Her chest felt bruised. She knew it wasn’t because she had just looked at her skinny
chest in the mirror.
She lathered up the soap and ran it over her skin, then took her time washing her hair. She didn’t want the shower to end,
but she was hungry. And there was dinner on the other side of this. She got out of the shower and tugged on the sweatpants.
They had an elastic band down at the ankles, thankfully, or she would’ve been trailing fabric down beneath the bottoms of
her feet. As it was, it just bunched up there comically. She grabbed hold of the drawstring and pulled as tight as she possibly
could, cinching it up around her waist.
She could barely get them tight enough. She knotted the string ruthlessly. She lifted up the sweater, and she had to laugh. Because it literally said Police Academy on it. Of all the things. Her dad would have an absolute cow.
But her dad wasn’t here. This cop was here.
Of all the things.
She put the sweatshirt over her head and gloried in the feeling of the soft fabric against her bare skin. Gloried in the feeling
of being clean.
She gathered up her dirty clothes and stepped out of the bathroom.
“Do you have a washing machine?” she asked.
“Yeah. Do you have more clothes in your backpack?”
“Yes,” she said.
She was acutely aware of the fact that she was barefoot, with wet hair. There was something weird and intimate about it. She
didn’t especially like it. She wasn’t used to intimate .
“You can wash all your clothes if you want.”
“I... I would. Thanks. You don’t happen to have an extra pair of socks, do you?”
“I definitely do.”
Her shoes would still work, but clean socks would be amazing.
He explained where the laundry room was, and she followed his instructions to get there, dumping all of her clothes in the washing machine and starting the load. By the time she went back to the living area he was there with a pair of black socks. She sat down on the couch and pulled them over her feet, taking plea sure in the simple activity. She put her shoes on and wiggled her toes.
“You ready to go have dinner?”
“Sure,” she said.
It was like she’d washed some of the anger and suspicion off her skin. And she couldn’t say if that was a good thing or not.
In general, it wasn’t. She knew.
But this felt so good, and she felt mollified.
Safe.
“We can take my truck back over to the house. No reason to take the cop car.”
She climbed into the passenger seat beside him. “Are you married?” she asked.
He looked at her as he started the engine. “No. Does it look like a woman lives in that house?”
“I guess not,” she said.
She wouldn’t really know. That was the kind of thing people knew maybe when they had functional families in their background.
Somebody who could picture what a normal family home looked like. That certainly wasn’t her.
“Does your family know... that you’re bringing a...?” She could hardly call herself a guest.
Nor could she bring herself to say garbage raccoon out loud.
“Yeah. I texted them and let them know I was bringing over a new employee.”
“I didn’t say that I was going to take the job.”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
Everything in her rebelled against that. Everything in her wanted to have a fight.
How dare he? How dare he act like he knew what was good for her. What was best.
But the problem was, he had a point. She was all about survival. She was all about doing the practical thing.
“How much would you pay me an hour?”
He named a figure that made her eyebrows shoot up. It was like a dollar more than minimum wage.
“Really?”
“If you do good work, yes. I don’t see why not. Seems like you’re pretty handy, and I could use the help.”
“I...”
“So, what’s the holdup?”
“I want to know what the catch is.”
“There’s no catch. This is a big ranch, we employ a lot of people. We have work, you need work.”
“Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to get a job?”
“You have a criminal record, don’t you?”
“I...”
“Bix,” he said. “I’m going to do a background check on you when you give me your name so that I can put you on payroll. You
might as well just tell me.”
Well, fine. She knew when she was beaten. Pretending otherwise was an embarrassment she couldn’t bear.
“Yes,” she said. “Okay? I have a criminal record. And you... Can you imagine going into a job interview looking like I do most days? Nobody’s going to hire me. I look... I look like what I am. A street rat with too many misdemeanors under her belt to be a good bet.”
She didn’t know why she felt embarrassed or angry to say that to him. She wasn’t ashamed of herself. Not in general. She’d
been given a bad hand. She played those cards pretty admirably, she thought.
“Well, I don’t hire that way.”
“Why?” she asked, feeling the need to push him away. “You’re just... you’re just so nice?”
“No. I’m not nice. Don’t go assuming the best about me.”
“Wow. I thought cops were supposed to know how to read a room. You think that I’m assuming the best of you? I’m trying to
figure out what the hell is happening. I don’t actually think you’re nice. Because I don’t think anyone is nice. Not in a
way that isn’t entirely self-serving. And don’t be offended by that, that’s what I think about everybody.”
He snorted. “Noted. What is it you think I’m trying to get out of this?”
“On a good day I assume human trafficking. When I’m feeling a little bit more suspicious, I’m inclined toward ritual sacrifice.”
“Well shit, and I thought my cover was going to be blown when you saw the pentagram and the altar in the backyard.”
“I’m just warning you, whatever deity you try to send me to is probably going to send me back.”
She wrinkled her nose. And said nothing about the fact that she would at least be a virgin sacrifice. He didn’t need to know that. Nobody did. It wasn’t like she thought it made her good or anything. Nothing made her good.
It was only that it was something that belonged to her. Something that the wretched dregs of the world hadn’t managed to steal.
No shitty guy in a tiny apartment, or a dilapidated trailer, had talked her into letting him in her pants for five minutes
in exchange for weed or shelter or whatever. She had decided a long time ago she’d rather sleep rough if need be. Again, not
because of any kind of moral high ground. It was stubbornness.
The need to have some say over her own life. Her own body.
She’d had a couple guys try to get handsy, and one of them had ended up with a pocketknife through the fleshy part of his
hand. Little bitch had cried. And couldn’t do a thing about it. Because if he’d tried to go whining to the police it wouldn’t
have gone well for him either.
She wasn’t lying to Daughtry, though. She really didn’t believe anyone did a damn thing out of the goodness of their heart.
It was all to serve some greater good for themselves. Or to feed demons inside of them. She wondered which it was for him.
Demons. That was what her gut told her.
She didn’t know why.
“Am I your grand atonement for something?” she asked.
He turned to look at her, one eyebrow raised. “If you were?”
“Lousy pick, dude. But it doesn’t matter to me. I just like things to make sense.”
“Come on now, you can’t be under the impression that the world is actually inclined to make sense.”
She huffed. “Well no. Not really. I know better than that. But I would like to know what manner of sacrifice I actually am.
And on what altar? Because that’s the bottom line, Sheriff. There’s always something.”
“My dad was a piece of shit,” he said. “And the truth is, if you had rolled up on the ranch back when he was in charge? I
don’t know what he would’ve done. But it wouldn’t have been helping you. Sometimes living in opposition to what you were raised
to be is the best you can do.”
Those words settled down beneath her skin. Twisted around inside of her. She didn’t like them. Not especially. They made her
uncomfortable. Because she hadn’t done that. Not even a little. She had lived exactly along the lines of what you would expect
somebody with her background to live.
She had followed in her dad’s footsteps.
But right and wrong were pretty elastic concepts as long as you weren’t hurting anybody. That was what she’d always been raised
to believe.
You had to look out for yourself because nobody else was going to.
They just weren’t.
She couldn’t have any kind of sympathy for another person if she didn’t have her own survival sorted out.
“Well. That makes me feel better,” she said.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t trust in random acts of kindness. They just aren’t real. Not to me. Not in my life.”
He made a noncommittal grunting sound, and just then they pulled up to the front of that farmhouse.
At least now she felt human, even if she did look like a small child dressed in clothes that were too big for her.
“My oldest brother is Denver, then there’s Justice. Landry will be there with his wife, Fia. They have a daughter named Lila.
My sister, Arizona, is there with her husband, Micah, and their son, Daniel. Rue is my brother Justice’s best friend. And
that’s the crew.”
“I’m not going to be able to remember that,” she said.
“Yeah. But I figured you might want to know exactly what you’re getting. And... just so you know, they’re not quite as
civilized as I am.”
She snorted. “I’m not as civilized as you are, Sheriff. I should fit right in.”