Chapter Fifteen
Ezra
M y clothes clung to me, sticky with humidity, as I walked to the weathered red barn concealing illegal drugs. Jake and his goon father would arrive any minute.
The key scraped against the new lock as I turned it.
Click.
I pulled the chains from the doors and opened them wide.
Two minutes later, my heat-heavy gaze focused on a beat-up Tacoma as it rumbled to a stop in front of the barn. Fred and Jake climbed out, their feet scuffing the dirt as they walked toward me.
I forgot how unkempt Fred was until he moved closer. He strolled into the barn-turned-pot-farm like he’d purchased the weed himself. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was a homeless man with his shaggy hair and rumpled clothes. How did this guy run a criminal business? He didn’t look like he could rub two pennies together. And how was he supposed to help me escape debt?
The sooner this meeting ended, the sooner I could forget that Fred was a part of this. My pulse increased as he snapped his fingers in front of my face.
“Yes?” I said through gritted teeth. This greasy man had better state his business and get out, or else I might escort him out myself. With force.
“I asked you a question, boy.”
Blood thumped through my veins, throbbing in my ears, keeping time with the displeasure in my pulse. Uncontrollable rage surged as Fred squinted at me, looking at me like I was a grade school yuppie.
He wasn’t supposed to be here. I should be working in a vineyard in the Smoky Mountain, not stuck on this doomed farm.
I slapped his fist away. “Get out of my face,” I said, my voice low and threatening.
Fred grinned with tobacco-stained teeth. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I asked you to show me what you got goin’ on here.”
I enjoyed looking down into his eyes from my two-inch high superiority. “Jake will show you around.” I wasn’t about to give Fred a tour like he was some high baller and I was his hick dope farmer.
Jake tried to direct Fred’s attention to the plants. Fred ignored him and grabbed my arm. “You show me,” he said, an evil tilt to his lips. He was trying to goad me.
I remained still. “You better get your hand off me.”
Fred didn’t move.
Jake froze. The sun shining through the open doors cast his shadow across the hay-strewn floor. He sensed the tension thicker than barn dust between Fred and me.
I twisted my arm until I clenched Fred’s wrist, and then I jerked until his hand was behind his back. The old man was surprisingly fast. He wrenched away, slammed the side of his fist against my temple, and kicked me in the knee.
I stumbled but didn’t fall. My chest heaved.
Without thinking, I reacted on impulse.
Fred shuffled back as I caught my balance. He was a few feet from me when I lowered my shoulder and ran.
My legs locked and my boots slid across the floor when I heard a gun cock. With waning momentum, I stopped a foot from the barrel of the pistol that Fred aimed at my chest.
Jake stood in the barn’s doorway. The shape of his shadow changed as his arms rose in a reflexive surrender. “Fred,” he said, neglecting to call the man with wild eyes his dad. “You know I can’t be around them things. I’ll get sent back to prison.”
Fred spat chew to the side. Dark tobacco dribbled from the corner of his mouth. “Shut up, Jake. This ain’t about you.”
Only my lips moved. “You didn’t have to bring a gun.”
Fred twitched his wrist, making the gun slide back and forth. One second he pointed it at my left shoulder, and the next at my right. “Didn’t I?”
I didn’t answer.
Fred shook his head like he was speaking to a petulant child. “You're like your old man.”
The words rattled me to my core. I was nothing like my father. Samuel King was a good man. I still held fast to the belief that he was innocent. I, consequently, was an abhorrent person. I hated the farm he had sweat and saved for, and I was, indeed, a criminal.
“You know why your old man’s rotting in prison?” Fred asked. “Not ’cause he’s a crook. No, I knew your daddy, and I know a lot of sinful men, but your daddy ain’t one of ’em. Your daddy wanted more money than he needed, and he didn’t stop when he should have. He couldn’t control himself. Looks like you can’t either.”
Everything he spewed out of his mouth was wrong. “Put the gun down, Fred.”
“Yeah, toss that thing outta here. You ain’t bringing it back in my truck. I will not—”
“Shut up, son,” Fred said. “Or I swear I’ll shoot you and force you to shut you up.”
No protests came from Jake. We all knew Fred wasn’t bluffing. He’d shoot his own son if it made him a buck.
“You wanna see the plants, Fred? Look around.”
He spat again. “This trip was never about the plants, little King.”
My muscles twitched. If he aimed the gun at anything but my chest, I’d wrench it from his grasp. “Then get out.”
Fred stepped closer. Maybe now was my chance. But I wasn’t sure I could snatch the gun before he shot me. His twitchy index finger hugged the trigger too tightly.
“I’m not leavin’,” he said. “Not until I do what I came here to do.”
He wanted me to ask him why he was here, but I wouldn’t.
“Good boy,” he said. “Do what you’re told.”
I recognized his taunt for what it was. “Speak or get out.” My words were tight and throaty.
Fred considered me. “I’m here because my guy in Atlanta wanted to make sure you understand the rules. You promised him a product and he expects his money. Understand?”
“I didn’t sign a contract. I don’t have—”
Before I could finish, Fred lunged at me. I angled back, trying to stay clear of the gun, but the weapon gave him a backbone. He sprung for me, smashing the butt of the pistol against my head, and then he stood watching as I wavered. I caught myself on a beam of wood as my vision blackened and then returned in hazy focus. Wet, hot liquid streamed from my temple. I squinted up at Fred, the coward.
He backpedaled when, bracing myself on the wood, I forced my knees to lock and stand. Fred was just out of reach again, the gun still pointed at me. Pretending to be the guy in charge, he said, “How much did you spend starting this operation?” He gestured around him.
I ground my teeth, hating that he had me under his control with that stupid gun. He’d shoot me if he felt threatened. I couldn’t reach him, and my head was throbbing.
Fred assessed the area. “This’ll be a decent batch of dope, and I doubt you got the means to move it without me. Where does that leave you?” He tipped the gun from my chest to the spot between my eyes. The barrel was an unblinking black hole. “It leaves you with no profit for your investment,” he continued. “You wanna make a few dollars? You need me, and you need the nice men in Atlanta. They may have invested nothing, but they’re still invested. You got it?”
If I fronted the money, then I had the most to lose. Not Fred or his mysterious men.
“I see what you’re thinking,” he said. “Let me put it this way. Now that we know about what you got here, we expect your cooperation. Otherwise, we’ll take the dope when it’s done. If you wanted to do this on your own, you shoulda kept it a secret. Think of us as managers. Either you give us our cut or we take it. Understand?”
If Jake wasn’t my only help, I’d fire him for putting me in this situation. Now we had thugs in Atlanta involved? On the same property where my mother lived. If anything happened to her . . .
My temple felt warm where Fred hit me. “Leave.”
“I gotta be sure you understand.”
I looked Fred in the eyes. “It doesn’t look like I have many choices.”
He lowered the gun. “Then I guess you understand.”
“Get out.”
Jake stepped toward me. I held up my hand. I didn’t wish to hear him apologize. He knew his old man was dirty, but he must have underestimated his criminal involvement. He wouldn’t be waving guns around and making threats for an organization that he wasn’t entangled in.
After they left, I slid to the barn floor with my skull throbbing and red dots dancing in my vision.
Anger swelled through me.
I sat on my knees, turned, and pounded my fist into the beam of wood I’d been leaning against. My knuckles were bruised, but the pain didn’t appease my fury.
I punched the wood again.
And again.
And again.
Streams of blood trickled into the webs of my fingers, then down my wrist. The color reminded me of wine. A spiderweb of blood radiated from my knuckles. Pink and red flesh covered the bones.
What had I backed myself into?
Marigold
Donner’s truck was a Godsend, but it was also older than a dinosaur. Nineteen-ninety-six wasn’t too old, but with all the parts needing replacement, it seemed ancient.
After Levi left for football practice, I climbed inside the cab and coasted down the mountain. I planned to visit the truck graveyard to scavenge for parts that might help me fix the window, not the AC, because fixing the window was cheaper than replacing the AC unit.
Not wishing to make the trek to the truck graveyard by myself—and unsure if it would be considered trespassing—I planned to start at Ezra’s house. We hadn’t seen each other since the day we spoke to Jackson, but I doubted he’d mind an impromptu visit.
A cow lowed as I ascended the porch steps and knocked on his door.
One minute passed. Then two.
I knocked again.
I heard the sound of footsteps, and then, “Mari?” The barrier between us muffled his voice.
“Sorry I didn’t text or call. Can we take a trip to the truck graveyard?”
“I must apologize,” he said, still keeping the door closed. “I came down with something.” A cough followed his words—one that definitely sounded forced and fake.
How stupid did he think I was? “What’s going on?”
Ignoring my question, he said, “I’m fine. Just have a little sniffle. I wouldn’t want you to catch it.”
I peeked through the frosted glass set high in the door. Nothing but the ceiling was visible. I crossed to the closest window and squinted inside. I could only see his leg from the thigh down, which was clothed in a pair of gym shorts. It looked like he sat in front of the door, blocking it.
“I can see you,” I said, tapping my knuckles against the glass.
“Please, Marigold. I can’t see you right now.”
“Why?” I watched him scramble to his feet, still mostly out of sight.
“I told you. I’m not well.”
Something wasn’t adding up. “You sound fine.”
“I know, but I’m ill.” He fake-coughed again.
Ezra’s charade was about as convincing as the nursery rhyme claiming a cow could jump over the moon. “I’m not stupid, Ezra King. I know you’re not sick. Open this door.”
What had caused me to be so bold? Ezra and I were mere acquaintances, but the fix-it part of me knew something was wrong, and I wanted to help him.
Taking a gamble, I marched forward and twisted the door handle.
Locked.
What if? I returned to the window and tugged upward. The pane slid until it hit the top of the runner. “You should invest in screens,” I said, climbing inside.
He angled his body away. “No, Marigold.”
“I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on.”
He held his palm up and kept his face to the side, watching me from the corner of his eyes. “I’ll tell you later. Please go.”
I pushed his hand aside and scurried to stand in front of him. The sight of him made me fall back into the wall. He caught my forearm to straighten me.
A red gash rimmed in green and yellow marred the left side of his face from above his eyebrow to below his cheekbone. Blood trickled from the center, down his cheek, and onto his white T-shirt. When he tried to shield himself from my perusal, I saw his hand. Raw flesh and oozing blood made the knuckles look almost unrecognizable.
“What happened to you?”
He dropped his arm and pretenses with a sigh. “You might as well come inside now that you’ve seen me.”
I followed him to the living room where bandages, gauze, ointments, and a bowl of murky water lined the coffee table.
I sank onto the couch beside him as he pulled a washcloth from the bowl and wiped the line of blood off his cheek.
When he didn’t say a word, I pressed him. “Tell me how this happened.”
He sighed but said nothing.
“Please,” I said.
He gave his head a little shake and then chuckled. “It was nothing. One of my workers arrived drunk this morning. I told him to go home.” He dipped the washcloth in the water and then wrung it out.
“Let me,” I said, taking the cloth.
He continued as I cleaned his brow, his temple, and his cheekbone. “I told the guy to go home. Driving to work under the influence could get him in trouble with his probation officer.”
When he didn’t continue, I asked, “So, what happened?”
He shrugged. “He was drunk and angry and threw a few punches.”
I tapped his wrist. “And you hit him back?”
“I tend to hit first and think later.”
Levi’s face was a bruised and molted mess the night I’d met him. It was Ezra’s fists that had done the damage then, too. I’d chosen to forget this darker part of my new friend, but this story couldn’t be true. Fists didn’t make indentations like the one on his face. Knuckles couldn’t become raw from hitting flesh.
My hand halted its ministrations as I considered his narrative. “Tell me what really happened,” I said.
Ezra leaned back into the cushions and groaned. “Mari, why do you have to be so infuriatingly, insightful, and devastatingly honest?”
I held my breath when he called me Mari . Why did I like that so much? Of course, he was flattering me to keep me from learning the truth. “I’m not an idiot.”
“No, my dear, you are not.”
“Will you continue ignoring my question?”
He leaned forward and set his elbows on his knees. “I acquired these battle scars by doing what’s best for my family and this farm. I won’t tell you anything else. Can you trust me?”
The answer was simple. “No.” If Levi hid his past as a musician from me, then I could only guess what secrets his enemy was hiding.
Surprised, he sat up and lifted his brows. “Your honesty hurts.”
“Trust is important, and you’re lying.”
He straightened. “Don’t attribute judgment before you know all the details. I understand I’m withholding certain aspects of my life from you, but there is a reason. If you can’t trust me, then I request you honor my privacy.”
I reared back. He had a right to his privacy. But this . . . these wounds were serious. Could I drop the matter without some form of explanation?
“I’m not judging you. But I don’t know you well enough to blindly trust either.”
His face hardened. “Is your hesitancy because of what Levi told you about me?”
Levi told me that Ezra was dangerous. Clearly he was right. But I couldn’t accept that Ezra was a murderer. “No. Levi has nothing to do with this.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
A drop of blood seeped from his temple and slid down his face. I caught it with the cloth. “Let me bandage this.”
He found a piece of gauze and tore a long strip of tape. “Do you have these items on hand all the time?” I secured the gauze to his face.
“I live on a farm. It’s smart to have first aid supplies handy.”
I felt the calluses on his hands as I used the cloth to clean his knuckles. He was avoiding the question. “Ezra, I’m not accusing you of anything, but I’d like to know that you’re safe. Fists didn’t cause these injuries.”
His shoulders eased as he sunk into the cushions. “Does that mean you care for me, Mari?”
“Of course I care.” The realization surprised us both.
His gaze met mine, his strong jaw covered in rugged stubble. The side that wasn’t bruised was handsome, his dark brown, almost black hair a mess from the path of his fingers.
He twisted his hand until he held my wrist. Water and blood from the cloth dripped onto the leather couch as we stared at each other.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
I ached to wipe the moisture away, but he still held me.
“How much?” he asked.
Our thighs grazed. His fingers warmed my wrist. The atmosphere in the room shifted.
I pulled my hand away, sensing his attraction.
A few days ago, Levi and I had kissed. I thought it was perfect, sweet, and loving, but then he broke away and pushed me out. I would not grow close to another man, especially when someone from my past could find me and whisk me home.
“I care for you as a friend,” I said, not wanting to complicate our relationship.
I could tell that he sensed my discomfort as he leaned back. “I’m sorry, Mari. I’m not myself.”
I looked around the space at the sleek flatscreen TV, the hardwood coffee table, and the black leather couch we sat on. Ezra and Levi couldn’t be more different.
“How are you?” he asked. “The last time I saw you was—”
“The day I lost control of my emotions. I remember. That’s not why I’m here. I came for a truck part.”
He squeezed his eyes closed and grimaced. “I can bring you in a few moments.”
Realizing how much pain he was in, I backtracked. “We’ll try another day.”
He reached for a bottle of pain medicine on the table. After swallowing the pills, he relaxed again. “Does Levi know about the police station?”
I hugged a decorative pillow to my stomach. Frustration over my lost memory, Levi’s confusing kiss, and the truck that wouldn’t stay fixed overwhelmed me. Why couldn’t one thing go right? “No.”
His voice sounded gentle. The awkward tension in the room had vanished. “Why?”
“Because there’s nothing to tell. I’m a nobody. And besides, I can’t let Levi know that I was with you. If I lost his friendship, I’d have nowhere to live.”
“Mari,” he said. “I don’t mean to sound impulsive or crass, but you’re always welcome here. In my home.”
I didn’t respond.
“And as far as you being a nobody, that’s not true. You are very much a somebody , and I hope to get to know you better. As friends, of course,” he added.
My eyes misted, but I didn’t cry. Or maybe I did because in the next second, his bloodied hand wiped a tear from my cheek, and at that moment, his violence became tenderness. He was a combination of passion and pain, anger and beauty.
Ezra set his hand back in his lap and watched me.
He didn’t understand the buzz in my head that roved my consciousness for a memory, a speck of who I was. He couldn’t know how my chest sometimes felt empty, devoid of the fullness I should have for people and places. Yet, in that moment, he had eased the hurt.
I looked at his oozing knuckles. Regardless of what he hid from me, Ezra was a good man.
I could learn his secrets later.