Chapter Eleven
Rue
The new meds were making me slow. Not just my body, but my mind too. All my thoughts felt like they were steeped in molasses. The same went for my limbs.
All the extra effort just to get through my daily tasks—and think straight doing so—was making me the bone-deep kind of tired that no extra sleep seemed capable of fixing.
Traeger watched me with furrowed brows and insisted on making me endless coffees and doing all the heavy lifting at the shop.
As sweet as it was, having more downtime only let my mind travel. With how thick and sticky the thoughts were, it meant all I focused on was the upcoming delivery. And, of course, the fact that I hadn’t heard from Kylo since the whole panic attack thing.
I’d like to say I wasn’t expecting him to.
But some part of me was hoping he might reach out, ask if I was okay, or maybe stop into the shop for more plants.
As pathetic as it was, I just wanted to see him again. I wanted that little hookup and his sweet caretaking of me to mean something.
Obviously, he just wasn’t interested.
He had just been a nice guy.
Then once I was gone, he probably went with a less complicated girl. Apparently, women ran around the house he partially lived in topless. In front of everyone. I couldn’t compete with that kind of extroversion and ease.
“Can I ask you something?” Traeg asked as he handed me yet another coffee. I shouldn’t have taken it. My nerves were jangling. And the worst part of every month was upon me. Still, I took a long swig, hoping it might chase away the exhaustion.
“Sure.”
“I want it to be clear this is coming from a place of love and support.”
Uh-oh.
This wasn’t the first time I’d heard this speech.
“Okay.”
“Are you sure it’s just the adjustment period for your new meds that’s putting you in a funk?
” he asked. “I’m just asking because I was really depressed in high school, back when I was coming to terms with coming out and not being accepted by my grandparents and one of my uncles.
And this just reminds me more of my actual depression than the meds I used to curb it. ”
That wasn’t an invalid concern.
My history of depression showed a cycle.
First, pressure. From the pressure, came the anxiety.
As the anxiety progressed, the panic started.
Then as the panic seemed to be taking over my life, I started to feel hopeless.
Life got bleak and small until I was completely without any motivation to even get out of bed in the morning.
I was clearly just barely holding on through the panic stage. And with the way my thoughts had been going the past few days, it did seem like depression was circling around me, threatening to close in.
That said, I did have to give the new meds at least a few weeks to see if they were working. The hint of depression I was feeling could potentially just be my body adjusting.
“I see what you’re seeing too,” I said. “I think I do need to give the meds some time before I jump to any conclusions, though. But I appreciate the concern. And if you see any signs that you think things are getting worse, I would also appreciate another call-out.”
Traeger nodded at that. “I know we have danced around the topic in the past.”
Right.
When I’d been a bit delirious with exhaustion after we’d had a pipe leak and had to stay up for ages trying to sop up the water, rip up the floors and pull out the walls, so we could put new ones down. And I’d casually mentioned my ‘slippy sock vacation.’
Traeger had the grace not to bring it up again when I didn’t.
“I just want to make sure it doesn’t go that far again,” he added.
“Trust me, me either. So I’m really happy that you’re calling me out.”
“Not out. In. I’m calling you in. And asking you to let me in, if that is what you need.”
“God, you are wise beyond your years,” I said, walking over to give him a quick hug. “Thanks, Traeg. It’s really good to be seen. Even if what you are seeing isn’t the prettiest right now.”
“You have never been anything but absolutely stunning,” he insisted.
“Thank you. Now, git. You have friends waiting for you.”
“I’m going. I’m going. Are you sure you don’t want help closing up?”
“Positive.”
The last thing I wanted was for him to get tangled up in the awful web I was hopelessly wrapped up in.
By my best estimate, I only had about forty-five minutes before the truck showed up. After that, the cars and SUVs would arrive. And the men who would spill out.
Even just thinking about it made the coffee I’d just sipped threaten to come back up again.
“Alright. I’m going. Don’t work too late, okay? Get extra rest while you’re adjusting.”
“That is the plan,” I agreed.
It was the one reason I was relatively sure it wasn’t depression I was dealing with. Not yet anyway. Because when I was in a depression, I could barely force myself out of bed. Right now, I could barely sleep. I would just lay there, staring at the ceiling, overthinking.
That said, once this delivery was over with, I would hopefully be able to level out again. At least for the next couple of weeks.
Then it would start all over again. Unless the new medicine worked a miracle.
I watched Traeger get into his car and back out of the lot.
Then I chugged the rest of the coffee so I felt alive enough to finish cleaning up the store for the day.
Then I saw the headlights.
Dread seized my stomach and weighted my legs.
I was pinned to the spot, unable to move, to think, to do anything but feel my heart gallop in my chest.
Maybe if I stayed inside, they would leave me alone.
I used to care about the plants that came in, not wanting them to be manhandled, knowing how rare and precious some of them were. I carefully tended to them so the men wouldn’t throw them around or step on them.
But if I just said ‘screw it’ and stayed inside, would they just… handle their business and move on?
They didn’t need me to get their boxes full of contraband. If anything, wasn’t my presence a hindrance? Didn’t they want to conduct their illegal activities without a witness?
I flipped back through my previous interactions with these men, trying to remember if they’d ever said something about me needing to meet the delivery truck.
I couldn’t think of anything.
Besides, I couldn’t move anyway.
So I stayed behind the counter, heart hammering, icy sweat sliding down my spine.
I watched the truck pull in.
Then two SUVs.
And, finally, the fancy sports car that belonged to the leader of this little crew.
I watched him climb out, his head swiveling around.
His name was Marco, and he was maybe five-ten with short-cropped black hair, a somewhat forgettable oval face, dark eyes, and a fit build. He wasn’t bulky, but fit. When he lifted a hand to wave at someone, I could see his biceps stretch the material of his tight black tee.
His mouth opened, speaking to someone, and I saw the way his brows scrunched before he moved out of my line of sight.
I gulped in a breath and started to count, hoping it might be meditative. I even let my eyes slide shut.
“The fuck you think you’re doing?” a voice barked, making my heart lurch and my body jolt.
My eyes flew open, and there he was.
Marco.
Swaggering toward me, his jaw tight.
“What?” I asked, voice raspy, my mouth bone dry.
“The fuck you doing in here? Get your ass out to the truck.”
“I, uh, they can just throw the plants out,” I said.
“Oh, so you’re the boss now, huh? Making decisions.”
“No, I—”
There was a chill in his tone. He took down the temperature in the room by ten degrees. A shiver racked my system as he drew closer still.
“No is right. Get your fucking ass out here,” he demanded, grabbing my wrist and yanking me from behind the desk.
His fingers crushed my wrist, and a small yelp escaped me.
That sound only seemed to motivate Marco as he widened his stride, basically pulling me along with him through the store. I had to jog to keep up and ease the ache on my wrist.
He released me to open the door, but the darkness in his eyes dared me to try to resist again. Or even so much as hesitate.
So I did what I had to do.
I walked outside.
Marco loomed behind me.
Seeing us approach, the other men fell silent.
“Good news, guys,” Marco called, his voice making my shoulders inch up to my ears. “You get to kick back. Rue here is gonna unload the shit tonight.”
My heart stuttered, then seemed to freeze in my chest.
They wanted me to touch the cargo?
“Get to work. We got places to be,” Marco said, giving me a slight shove.
“I don’t—” I started to object.
“Move the fucking shit. Out of the truck. Into the SUVs. Ain’t fucking rocket science. Get the fuck moving.”
There were half a dozen men standing around, each and every one of them larger than me.
I had no choice.
I moved toward the back of the truck, stepping up on the half-raised lift gate, then moving into the back.
It was hot and humid inside as I went over to the boxes to remove the plants—some in pots, others just wrapped bare roots. I went to the edge of the truck and carefully dropped them onto the grass to the side of the truck.
Back and forth, over and over.
The adrenaline fought through the fog I’d been living in, allowing me to keep going, keep shuffling boxes, and moving plants.
“Ain’t got all night,” Marco called. “Fuck, go make me a coffee,” he said to someone else. Then, again to me, “The fuck?”
“I can’t lift them,” I admitted after trying for the third time.
Marco moved into the opening, the moon overhead casting him mostly in shadow, giving him an even more sinister look.
“No? Then I guess you’re gonna have to take them out and carry them one by one then.”
As he turned to talk to one of his men, I saw metal glint off the moonlight. He had a gun in the waistband of his jeans.
He was not going to let me screw around for much longer.
I had to touch the contraband.
The guns.
I had to touch the guns.
There was no way he was going to let me get gloves first. And I had no sleeves to pull down over my hands.
I was going to leave fingerprints.
Fingerprints on illegal guns.
If these guns ended up found after some sort of crime, the police would find my prints on them.
My stomach wobbled as I tried to find a way to gather them without leaving a direct imprint on the shiny metal.
I pinched with my fingertips when I could, grabbing the attached material straps on the big guns that I’d only ever seen in action movies before.
I did one trip to the SUV, eyes peeled on the road, terrified that someone might pass by and see me openly handling weapons.
Yes, this was Florida. But still. I would find it odd to see someone carrying armfuls of guns in the dark of night. Maybe enough even to call the non-emergency police line.
I dumped two loads into one SUV until one of the men slammed the trunk behind me, making me jump.
The next SUV wasn’t as clean as the first.
I lucked out by finding several long store receipts. I tucked them into my pockets then used them to pick up the rest of the guns for the remaining trips.
As I passed, the men leered, laughed, said things about how Marco and the rest of them could punish me for not behaving.
The worst part?
Marco laughed.
My stomach lurched.
My mind, no longer sluggish, raced with ways to avoid an assault.
I remembered one woman saying to act crazy.
Though, I didn’t imagine that would stop this crew.
Another said to be disgusting. Throw up, pee yourself.
With the way the bile was rising up my throat, I was pretty sure I could manage that.
I could try to run.
Get in my car.
Lock myself in Traeger’s shed.
But how would that help?
They would know right where to find me.
They would be back in a month.
I was so lost in my horrible thoughts that I didn’t realize I’d moved the last of the guns until I went back into the truck to find all the boxes empty.
I wasn’t sure what to do then.
So I hopped down and gathered as many of my plants as I could at once, clutching them to my chest, breathing in the earthy scent of the dirt.
“That’s it,” I said to Marco, then turned and walked toward my greenhouse on shaky legs.
I wasn’t sure I breathed again until I heard the truck door slam, then car doors followed, and, finally, engines roared to life.
I turned, watching the head and tail lights.
But still I didn’t move.
Not for what felt like an hour.
Only then did I put down the plants, deciding they would just have to wait until the following day to get taken care of, and made my way back toward the shop.
I pulled the door open.
Then a small sob escaped me as I stepped inside.
Because damn near every plant had been knocked off their tables and shelves. The gorgeous pottery that Traeger had so lovingly created was in shards on the floor, some even smashed to dust under someone’s heel.
A sob caught in my throat as I looked at my shop, realizing maybe for the first time just how terrible these men were.
Because I’d been playing along.
And they still decided to punish me.
I wasn’t stupid.
This was just the beginning.
It was only going to get worse from here.
What was stopping Marco from framing me? Maybe he would force me to put a print on a gun. Then he could do something awful with it and hold that over my head. He had already threatened my grandmother.
And, in the end, it was my name on those imports.
I was as guilty as they were in the eyes of the law.
I moved through the store, my stomach in knots as I realized Ernest wasn’t in his usual place in the bed.
“Ernest?” I called, voice shaky. “Erny, baby, where are you?”
I moved behind the desk.
Nothing.
The kitchen?
No sign of him.
“Ern?” I called, voice borderline hysterical as I yanked open the bathroom, then the hallway closet.
He was nowhere.
Had they taken him?
Would they be that evil?
Tears were flooding my eyes as I ran through the shop, rushing toward the front door, praying he was just hiding somewhere.
I was just about to shove the door when it yanked open instead.
And there was Kylo.
With a very confused Ernest in his arms.
Then, well, I just lost it.