Chapter Six #3
Cassie set her mug down a little harder than she meant to. “I’m not a little kid anymore, Ollie. Don’t decide what I can and can’t handle.”
He gave a short laugh, shaking his head. “’Course you’re not—ain’t sure there’s anything you can’t handle.” The humor faded, replaced with a long sigh. “I didn’t mean nothin’ by it, Cas. It’s just…it’s about Con. And the Kings.
“They got their hands in everything that moves through these hills,” he went on, rubbing the back of his neck, like he wasn’t sure how much to say.
“It’s worse now—Nash expanded. I’ve seen Silver Demons cuts comin’ and goin’ through the ridge…
“—you know who they are, don’t you?”
Even if she hadn’t grown up immersed in biker culture, she’d still know the Silver Demons.
Everybody did. They were outlaw royalty, one of the big one-percent clubs that made headlines wherever they went—highway shootouts, bars burned to the ground, concerts that ended in riots, funerals where patched men lined up by the thousands.
She’d heard stories—how they’d gone toe-to-toe with the Italians once and left the mob limping for years after.
“The Demons run guns, drugs, probably women,” Ollie said, his voice hardening. “And now they’re in these hills. You really think fentanyl just shows up here by accident? You think Nash, of all people, isn’t in on it?”
Cassie knew the Kings weren’t saints. Back in Maverick’s day, they’d run chop shops out of their garages, stripping parts or swapping VINs and reselling whole.
Maverick kept stills tucked in the holler—probably Nash’s now.
There’d been a greenhouse up there too, packed with marijuana plants under grow lamps.
But that was Ridge business. Everybody’s uncle or cousin had a still; homegrown weed was just part of life.
And sure, stronger stuff turned up now and then—ecstasy, coke, whatever someone pulled out at a party. But it had never felt organized.
And it sure as hell hadn’t been fentanyl.
“You know I already went after Nash,” she said quietly, “Screamed in his face. Took a bat to his bar—”
“You took a bat to the bar?” Ollie grinned. “Hell, I’d’ve paid good money to see that—”
She cut him off sharply. “Do you really think they’re running drugs? That Nash just stood by and let Connor…die?”
Nash flashed in her mind, asleep at the ruined bar, clutching Connor’s colors.
Ollie's grin fell away. “I can’t say for certain. But what I do know is they’re well aware of everything movin’ through their territory.”
Cassie rubbed at her temples, an ache building behind her eyes. She didn’t know what to do with any of this—Ollie’s accusations, what Connor had gotten tangled up in, what the Kings might’ve become without Maverick at the helm.
Tap, tap. Tap, tap.
Cassie turned to the window. Two young women stood just outside, hollow-eyed and shifting from foot to foot. Their hair was greasy, their clothes dirty and wrong for the heat—one in a knitted beanie and threadbare hoodie, the other in torn jeans and several oversized flannels buttoned crooked.
“Prime examples of what half the county looks like,” Ollie muttered, already pushing up from the table. “Gimme a sec.”
Cassie turned in her seat, watching as he stepped outside, the women rushing to meet him halfway.
“Need a top-off, Cas?”
Violet had returned with the coffee pot.
Following Cassie’s gaze to the window, where Ollie lingered with the two women, she let out a knowing hum.
“Lotta that these days. Do yourself a favor and don’t be wanderin’ after dark.
Folks like that, they ain’t bad—just real desperate.
The Rooster’s been broken into a few times. ”
Cassie didn’t answer. Her eyes stayed locked on the window, on their hollowed-out faces. Then came the image of her brother, unrecognizable in the morgue, rising sharp and fast until she could barely draw breath.
“Um, thanks for the coffee,” she mumbled, rising from her seat.
“Okay, well, maybe stop back and see me if you like…” Violet called after her. “It was…really great seein’ you…”
Cassie gave a vague wave, already pushing through the door.
Outside, Ollie had pulled out his wallet, slipping bills into the women’s waiting hands.
Turning away, she was practically jogging down the walk, because if she stopped, or slowed, even for a second, it would all come spilling out in front of whoever happened to be looking.
“Hey, Cas—wait up!” Ollie’s footfalls pounded the pavement behind her.
Cursing under her breath, she reluctantly slowed; Ollie reached her side, a little winded. “You okay?”
“Just a headache,” she muttered, not looking at him, nails biting into her palm.
“All right, well…lemme walk you to your car."
“You know they’ve got a display up at the school now,” he continued casually. “Trophy case an’ all. Con’s pictures are in it—football mostly, but a couple from Pee Wee too. I was thinkin’ some of those might be good for…you know…for the funeral.”
Her steps faltered. Funeral. She blinked fast, but the blur rose up anyway. A goddamn casket. A pointless sermon. The last of her family lowered into the ground and covered with dirt, never to be seen again. She forced her nails deeper into her palm, anything to keep the tears from breaking loose.
“I…” She cleared her throat, words sticking. “That’s—yeah. That’s a good idea. Just…not right now.”
“Sure, yeah—’course not,” he rushed to say, tripping over his own voice. “Just let me know if I can help…with anything.”
She nodded blindly, tears welling despite her refusal to let them fall. “Thanks, Ollie,” she gritted out softly.
By the time they reached her car, Cassie’s hands shook as she dug through her bag, the keys slipping once, twice, before she clawed them free.
“You sure you’re all right to drive?” he asked quietly.
“I’m fine.” It came out a ragged whisper, as she yanked the door open and slid behind the wheel with a slam. Ignition. Gas. The tires squealed as she flew down the street, pushing well over the speed limit.
Only when she cleared the edge of town did she swing hard into a narrow pull-off and throw the car into park. Gripping the wheel with both hands, she dropped her forehead against it. The first tear fell before she could stop it, and then there was no stopping anything—
She saw her daddy’s strong, broad body turning gray and concave, every breath a wet rattle. And then her mama’s soft humming fading away, her glittering green eyes gone blank, cigarette after cigarette burning down to ash between shaking fingers. And now Connor—
Cassie’s hands slipped from the wheel, falling limp to her lap.
Connor’s wide grin rose in her mind only to warp, twisting the blue-tinged lips she’d seen on the morgue table, his skin stretched tight over bone, blurred with the twitching, hollow-eyed women outside the diner—begging and desperate. Wasting away in plain sight.
She was the last Berry on the mountain now.