Chapter 4
Sundays used to be my favorite day of the week.
I’d get to put on one of my pretty dresses and sit in the front pew.
Everyone treated me like I was a princess.
Well, in Crimson Valley, being the daughter of a preacher was pretty much the same thing.
Here, they love their bibles as much as they love the sins they commit in the Lord’s name.
I stopped going after my momma died. Didn’t quite see the point. Then Hawk and his momma started coming around for Sunday dinners. With a little coaxing, Miss Riley got me into that front row pew again. But I agreed on one condition. No more pretty dresses.
I didn’t feel like putting in the effort. Besides, my tits were growing faster than my prefrontal cortex, and I didn’t like the way the older men were starting to look at me.
Years later, I decided that the sexual attention was exactly what I needed. And for a while, you couldn’t say whore without saying Cherry Bradley in the same sentence.
Things got really bad when the whispers started about me and Hawk. That’s when my daddy started locking me in my room at night. He called me the devil’s temptress, accusing me of making Hawk sinful. Like he ain’t in control of his own dick or something.
Truth is we were both guilty of some fucked up shit. The kind of carnal deviancy that they make documentaries about. Fornication is a sin, Cherry. Even I can’t protect you from going to hell. But I won’t let you take that young man with you.
And that was the second moment that made me realize that religion is a joke, God doesn’t exist, and I’m going to fornicate with whoever I want. And I did. With half his congregation.
There’s something extra sinful about getting fingered by the newest clergyman in the sacristy behind the chapel while my daddy was mid-sermon. I came when the choir sang, loud and feral.
On the nights my daddy forgot to lock my door, I’d pad down the hall to Hawk’s room, barefoot in a T-shirt with no panties.
I’d slide into bed next to him, careful not to wake him up.
But he was never asleep. He’d make me play with my pussy while telling him all the ways I’d let other men touch me.
It was humiliating. But the more wrong it felt, the harder I came.
One night, I thought for sure he was going to lose control and join in.
I could literally feel him shaking the whole bed as he fought with himself.
But he never caved. And eventually, I stopped sneaking in.
That was when he started to pay more attention.
You don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone.
As I stand at the front door of my childhood home, I can’t help but think about how fucked up of a family we are. As a widower twice over, my daddy is no stranger to grief and loss. It’s truly a miracle that he still preaches the word of the Lord. I guess that’s all he really has left.
I should visit more. I know this. But the toxic energy of this house suffocates me.
Even now, all these years later. I keep telling myself I’m a grown woman and no one can scold me anymore.
But here I am once again under Hawk’s fucking command.
And all because I couldn’t keep my rage in check.
I’m at the mercy of men again. The only question is, do I want to be their saint or their whore this time?
There’s a split second I consider turning around, hopping back into my car, and driving away. Except, in this fantasy, I don’t go home. I keep going until the haystacks of Crimson Valley are nothing but a blip in my rearview mirror.
But where would I go? And what would I do? This town is all I know. These men are in my bones. They’d just track me down and drag my ass back anyway.
The door flies open. My daddy squares himself in the doorway, a kitchen towel over his shoulder. “You gonna stand on the porch all night, Cherinne?”
“No, sir. Hi. How are you?” I squeak out as I shift back and forth on my heeled leather boots. Are we ever fully grown in the presence of our parents?
He grins and shakes his head. “Supper’s almost ready. Head out back and play nice. Hawk and his buddies were decent enough to BBQ for your old man.”
I stick out my lower lip. “I’m always nice, daddy.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Don’t you sass me, young lady. I don’t care how old you are, I can still wipe that nasty look off your face. I dare you to try me.”
A chill snakes up my back. He’s only slapped me once. But I got the belt plenty. I definitely deserved it. But I’ll never forget the sting of his hand on my cheek. Mixed with the shame of what I said to him. Words I’ll never dare repeat. Not even in my own head.
I nod. “Yes, sir.” I scoot past him before I piss him off even more. It doesn’t take much to ruin his mood. And he always finds new ways to punish me. Last summer, he forbid his entire congregation from coming to the bar at all on Wednesdays.
He threatened them with the ire of the Lord. All because I had the audacity to set up a booth at the Followers of Christ’s fourth of July cookout. Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have put up the sign that said, Buy a beer, save a bible. But it was catchy.
He has told me explicitly that I’m only allowed at the county fairs and corn mazes where the derelicts and drunks hung out. But I said fuck that. I’m a grown woman. Blah, blah, blah. And I went to the cookout anyway.
He made Hal and all his buddies stay away from Level Up for three whole months. I felt that blow hard. Luckily, my landlord was nice enough to let me pay the space rental late a couple times without penalty.
So now I know better than to piss off Father Eli Bradley. This town is still his kingdom. Even though I’m not his little princess anymore.
The sliding door hinges to the side with a groan as the glass rubs against the rusted metal grates.
As promised, Hawk hangs over the BBQ pit, a slick coat of sweat covering him.
In just a tight white muscle tank and low slung jeans, he looks more like the pensive boy who once lived here than the lethal gangster he’s become.
He tends to several racks of ribs, drumsticks, and a row of meat and vegetable skewers.
I close my eyes for a second and take in the smoke, the scents of glazed meat cooking in the heat with notes of brown sugar, leather, apple cider vinegar, and pepper.
It brings me back. The nostalgia lodges in my throat. It hangs in the space between us.
My beautiful reverie breaks when I feel Omen and Scarrow’s gazes on me.
Fuck, I forgot about them. Omen is a towering wall of hard muscle in a light grey suit.
With no necktie, the first few buttons of his lavender silk shirt are undone.
With a beer in one hand, he makes a closed fist with the other, managing to look both relaxed and uptight at the same time.
Scarrow, on the contrary, is taking a page out of Hawk’s book.
In a fitted black T-shirt and baggy jeans, a trucker hat slightly tilted to the side, and a pair of bright orange designer sneakers, he looks like he’s lived in Crimson Valley his whole life.
Just fitting in perfectly with the rest of us white trash.
A little tingle stirs between my thighs when I let my gaze linger on his enormous biceps a little too long.
His tanned muscles are covered in tattoos from the wrist up, dipping inside the fabric of his short sleeves and then popping back out the top.
And they don’t stop until right underneath his jaw.
But as he briefly lifts his hat to the side, I notice that his ink extends past his hairline, circling his entire skull.
Fuck, he’s hot. All three of them are. And the way they look at me… Like I’m about to be served up on a plate next to some corn on the cob and glazed ribs… It makes my mouth water even more.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Scarrow drawls. He leans back in an old metal chair, careful not to let his jeans rub against its rusty legs.
I roll my eyes and head for the cooler. To my disappointment, it’s full of beer. No matter how many times I’ve suggested adding some ciders or wine for those of us who don’t like the taste of hops, he never listens. Shocker.
I sigh and retrieve the flask out of my purse. I wince as the first sip of gin rolls down my throat.
Omen chuckles. “Classy.”
I shrug. “If that’s supposed to be an insult, you’re hanging out with the wrong family.”
Hawk finally turns his head to look at me, gracing me with an acknowledgement. His gaze travels the length of my body. He takes in my high-heeled boots, tight shredded jeans, and faded band tee. “There’s a bottle of wine in the fridge inside. It’s the pink one.”
My heart flutters. He remembered. I chuckle. “You mean the rosé. Thanks.”
Scarrow pops up. “I’ll get it, princess. You want a fancy glass for it too?”
Why are they being so nice all of a sudden? I shake my head. “We don’t do fancy around here. Anything is fine.”
Omen stalks closer, towering over me. “Interesting.”
“What?” I feel a blush coming over my cheeks even though I have no idea what I’m supposed to be embarrassed about.
He leans down a bit and murmurs, “You’re so used to being treated like trash that you don’t expect anyone to treat you any other way.”
I swallow hard, the blush now turning into full blown heat stroke.
He chuckles and gets closer to my ear. “Yeah, I got you pegged. You’re dirty. No bark, all bite. Loves it from behind. No gag reflex either I bet.”
My mouth gapes open, and I can tell by the sloppy grin on his face that I’m beet fucking red. “You’re an asshole.”
He licks his lips before taking a sip of his beer, his smirk deepening. “But I’m not wrong.”
By the time Scarrow returns with a glass of rosé for me, I’ve already downed half of the gin in my flask. Hawk eyes me like I’m a bomb about to explode.