Chapter 30 Dolly
DOLLY
The thin black dress keeps riding up to the bottom of my ass cheeks, making me feel like I’m naked in public.
I shiver in the November air. The long sleeves aren’t doing anything to warm me up, considering the fabric is almost sheer.
Goose bumps prickle over my thighs. I cross my black cowboy boots under the bar in an attempt to appear casual, wishing I were anywhere but here.
The Sundance Pavilion is a massive outdoor venue with a stage, multiple bar tops, food trucks surrounding it, and twinkling lights hanging from the large oak trees it’s built around.
Tonight’s crowd isn’t one I usually see here when I come to country concerts like Monroe Blue’s, considering the band playing is heavy metal.
The patrons milling about are mostly leather vest-wearing biker gangs, couples who smell like cigarettes, and every divorced dad in the county who owns a Harley-Davidson.
It’s the kind of crowd Cain probably would’ve felt right at home with. I shudder at the thought.
My brothers are all here—I know that, even though I can’t see them. I’m not supposed to leave the main area, not until someone approaches me who could be the guy sending the threatening letters.
Sam is here, too, planted somewhere with a gun.
I wish I knew where so I could see his broad shoulders or feel his hand on my hip.
He stood by in silence while they made the plan, resting his eyes on me and clenching his jaw each time one of my brothers mentioned me needing to be alone to attract the stalker.
Holden thinks it’s the only way we’ll ever find the guy.
He could mess with me for years, and our lives can’t go back to normal until he’s caught.
Even Cash flew home to help. He even brought a mic with a wire for me to wear, with earpieces for all the guys.
They can hear everything I’m saying and anyone who gets within two feet of me.
With him here, it makes it five against one.
Sam is like one of the guys, and they fully trust him.
I can’t think about Sam right now.
My thighs might start shaking from muscle memory. Or I’ll start crying because I’m so pathetic that I gave my virginity to my childhood crush who will never see me as a potential romantic partner.
Either way, I can’t think about Sam.
I crack my knuckles, steeling myself to focus on the people around me.
You’re a spy. Like a hot CIA spy in a thriller novel. You’re a badass bitch.
I feel so many eyes on me. I know half of them are all my bodyguards, and the other half are the pervy old men here without a date.
“Can I get you a refill, sweetheart?” The bartender approaches me. She’s a leathery woman with kind brown eyes.
“You know what? Yes, I would love another one. Maybe a double this time?”
She nods. I’m drinking Jack and Diet Coke with maraschino cherries because it felt pretentious to order wine in a crowd like this. A man approaches from my left. The strength of his cologne assaults my nostrils. I sneeze before bracing myself to turn and face him.
He smirks at me, one golden tooth on the side of his two front teeth. He’s fairly young and muscular, with a shaved head and tattoos on his shoulders.
“What’s a little doll like you doing here, all alone?”
“Um, who says I’m alone?”
Oh no. I shouldn’t have said that.
I’m terrified. His grin widens; apparently, he’s hoping I am. He has a massive spider tattoo covering the front of his neck.
“I’m not afraid of a little competition. Although, if I were your boyfriend, I would not leave you alone here, dressed like that.” His eyes travel down over the tiny low-cut dress Rosie swore wasn’t actually lingerie.
You can see my black bra and panties through it, so I’m not sure I believe her.
“Yeah, um … maybe I’m single,” I hear myself say.
I have no idea how to flirt with men—that much is crystal clear. I feel my cheeks heat, knowing Sam can hear me mumbling like an idiot. The bartender returns with my drink, eyeing the newcomer with distrust.
“What do you want?”
“Fireball shots, three of them.”
That’s when I notice the man behind him. He’s shorter and bald, and they’re both wearing the same black leather vests with skull symbols on the right side. I swallow over the lump in my throat when the bartender returns with the shots.
“Put her stuff on my tab,” Spider Tattoo says, tossing two one-hundred-dollar bills on the bar top.
Great, dirty money.
He hands me one of the shot glasses. I’m really not supposed to overdo it with alcohol, considering my heart defects and the medication I take daily. My liver is already strained, and my blood pressure can get too high if I drink too much.
But tonight, I’m playing a part.
I’m usually Dolly Redford with the heart defects and the sexual trauma.
I’m Dolly Redford whose brother went to prison to save me from getting raped and the consequences are still haunting my family to this day.
Tonight, that changes.
Tonight, I’m Dolly to the rescue. I’m putting this fucked-up situation in the rearview and resolving it once and for all.
I’ll do anything to catch this motherfucker haunting my family and me so I can move on.
I’ve been scared to date ever since it happened, scared to move out, scared of my own damn shadow.
Not anymore.
I pick up the shot glass, level the guy with a stare, and clink our shot glasses together. “To Cain.”
He looks confused.
Not him.
I swallow the shot, letting it burn down my throat.
He does the same, shaking his head. “Who’s Cain?”
“My boyfriend. Oh, look. It’s time for me to meet up with him. See you later. Thanks for the drink.”
I grab my Jack and Diet Coke and bolt, moving quickly through the growing crowd and hoping he doesn’t follow me.
I make it to another bar, posting up and hoping that the guys can all still see me.
I adjust the hem of my dress, which has ridden up again, looking around in hopes that Spider Tattoo didn’t follow me.
It happens again.
I get approached by a guy; he buys me a shot, and I toast him, saying, “To Cain,” and he gets this confused look on his face. Then I bolt.
When I get to the next bar, I’m starting to feel the alcohol hit me. I sway, gripping the bar top to steady myself. The crowd is getting thicker. I feel slightly nauseous from all the straight liquor, so I ask the bartender for a Sprite to settle my stomach.
He’s a younger guy with a Mohawk and a tank top that looks like it’s made out of black fishnet stockings. He hands me the Sprite on ice with a lime wedge. I take a slow sip, closing my eyes and wondering if I should just text Holden and tell him I want to be done for the night.
I look down at the bar top, tracing a divot in the epoxy with my fingernail. I had acrylics put on with Rosie today. She wanted to get an update on Sam. I told her what happened between us. She listened without judgment, nodding along at all the right times.
Tears prick my eyes when I think about how much I love my best friend.
Oh shit. I’m drunk. This means I’m drunk.
I feel a presence to my right. I exhale slowly before turning to look, praying it’s one of my brothers to my rescue. Instead, I see Ben.
“Hey, beautiful. What are you up to? Didn’t know you were into heavy metal.”
I lean into him, so grateful to have a familiar face. “Hey. Oh wow. Crazy seeing you here. Um, yeah. My mom loved it so I came just to feel close to her, I guess.” I can hear myself slurring my words.
He wraps his arm around my shoulders. “You know, I’m glad you’re here alone because we never finished that conversation we started.” He turns to the bartender. “Can we get a round of shots?”
The bartender serves us two shots of clear liquid. I wish it was just water. Ben hands me mine and clinks our glasses together.
“To Cain,” I say out of habit before tossing the liquid back over my lips.
I forget to gauge his reaction to the name because I’m too busy focusing on not throwing up everything in my stomach. I grab the lime off my Sprite and suck on it to chase the alcohol.
He starts to steer me away from the bar. “We should go somewhere else to talk.”
I go with him because I really need to get away from the cigarette smoke floating around this crowd and the unbearably loud metal music.
We’re only a few feet away from the exit when I feel Ben being jerked away from me suddenly.
I lose my balance, nearly collapsing into the dirt when the familiar scent of pine wraps around me, along with strong, supportive arms.
I peer up into the ocean-blue eyes that have been filling my dreams.
“Sam?”
He scoops me up into his arms, and my muscles relax. He’s like my human security blanket. I wrap my arms around his neck, nuzzling him.
“Your haircut is sexy, and you smell so good, Sammy. So, so good.”
Then my world goes black.
I’m slipping in and out of consciousness, but I’m aware of being inside a moving vehicle and one of my brothers shouting.
Is that Sterling? He sounds pissed.
No, it’s Duke.
Ahh, it might be Cash. Cash talks like that when he’s mad.
The moving vehicle is jerking me all around, but there’s still a warm body holding me close and smelling like pine needles and whiskey. My heart beats like a drum, but it’s too fast and uneven.
“Mmm, Sammy. You’re so sexy. I want you to tie me up again.” I’m rambling.
Am I dreaming?
When the car swerves, nausea overwhelms me, causing me to vomit. I empty my stomach on the floorboards, the thick smell of stomach acid making me feel even sicker.
“Shh, shh, baby. You’re okay,” I feel him whisper into my hair.
I wrap my arms around him tighter, holding on to him for dear life.
The shouting of a voice I don’t recognize, along with bright, fluorescent lights burning my eyes, make me jerk awake. I scream for Sam.
When I don’t feel him holding me close anymore, I scream louder, crying and begging for them to find him. My heart is tripping inside my chest. I know I need to calm down. I can feel it beating in a way that isn’t right. It’s too fast and uneven. It’s faster than it’s ever been.
I cry harder, thrashing around as I’m whipped through the air. I feel like I’m floating in the clouds in a windstorm. I don’t know where I am. No one around me sounds or smells familiar.
Maybe I’m dying. I won’t get to see Birdie and Bonnie grow up.
At least I won’t die a virgin. Maybe Sam will miss me when I’m gone.
Maybe it was fated to be. Maybe the Redford women are just cursed to die too young.