“I’m not gonna say it again, Jeeves,” I barked. “Go. Get. Him.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Bradford,” the servant sputtered as he draped the fluffy white afghan over her shoulders. His hands were shaking. After she thanked him, he said, “I told Mr. Dawson the family wasn’t receiving any more visitors today.”
“And I told you, I don’t need to see ‘the family.’” I sliced a glance at Shannon who’d swaddled her upper body wholesale. “I’m looking for Mead. His office said he’d be here. If he’s not available, Sears’ll do.”
She shivered. “But you still haven’t told me what this is about.”
As if on cue, Mead strolled onto the porch, his hands balled in the pockets of an expensive-looking suit. Malice gleamed in his blue eyes. “Well, so the Butcher Boy is a party crasher.”
“What was the plan, Bradford?” I marched right over to him. “Stir up so much hate that folks go rogue and run me and mine out of town?”
Shannon appeared at my side glaring daggers at Mead. Pink blotches stained her cheeks. “What’ve you done now?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.” Mead flashed a palm and took a step back. “I’ve no idea what this nut is ranting about.”
I gave a bitter chuckle. “Unfrickenbelievable—a lying politician. It wasn’t enough that you and your daddy are keeping Cholly’s club in limbo. Or that your cronies told Jerome Dillon he wouldn’t get that contract if he hired me—”
“Seriously?” Shannon gaped at Mead in genuine surprise, if not horror. “I knew you were a reptile, but this…this is—my God. What is wrong with you?”
He pressed his hand to his chest. “Wrong with me? Hey, I’m innocent here!”
“Bullshit!” I growled. “Now the town’s following your lead. Not only did they vandalize my sister’s salon, they desecrated my mama’s grave.”
Color drained from Shannon’s pink cheeks.
“That’s right.” I gave my head a sharp nod. “Somebody tossed a bunch of dog shit on my mama’s cemetery plot. Pissed on it too. Then they spray painted MOTHER OF SATAN on her headstone in red. Wrote somethin’ similar on Bev’s nail salon.”
“Oh, my God,” Shannon wheezed behind her hand.
Mead’s face deadpanned. “What does any of this have to do with me?”
“You and your daddy are the puppet masters, that’s what. Y’all were plotting and scheming even before I left the joint, and this is the fallout.”
Mead whistled soft and slow. “Looks like we can add paranoid delusions to your growing list of mental issues.”
“Paranoid? Naw. Try awakened.” I eyed him up and down, contempt churning in my stomach. “I answered a ton of local want ads months before I got out, but everybody turned me down, including folks who used to support me. Now I know why.”
“You give us too much credit, Dawson.”
Shannon’s narrowed eyes sharpened on Mead. “Did you do it or not?”
“No,” he said with an arrogant shrug. “But we’re not the only ones who want him gone.”
“You lying snake.” I fought with my temper and barely won. “Folks wonder why prison reform doesn’t work. It’s ‘cause of assholes like you. A con can get trained and certified up the yin yang, but when he gets out, he’s gotta deal with you fuckers. What’s your endgame, Bradford?”
Mead looked bored. “Again, I haven’t a clue what you’re—”
“Damn it, you’re hurting innocent people,” I insisted. “Cholly’s only working at Fontana Exxon while his daddy recuperates from hip surgery. Now, thanks to you, the old man’s business is suffering. But that wasn’t enough. You had to go and attack The Slam Dunk before it even got off the ground.”
“You have my deepest sympathy,” Mead said, his hand pressed against the place where a heart should’ve been. “But I still fail to see what any of this has to do with me or my family.”
I closed my eyes and counted to five. Once I found the right words, I spoke with icy calm. “If you steal a man’s dreams, destroy his livelihood, attack his friends and family—then prevent him from protecting the weakest of them, what’s he got left?” I paused and lifted a brow. “Hope. That’s what.” Sidling closer, I narrowed my eyes. “But what happens when you take hope away?” I tilted my head. “I’d say that man is now a dangerous foe. ‘Cause he’s got nothin’ left to lose.”
Mead’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Are you threatening me?”
“What do you think?”
“Okay, that’s it.” Shannon stepped between us, arms spread, her narrowed eyes flicking back and forth. The throw hit the porch. Given our heated words, she probably didn’t need it anymore. “Please, let me try and sort everything out,” she said, searching my face. “I promise, I’ll get to the bottom of this.”
“Shannon to the rescue again,” Mead chimed in using a mock sports announcer’s voice.
I considered her pleading expression, then Mead’s cocky smile. What she planned to do, I wasn’t sure, but if I didn’t leave, I was seconds away from ripping the bastard’s throat open.
With a scowl, I tossed my hands. “I’m out of here.”
“Wait!” She grabbed my sleeve. “I need to speak with you.”
Been there. Done that.
I wrenched my arm away and kept walking.
Mead chuckled. “Ah, look. A lover’s spat. Well, at least this saves you from becoming his whore like your mom.”
I rounded just in time to see Shannon slap the shit out of her cousin.
“Fuck!” Mead roared.
He cupped the pink welt blooming across his cheek, and immediately raised a hand to her, but I was already on him. All I could see was red, hellfire and brimstone red. I grabbed the worm’s arm, twisted it behind his back, wedging it there. Tightening my grip, I forced Mead to his knees.
“Stop it!”
Somehow, Shannon’s voice doused the firestorm in my head. I blinked past the red haze, shoved the asshole away, and ran a shaky hand over my jaw. A swanky-looking woman with a narrow face rushed to the mayor’s side. Hesta Bradford clung to Sears in the doorway as a police siren wailed from afar.
I went for my bike. Shannon and I exchanged a look. Sadness filled her eyes. Well, whatever. She’d made her feelings clear at her office, so we had nothing to say to each other.
“That’s the authorities,” Sears announced, his silver brows forming a bushy V. “You may as well wait on them, Mr. Dawson because they’re coming for you.”
Mead smirked while he nursed his shoulder. “Oh, now you’ve done it.” A dark gleam made his eyes sparkle. “You’ll be sleeping in Gainstown tonight, you murdering piece of trash.”
“No, he won’t,” Shannon said, her voice firm, then for my ears alone, she whispered, “Take the back road.” Her expression held a strange combination of fear, resolve, and reassurance. “It’s going to be okay. Trust me.”
SHANNON
____________________________
Percussion drums and classical violins thundered through the walls when I slipped into The Slam Dunk hours later. I shrugged my hood off and made my way down a long corridor that reeked of sawdust and paint. It fed into a large open area, the first of three dance floors, which is where I found Trace—doing his own version of‘The Angry Dance’ to the frenzied beat of David Garrett’s“The 5th.”
Shirtless and sweaty, he wore nothing but a pair of distressed jeans and black sneakers. His considerable height had no effect on his grace and agility. Neither had the last decade. If anything, the years had refined his talent.
I watched him do a running dive, roll twice, then push himself into a one-armed handstand. He bounced to the beat, balancing his weight on his palm. From there, he jackknifed up and took a flying leap across the dance floor. Once he landed, he executed a dizzying series of grand pirouettes, only to slip into a circular moonwalk after Michael Jackson’s “Morphine” crushed the ending notes of Garrett’s feverish violin.