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We slam into the Wolfingtons’ trailer so hard we leave the screen door hanging by a hinge. I’m on edge and ready to destroy whoever is fucking stupid enough to put their hands on Ruby. I haven’t slept since she’s been hurt.
Her attack sent me into a dark, deep tailspin, questioning why I couldn’t protect her. My daily nightmare come to life. I’ve barely been able to entertain the what-ifs of what could have happened that night.
What if she was hurt? What if she was taken from me?
Never. I’ll never allow anything to happen to her.
Lionel Wolfington’s in the living room, sitting in his recliner, wearing only his underwear. The cigarette drops from his mouth as we come in blazing.
Clyde bolts for the kitchen.
“Aw, man, don’t be rude.” Whip-quick, ready to go immediate Old West on these morons, Wyatt grabs the back of Clyde’s neck and slams him up against the wood-paneled wall. “You’re leaving when we just got here.”
I scan my eyes around the trailer where they grow their shitty shotgun weed. It reeks of piss and cigarette smoke. Beer cans litter the linoleum. There’s a fridge in the living room.
Adrenaline hammering in my veins, I step in front of Lionel. Davis slides in next to me. Ford hangs back, arms crossed. Our typical MO ever since we were kids fighting in the cornfields.
“What the fuck, Charlie?” Lionel snarls, picking up the cigarette he dropped. “Don’t you got enough problems on that ranch of yours?”
Clyde laughs, looks at Ford. “Talking about you, man.”
Ford flips him the middle finger.
I kick the footrest of Lionel’s recliner, snapping him into a sitting position. Adrenaline, rage hammer in my veins. Davis gives me a look to cool it, but I ignore him. This is Ruby we’re talking about, our brother. Fuck letting this go.
“I got problems, now you got problems,” I assure Lionel grimly. I lean in, resting my hands on the armrests, trying to keep a lid on my anger. “You wanna tell me where you were three nights ago when my brother got the shit kicked out of him and my girl was attacked?”
Lionel chuckles. “Someone got the jump on Wyatt’s ass?” He settles back in the recliner, a smug look on his face. “Good for them.”
Wyatt, still pinning Clyde to the wall, glares. “Man, fuck you. You ain’t gonna be laughing when Charlie puts your ass through the window.” Then he glares at Davis. “Told you. They’re too stupid to get the jump on us.”
“Man, is this an interrogation or what?” Clyde moans, his voice muffled from Wyatt’s face plant against the wall. “I’ve already been to the slammer this year. I can’t have another delinquency on my record.”
“Talk,” I demand of Lionel. “Because you’re this close to getting the beating of your life. Where were you?”
To my surprise, Lionel’s face colors and he averts his gaze.
“Spill it,” Davis orders. “Charlie isn’t feeling so nice right now. His girl got hurt, and I’m half tempted to let him kick the shit out of you for answers.”
A long silence, then ...
“We were in Billings. At the craft show.”
The edges of Wyatt’s lips twitch. We all stare at Lionel as if he’s just admitted to first-degree murder.
Ford makes a sound of disgust. “We’re gonna believe him?”
“Why would he admit that?” Wyatt argues.
Lionel shifts in his recliner. “Why would we attack Wyatt? We got beef at the bar, nowhere else.”
“Even with Sheena going around saying that bullshit about Wyatt?” Ford asks.
Lionel lets out a cackle of laughter. “Man, that is water under the bridge. We knew the next day that Wyatt didn’t touch our crazy cousin.”
Wyatt’s confused eyes flick to mine.
“Then who the fuck cut her hair?” Davis asks impatiently.
