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“Yes, I do.”
Absently, she nods, still twisting the beads in her hand.
Maybe I’ve said too much? Pushed her too far? But damn, it had to be said.
When she finally speaks again, her voice is strong and unbroken. Whatever emotion I saw—real or an act—has been brushed aside, replaced with her usual bluster. “In that case, I think there’s something I should tell you—something I can help you with.”
“Okay?” The knot in my gut pulls tighter.
Do I trust her?
Fuck no. But that doesn’t mean I don’t need her—or at least, her merciless strategies.
“I know how to get rid of her parents.”
* * *
The faint smell of rotting garbage permeates the air, growing stronger the closer I get to the Hallmans’ trailer home. My nausea grows stronger too, my already twisted insides revolting against this decision.
I shouldn’t be here. Not after the promise I made to Lacy. Not when things between us are finally coming together.
But what other choice do I have?
I can’t pretend these vipers aren’t slithering around, waiting for their moment to strike. And I sure as hell won’t leave my pregnant woman to deal with the aftermath of a mess she didn’t create.
When Mama told me what she’d done—how she’d offered Arlene and Otis money to leave town with Lacy—I just about lost my mind.
Of all her schemes and dirty deals, this one takes the cake. Not because of how utterly ruthless it was of her, but because I’m the one she stabbed in the back.
Me. The person who held her up when Clay left home. The one who kept her abreast of all the lies Pa told. The guy who helped push his own brother out of the way… The only one who knows her deepest, darkest secrets.
And after I’d already talked with her, made my position clear, and she’d already agreed to leave well enough alone.
Still, as furious as I am, I can’t say I don’t understand.
She believes in family first, which most would agree is a positive and honorable motto. Except Mama’s lost sight of the meaning.
For her, it’s become more about the perception of family rather than the reality. She believes it’s her duty in life to make us look good. To keep up appearances and continue elevating the family name in society.
She wants us next to God.
Hell, she’dmakethe Kincaides all gods if she could. Nothing but the best will do for her children. But only if she’s controlling things behind the scenes.
I just wish she understood I’d rather be happy than simply appear to be. What’s the point in having it all if it makes you fucking miserable in the end?
So here I am, at the threshold of what feels a little like hell on earth, about to make a deal with these snakes. Only, in this scenario, I might be the one who’s the devil.
With the brim of my hat pulled low and my hands in tight fists, I rap my knuckles against the trailer door.
For a moment there’s only silence. I’m about to knock again when the sounds of panicked scrambling and hushed shouts of anger reach me.
They argue briefly about whether to answer, and then more vigorously over which one of them will do it.
I’m ready to break the damn door down when finally, a frenzied-looking woman answers. Arlene.
Stringy hair, glassy eyes, and arms covered in scabs and scars. She shifts from foot to foot, twitching as though performing some freakish sort of dance.
If her addiction were any more obvious, she’d be carrying a sign.
