It’s shitty that I’m going to spring this on him before he goes on his two-week romantic getaway with my mother. But unfortunately, I can’t wait that long. Not if I don’t want history to repeat itself in regards to Scar and my mother. I need to protect them, and this is the only way I know how.
“Easton? What’s wrong? You didn’t come here to talk about Scarlett, did you, son?”
“No. That’s not why I’m here. This is,” I say and throw the menacing black envelope with The Society crest on top of his desk. “I need your help, Dad. I fucked up.”
I watch the girls laugh it up over their pumpkin pie while the four of us are huddled around the kitchen island having a beer. It warms my heart to see how Stone and Kennedy have welcomed my girl into the fold with open arms. Not that I expected anything less from them. I knew they would fall in love with Scarlett just as hard and fast as I did. Having Thanksgiving with my friends and the love of my life was the exact reprieve I needed. But while I’m living on a high, some of us look downright pissed at the world.
“The fuck is going on, Colt? You look like someone just pissed in your cereal.” I question, tired of his brooding face.
He throws me his middle finger, his deep scowl never wavering.
“East is right. You have been extra arctic today. Care to share what’s on your mind, cuz?”
Colt takes a swig of his beer, gazing at the girls to make sure they don’t overhear whatever he’s about to tell us.
“Betty Lee Travis called me last night.”
This fucker.
“You’re in a mood because you got a booty call from the sheriff’s wife? Jesus, just grow a pair and send her packing. She should be riding her husband’s dick instead of yours anyway.” I scoff.
“I haven’t fucked Betty Lee in months, asshole. She didn’t call me for sex. Actually, she did, but that’s beside the point. She wanted to give me the heads up that the sheriff is going to pay you a visit.” He directs the statement over at his cousin.
“When?”
“After the holiday, I think.”
“Who gives a fuck about when? Why is more important.” Finn growls, but then he lowers his voice when Stone’s attention shifts away from whatever the girls are talking about to focus on us.
“Everything okay over there, quarterback?”
Finn just nods repeatedly, hoping it’s enough to cast off her suspicion. When she goes back to her conversation with Scar and Ken, the relieved exhale Finn lets out is felt by all of us.
“I thought you told your woman everything,” I tease him, ruffling his blond hair.
He slaps my hand away.
“I do, okay? But as you can see, we’ve got company.” He hints, tilting his head over at Scar and Ken.
“Point taken.”
“Are you two about done already? This is serious,” Colt grumbles, pulling at his dark locks in aggravation, anxious to tell us why the sheriff is coming to see Lincoln. When he feels he has our full attention, he lays it on us. And when I say lay, what I really mean is that with just four words, the fucker sucker-punches us in the gut so hard, I think I might throw up Kennedy’s delicious Thanksgiving dinner all over the kitchen floor. “They found the gun.”
Fuck. Fuck! FUCK!
“How?” Lincoln asks, completely in control of his emotions while the rest of us are silently losing our minds.
“It seems it was used in a murder on Halloween. The ballistics just matched it to the bullets that killed Uncle Crawford and Aunt Sierra.”
“That’s impossible,” I rebuke, not believing my ears.
“I’m just telling you what Betty Lee told me last night, word for word.”
“Fuck. How could this happen?”
“I have no fucking clue. All I know is that some kid from the Southside got his hands on the gun somehow and used it to blow his father’s brains out Halloween night.”
“Jesus, that gun is cursed,” Finn whispers beside me. “I mean, what are the odds of it being used twice in patricide?”
“Apparently, quite high in Asheville,” I quip back sarcastically.
“You got a name for this kid?” Lincoln questions, his practical mind always at work.
“Chase Dixon.”
Fuck.
“Is he in jail?” I ask, concerned, a sick feeling churning my stomach.
“No, it was considered a case of self-defense,” Colt replies.
“Why? Do you know him, East?” Lincoln asks, seeing the answer to that question plainly written on my face.
“Yeah, I know the kid. He works at my mechanic’s shop over on the Southside. I invited him to the Halloween party that night. He must have somehow found the wretched thing when he was here.”
“You might as well have given him the gun then,” Colt grunts.
“Colt, we can play the blame game later. Tell me what else the sheriff knows,” Lincoln interjects to bring his attention back to the bigger picture at hand.
“He thinks the gun is the first solid lead he’s gotten in months in regards to cracking the case on your parents’ murders. Betty Lee says that he believes that a Southside gang must be behind the killing. They are questioning everyone they feel could be a person of interest.”
“Okay. Whatever surfaces from his investigation, we’ll deal with it as it comes,” Lincoln states assuredly.
“You mean like we’ve dealt with everything else? Who’s to say The Society isn’t behind this?” Finn retorts, not as comfortable with Lincoln’s take on the problem.
“You’re right. We don’t. What we do know is there is a kid living on the Southside that might have found the gun when he came over to my house on Halloween night. Let’s deal with that problem first,” Lincoln orders, his pale blue eyes piercing my silver ones with his not-so-subtle command.
“I’ll be sure to pay him a visit, then. Along with a big fat Richfield check, that is.”
“Consider it written,” Lincoln clips, not even batting an eye at my idea of bribing Chase to keep quiet.
“East,” Scarlett calls out as she walks toward me, and I struggle to put on my slanted grin to prevent her from discovering the lengths I’m willing to go to always be by her side.
“My phone is dying. Do you have a charger?”
“There’s one in my room upstairs, Scarlett,” Lincoln chimes in, giving her the Asheville’s golden-boy smile.
She nods at Lincoln but throws me a questioning look.
“Are you okay? You look pale.”
Instead of giving her an answer, I kiss her lips. I’ll never lie to Scarlett. If she ever asks me about who is determined to make our lives miserable, I’ll tell her. I just hope it never comes to that.
“I’m okay, baby. Just go and get your charger,” I reply and slap her ass when she turns around.
“Aww. That is just too cute. We’re about to be thrown in jail, and East here is thinking about wetting his dick.”