Page 5 of Kandie Shoppe

“Gotdamn, motherfuckin, hick-ass degenerates,” I scream up to the long gone offenders. Pulling myself into a sitting position, I make a careful inspection. I didn’t hit my head, but the area by my ear is wet. Touching it, my hand comes back bloody.

“Dang it.” I wince more from the fact that I may have to go to my cousin for treatment and I’m going to have to hear a lecture about my drinking and partying. I almost would rather go to the Shelby-Love Medical Center and risk the gossip rather than deal with her sad eyes and quiet pleading that I see somebody.

Yeah, been there, done that and never again, thank you very much. All they did was use it to put me and Kerania away. I’ll be damned if I ever put my life in the hands of another person ever again. Fuck. That.

Making my way up to the top, I take my time. Knees skinned, one elbow bloody, the other arm bruised and scratched.

Tears prickle the back of my eyes. No one’s here to see them so it’s okay. I’m a one-woman show. It’s all on me. If I don’t show up, my bills don’t get paid. And I’m not asking nobody for shit. It’s me or no one. I will always show up for me because no one else damn sure ain’t.

Determination that comes from always having to do it alone spurs me forward.

“Whew.” I bend down, feeling the same sense of accomplishment when my croissants turn out right.

The light shining from the streetlamp across the street on me lets me know just how dirty they did me. My pretty poplin blouse I got for five dollars on Temu is torn. My cut-off Daisy Dukes have grass stains so deep Mama-Pete may not even be able to get out. Mud is dried on my legs and shirt. I feel the air on my back,so I know that the back of my blouse has not fared any better. And I’m still a little tipsy to boot.

I know I need to get home and get cleaned up. I’m already cutting it close. Saturday is a busy day for The Kandie Shoppe. Five a.m comes quick and bread, cakes, and pies don’t bake themselves and require a lot of prep work. Gingerly, I make a few steps in the direction of my shop, which has my loft above it. I dread having to walk the five blocks and tackle the back stairs leading up to my place.

“There’s nothing for it.” I sigh, beginning the trek. I’m lucky I didn’t break my neck in tumbling down the way I did. It happened so fast I didn’t even have a chance to tuck into a ball the way my cousin Xander Rafe Leroi taught us that time he did a survival course at the last family reunion. He’d be so disappointed in my sorry tail.

My heart chills when I hear the engine of the truck. My stomach clenches so hard with a fear I haven’t experienced in years as I hear the aggressively approaching vehicle. I can tell without looking it’s the typical super-duty we typically see around these parts. Not uncommon, but no one up to any good is trolling the streets this time of night. I don’t know how long it took me to come to in that ditch, but I do know it took me a long ass time to make my way back to the top.

Are those guys coming back to finish the job? I can’t run. I don’t even try. It’s too late, plus they know where they saw me fall. And if they wanted to attack me while I was unconscious, they could have just rushed down right away and not waited what must be at least half an hour for me. If it’s them, I’m screwed. If it's anyone else, baby, I’m just as screwed — only they may not kill me. I know better than most that some of the people around here ain’t shit. There was a whole cabal Bishop Smith was catering to. Some of them were locals unknown to everyone but him. They were never able to recover evidence beyond thecages they found the kids in and the eyewitness testimony of the victims. If those volunteers had not seen the horror with their own eyes, I know everything would have been swept under the rug.

My gut clenching tight adds to the new stress on my aching limbs, making everything hurt. If they throw more beer and hit me, I’ll count myself lucky. I’ll fall. Maybe they will be satisfied with that and leave me the hell alone. If they grab me? My body shudders at the thought.

As the truck approaches, I brace myself for impact, hoping I get a look at the license plate so I can tell some of my cousins who like to put work in. With my memory, I won’t forget it. Hyperthymesia is what they call it. I can remember things down to the minutest detail.

My body tightens, stiffening to an almost painful degree with every moment it gets closer. It happens so quick and seems like slow-motion at the same time. The truck accelerates and revs hard, passing me. I may even stop bracing myself, but I can’t be sure. I must freeze like a rabbit because when I peel my eyes back open, I’m clutching my arms, bracing for impact — and nothing. It zooms past.

“Thank you, Lord.” I give thanks, breathing a sigh of relief, finally focusing on the back of the truck. Which is what I should have been doing in the first place in case they attacked me.

That’s when my heart stutter-stops. My face heats. It’s a county truck. The sheriff’s office, in fact. Down here, they don’t have cruisers. No, trucks and SUVs are the general issue. There is so much rugged terrain. Anything else would be useless on these back roads and miles of farmland. We have too many natural disasters. They never know when they have a random tree limb finding its way into a road.

The lights flash like it’s stopping. Oh, my damn. They’ve seen me. I already know even as I see them, they are going to come back, then they are going to see me and tell him. Ugh.

They may even insist on an incident report. I don’t even know if I want to tell them. Loves handle our own business. We don’t involve police. We do things the way we have since my people first got their freedom — in house.

Just with a description, my cousins Nebraska, Nicodemus, Samson, and Cyrus will go out to Epes and put those dogs down. No need to trouble the law.

The truck flips a bitch and comes back my way. It’s about ten feet away when I see who’s driving.

“Damn,” I say, watching his face harden when he sees the word I mouth. Ice-blue eyes harden to the coldest artic. He drives past me, then does another U-turn.

“Hey,” he calls, cruising beside me. Ignoring him, I keep walking, pretending the pain isn’t tearing into my soul like a sticker briar.

“I know you hear me. What are you doing out here like this?” I keep walking. My chest feels heavy. His rough voice raking over me like salt is being shoved into every wound.

I don’t need having to deal with Ulysses Shelby on top of having a near-death experience. Nope. Nopity. Nope. Nope.

“Gotdammit.” He floors the truck past me, stopping several feet ahead. Turning on the flashers, he climbs his big jolly alabaster giant ass out of the state issued truck and comes around to block my path.

“Ugh.” I heave the heaviest sigh forging ahead. Four blocks to go with a giant obstacle in front of me. This has got to be the second worst night of my life.

“Kandie,” he grounds out. I stop, hearing him say my name for the first time in forever. The shock of it stops me. He never talks to me. Hasn’t in fifteen years. He’s talked plenty about me.Referred to me. But spoken to? No. I’m too far beneath his elite Shelby ex-Navy Seal ass for him to ever notice me now. Plus, I killed his daddy, so there’s that.

“What?” I want to pull the words back. They sound petulant. Small. Like a child knowing they’re about to be scolded.

“Why are you out here staggering around like the town drunk?” he demands with scathing cruelty.

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