Page 37 of Property of Legend

Chapter 19

Legend

The roar of the crowd’s a low rumble, like thunder rollin’ in over Paradise County.Hell’s backyard wrestling night is in full swing, and every soul with a switchblade is here to see someone bleed.We’re posted up on rusted bleachers welded to an old cattle auction barn.The ring ain’t much, ropes frayin’, canvas stained, but the energy?Pure anarchy.

I clock every face.That’s the job.After the shit that went down at the track, I got my radar set to kill mode.One twitch wrong and somebody’s losin’ teeth.

Sophie slips back into her seat beside me, carryin’ two Styrofoam bowls of burgoo like it’s Sunday supper.She hands one to me, fingers brushin’ mine, and I damn near forget how to breathe.

“Got you some,” she says, cheeks a little flushed.“It’s hot.”

I look down at the mess, meat, corn, lima beans, a little okra.Real Kentucky stew.Made from whatever didn’t make it across the road.

I smirk.“Burgoo, huh?That’s one way to say you love a man.”

She snorts.“Don’t push it.”

She’s dressed down tonight, cutoff shorts, a plain blue tank, and an old UK ball cap turned backward.Her boots are scuffed, and there’s a little smear of sauce on her cheek.She’s the most beautiful damn thing I’ve ever seen.All fire and grit, sittin’ cross-legged like a gremlin beside me.

At 4'11", she looks like she could fit in my damn pocket.I’m nearly six foot and built like a battering ram.When we walk side by side, people look twice.We don’t make sense on paper.

But hell, if I don’t feel whole with her next to me.

"You keep lookin' at me like that, someone's gonna think you're about to propose," she says without lookin' up from her spoon.

I chuckle low.“You’d say no.”

“I’d say hell no,” she fires back, sweet as sassafras.

I lean in.“You know, you’re startin’ to look like you belong here.”

She raises an eyebrow.“Here?With you and the ‘Property Of’ crew?”She jerks her chin toward the group of women watchin’ ringside.

One’s got “Property of Vandal” patched across her back and a wicked smile.That’s Janie, she works at the county clerk’s office up in Official.What we call the other side of Paradise.The other’s Tiffani, young, but sharp as a tack.She's got a “Property of Rye” cut and delivers Sophie’s damn mail every week.Both of ’em nod when they see Sophie, like old friends catchin’ up at the Piggly Wiggly.

“It’s like that cult you crawled out of.”

My jaw ticks.“This ain’t a cult, darlin’.”

“If it walks like a duck...”

“Pearl Gates was a prison,” I say low, “This?The Kings?We’re rough.We’re lawless.But we respect our women.”

She stares at the ring where a guy named Roadkill is gettin’ suplexed onto a table full of beer cans.The ring girls are flashing their tits.“Doesn’t look like respect.”

“That ain’t our ol’ ladies.That’s just club bunnies havin’ fun.All of it’s consensual.Nobody's forced into shit.”I set the burgoo down, look her dead in the eye.“And this thing between us?Ain’t about ownin’.Not like you think.”

She sighs.“Legend… no matter how you make me feel, I could never wear one of those vests.Being someone’s property?That’s not me.”

I nod.“Didn’t say it was.But you callin’ it the same as the shit your Reverend used to preach?That burns.”

She winces, but I keep my voice steady.

“We don’t bow to no preacher.We don’t answer to the law.And yeah, we work with some folks who walk on the darker side of the tracks.You knew that when you hired us.”

Her gaze sharpens.“I hired y’all for protection.That’s it.”

“Then why the hell does it feel like more?”