Page 5 of Tangled Threats on the Nomad Highway
“I’m not going to disagree. Clear statementof fact, brother.” Might as well be graceful about his acceptanceof Retro’s high-handed behavior. “I don’t need much in the way ofthings.” He angled forwards slightly. He needed his friend to hearand comprehend his next words, because just the idea made him sick.“But I sincerely want people to leave my shit alone at home. I’llgo through their things when I’m ready. Don’t try to push me there,brother.” His grief swelled, choking him, and he forced out therest. “I won’t have anyone touching Lauren’s things but me.Makayla’s either. That’s on me, you hear?”
“Heard and understood, brother.” Firmfingers wrapped around his hand, holding on tightly. He stared downat them, bemused. Rough, clean as working hands ever got, withcalluses that reflected the hard labor the owner was familiar with.Retro shook his hand slightly, and Einstein brought his gaze up tomeet that of his friend. With an earnest expression, Retro said, “Iwillalwayshave your back, no matter what you need. I’vegot you, brother. On my life, I’ve got you.”
Einstein stayed downstairs for a few moreminutes, but when he made his excuses, he wasn’t lying about beingtired. It seemed weird he was as exhausted as he’d ever been, justfrom a few hours of riding and jawing with friends.And beingout of that house.As much as he tried to ignore the truth ofthe thought, he couldn’t. If he’d stayed home, he would have sleptmuch of the day, so with that context, it did make sense that doinganything else would be taxing.
Door closed and locked, he studied the suitecarefully, sweeping the room with his gaze. As anonymous as anyhotel room, the space had only a small duffel bag on the foot ofthe bed to add any personality. Einstein unzipped the bag andshuffled through the few items inside: just enough clothing to spana handful of days, a half-full can of shaving cream, a razor andblades, bottle of shampoo and bodywash, and his toothbrush.
Einstein dropped the duffel and shoved hishand inside the vest pocket, his breathing coming jagged until hehad the firm plastic stick in his grip. Running his thumbnailacross the bristles, he stared around the room again. It was thework of moments to put everything away and kick the empty bagunderneath the bed, hidden by the drape of the comforter. Toeingoff his boots, he let them stay where they’d dropped as he turnedto sit on the edge of the mattress.
He leaned backwards, allowing his torso tofall heavily onto the bed. Bringing one hand to rest on his chestwith a sigh, he settled it between the panels of his vest andcurled the clenched fist over his heart. Closing his eyes, he ranthe edge of his thumbnail across the bristles again.
“Night, babies.” His whisper fell flat inthe room, air as empty of energy as a battery left unprotected inthe coldest of winters.
“Love you.”
Chapter Three
Marian
Crouched on the kitchen floor, MarianThreadgill cautiously rose to her knees and peered over thewindowsill. The van was still parked in the front drive, two largemen remaining seated inside the shadowy interior. She’d been ableto see enough during her snatched glances to know they hadn’tstopped staring in her direction, not since they had first pulledup in front of the house she shared with her father.
The screen door creaked. Then there was thethud of a tool belt hitting the floor, and finally a muffled cursefollowed by a canine cry of pain. All of these noises from the backof the house told Marian her father was home. He would have drivenin the back drive, coming down from the church on the mountaininstead of up from town like their visitors.His visitors.She didn’t have anyone to visit her.
Not anymore.
Until a few months ago, Marian’s youngersister Myrtle had been dropping by. Infrequently, but still visitsMarian had come to anticipate. And until a couple of weeks ago,their younger brothers would have been wrestling their way throughthe house, but not now. Marian knew without being told what hadhappened when old man Sallabrook had driven away with Luke, Thad’shead popping into view over the top of the pickup truck’s tailgate.Since then, the silence in the house had only been interrupted byher father’s fits of anger, growing in frequency.
Now he was home, with visitors in the frontdrive, and Marian wondered if it was finally her turn to be sold orgiven away.
“Papa.” Her call was quiet, solemn, as faraway from strident as she could make it. “There’re men in front ofthe house.”
“What are you doin’, girl?” Floyd Threadgillpaused in the doorway before striding quickly over to where shecrouched in front of the window. Marian pointed out the glass towhere the two visitors were climbing out of the vehicle, as if inanswer to some silent signal. “Cowering like your momma.” The boneypart of his knuckles hit the side of her head almost desultorily, acasual strike she didn’t have time to avoid. Ears ringing from theblow, she still heard his snarled, “Useless cowards.”
“Yes, Papa.” Marian rolled her lips betweenher teeth, holding still with the mouse’s hope of not being seen.The next hits were across her upper back, fists landing hard andfast, overbalancing and sending her sprawling with a cry.
Her father moved away, leaving the house bythe front door as Marian pulled her feet back underneath herself.Wheezing with pain, she’d stayed in place, crouched behind thewindowsill, and hadn’t quite found the courage to move from herplace when the front door reopened.
This is it.
She didn’t bother to turn around, didn’tdare glance towards the movement, not until she realized there wereonly two sets of footsteps.
Pivoting slowly, she lifted her chin andstared up at the most frightening men she’d ever seen. With theirbroad shoulders, thick, dark hair, and hardened faces, they couldhave been brothers. They smelled of fuel and smoke, and the airaround them reeked of danger.
Marian couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Shewaited for her father to enter behind them and finish what had tobe a handoff. He needed money, she knew, the phone message machinelately filled with calls from men with hard voices and blatantdemands.
He did it. He finally did it.
She’d expected him to leverage her existenceyears ago, but he hadn’t, and things had stayed in a rut. A saferut compared to what had happened to her sister. A painful rut whenher father remembered the useless nature of having a daughter likeMarian, meek and retiring, with a voice too soft to listen to andlittle to no skills in housework, according to him. Useless and aburden.
“Marian?” The one with longer hair spoke hername like a question, his voice deceptively gentle, but she stayedfrozen. “Myrt’s sis? Are you Myrtle’s sister?”
Her heart pounded in her ears, head gonedizzy with a sudden escalation of fear. “Is she okay?” She slappeda palm over her blurting mouth, mind veering to the worst possiblescenario.Oh, God. She’s dead.Listening at the door whenold man Sallabrook had come to talk to her father had given herpart of the story, enough to know Myrt had been alive when she’dleft the old man. But Myrtle had been gone for weeks and weeks. Onher own for days and hours filled with risk and danger, all aloneout in the world. “She’s been gone so long.” Biting her lips,Marian tried to steady her voice. “Is she okay?”
The man who’d spoken to her smiled, the softexpression changing his features, taking him from brooding tobeautiful in an instant. “Yeah, Myrt’s good. She’s real good. She’shere in town. We came to pick up your brothers, and I promised herI’d stop by and check on you.”
“Asshole’s stirring, brother.” The other manspoke, his voice deep and rough, like gravel in a streambed. “Whydon’t you get Myrt on the phone, let the girls talk. I’ll go dealwith this piece of shit.”
“Good idea, Gunny.” As the one called Gunnyexited through the open door, the first man hunkered down nearMarian. He kept his gaze fixed on her face as he pulled a phone outof his pants pocket. Tension flooded her muscles, and he made acooing sound. “Shhh. Be easy, Marian. I’ll get Myrt on the phone.She can tell you what’s going down.” While he fiddled with thephone, she heard a cut-off shout from the front of the house, butwhen Marian would have risen to look out the window, he dropped ahand on her shoulder, the unexpected contact and light pressureenough to keep her crouched. “Baby, I’m here with Marian. Yeah,she’s okay. She looks okay. Scared to death of us, but she’s good.Wanna talk to her and explain what we’re doing?” The tiny pauses inhis words were just enough to indicate the coherence of aconversation, but Marian couldn’t hear anything from the other end.“Here.” He thrust the phone her direction. “Myrt said, ‘Don’t bescared,’ and she wants to talk to you.”
