Through A Glass, Darkly (The Assassins of Youth MC #1)(50)

Allred’s voice became quieter in moments of anger, I knew. I always thought he was afraid his own anger would take control and he’d go ape. “You’re coming with me, woman. No two ways about it.”

He nodded at Parley, still holding that pistol. It was at his side, but I knew I should not hedge my bets, what with Kimball standing behind me.

But it was one of those times where your body wrests control from your brain. Clutching my sister-wife’s hand, I made a run for it, directly in between Parley and Allred.

“Come back!” Allred shouted.

Of course. He couldn’t relinquish control over anyone. Two women running away from him? It was unthinkable. He had God-like control over everyone in his realm, in the phony narcissistic kingdom he’d built for himself. No one could possibly ever run.

I don’t think my sister-wives expected it, either. I ran upstairs, Kimball now hot on my heels under her own steam. I was not leaving this time without my own belongings.

“Get her, Parley!” I heard Allred shout.

Only one pair of male boots stomped up the stairs behind us. I nearly smashed head-on into Vonda, who had apparently been watching the drama from our bedroom window.

“Mom! What the f*ck?”

I automatically wanted to tell her not to swear, but my body had taken control and was on smooth unthinking autopilot now. My body knew what to do even if my moronic brain didn’t. I grabbed our packed suitcases from the closet. “Here! Take yours! We’re out of here!”

Wheeling my case with one hand and taking Vonda by the other, I shouldered my way past Parley. Maybe he’d never shot anyone before. I guess I had been banking on that. He sure had vanished in the book bindery when the bullets had started flying.

We bumped and wheeled our way down the stairs. The women stood in a gaggle open-mouthed.

“Where are you going?” Emersyn dared to whisper.

I didn’t whisper. “Someplace where I can be myself. Where my daughter can be a fashion designer. Where I can love a man who doesn’t beat me, and know that that’s normal.” I glared at Allred, who seemed stunned into submission, for once. “Because it’s not normal. Women are not sheep or lambs. We weren’t born your servants. It’s not in our nature to bow with our heads down and do your bidding mindlessly.”

Allred snarled, “You’re making a giant mistake, Mahalia.”

I snarled back. “You always said the call to faith shows us who we really are, what we love the most. Believing in something is the finest mirror image of what rests in our hearts. What lies in my heart had been sleeping until your abuse called it to action. I choose my actions freely, Allred. My terror of making a mistake is not bigger than my passion for the truth.”

I yanked Vonda, maybe violently now, down the front steps. I’d seen Kimball joining the group of women, clinging to the arm of one. Maybe her bravery failed her. I never looked back, but I could feel the women and Allred gathered there, watching us. Who the hell would give us a ride out of here, especially hauling suitcases like we were?

Maybe no one. Maybe I’d have to use the name of Immanuel Zabriskie to get the f*ck out of there. But no one was forcing me to turn back.

“Is this it, mom?” I’d never heard Vonda that scared, and it angered me. They had done this to her.

“This is it, baby.” I maintained my stride past several cars whose drivers peered at us quizzically. Of course, no one dared stop to ask us what we were doing. “This is it.”



GIDEON

We were in Dingo’s room at his desk setting up “Operation: Blackmail” as he called it when my old roommate Sledgehammer came to our front door.

After bro hugging it out, we went into the kitchen and cracked a couple of beers. I’d been drinking less and less since hooking up with Mahalia—one of her many good influences on me. But bringing Sledge into our operation called for one.

“What’s Papa Ewey up to?” I asked. “Has he wondered where Breakiron could be?” I’d told Sledgehammer a lot of the story, up to and including the glorious death of Breakiron in a warehouse shootout. I knew there was no love lost between Sledgehammer and Breakiron. They’d issued each other many a beatdown, usually over something moronic Breakiron was doing.

“Not a word,” said Sledgehammer, inhaling his joint with a hiss. His carrot-apple red hair was cut in a bald fade with a flat top, his bulging biceps decorated with sexy bomber cartoon gals and airplanes in a WWII style. He was a former military man like myself, so of course he had an anchor on his forearm. With his mutton chop sideburns and insane walrus mustache, he looked like the baddest motherf*cker around, which he was. Aside from me. “No one’s losing any sleep over it. Yosemite Sam mentioned he tried to leave Breakiron a message, and that was about it.”

“I didn’t figure there’d be a giant stampede to get over here. I’ll need to face the music eventually, of course.”

Sledgehammer snorted. “Yeah, I suppose so. It’s cut and dried that it was self-defense though. Your scar and missing liver attests to that. I hear your new boy here put ears in Chiles’ guest house. Rocking.”

“Yeah, he’s been coming along fast, learning about new technology. He’s way surpassed me. Then again, a f*cking sloth would be faster than me. Come check out what we put together.”