So far, I’ve learned that Rowan has a hookup tonight with a delicate thing from a place called Vanora, he has an obnoxious laugh, he doesn’t take many things seriously (unlike Caz, here), and he’s Caz’s cousin and one of his right-hand men.
How do I know he’s a right-hand man? Because when we pulled up to this tavern he spoke of at the mansion, he parked, pulled out his massive gun, looked at Caz, and said, “If you want, I can go in there and pop all their fucking heads off. It’d take me a minute, probably less.”
Now, Caz is shaking his head. “I’ll handle this, Rowan.”
“Suit yourself.” Rowan shoves his car door open, and Caz does the same.
“You,” Caz says, dipping his head back into the car and pointing at me. “Wait here and don’t fucking move.” He’s gone before I can say a word, slamming the car door and marching toward the black building. A black and silver sign is attached to the building with the words Blackwater Tavern in bold lettering. The windows are square and prison-like with bars over them. I’m not sure if that’s to keep danger out, or to prevent escape for those who go inside.
Anxious, I sit forward and watch the men go inside, then take a sweep of my surroundings. This place is dark and cloudy, despite the sun lingering behind thick clouds. Everything is black and gray, including the dirt on the ground, and every building appears to be coated in a thin layer of ash.
Deep voices rise behind me, and I watch as three men in all black walk toward the tavern.
“Shit—Caz is here!” one of them shouts.
“Oi! Blackwater Monarch is in the tavern!” another whoops. “It’s fucking on, now!”
The men dash toward the tavern, bursting through the double doors. Bright gold light pours out as the doors swing apart, then darkness again when they’re closed.
I have to get out of here. I’m not about to sit like some damsel in distress, waiting on this Caz character to come back. I smell trouble all over this tavern, and I don’t want to be here when the crazy shit goes down.
I open the car door and step onto the dirt. There’s a magnetic pull to it; it clings to the silver tips of my shoes. Stepping forward, I close the door behind me and take another thorough look around.
I’m surrounded by buildings that look like they were built decades ago—some homes, some stores. A restaurant is nearby, black umbrellas pitched above the outdoor tables. People walk by themselves or with horses along the street. What time period is this? They have no cellphones but do have these fancy cars and guns. None of it makes any sense. I’d think I time traveled, but it’s like I jumped forward and backward and ended up here, somewhere in the middle.
Someone around here must have something I can call home with. If I can get in touch with Faye, or even Lou Ann, I can get out of here. I can’t be too far away from home. For all I know, I blacked out or sleep-walked to this place—this foreign place where the air is thicker, the atmosphere darker, and I can taste salt in the air.
I spot a woman walking in a dress. Her hair is pulled into a fishtail braid and she has a child with her. A mother will help. I start to make my way toward her, but a loud bang causes me to gasp, and I stop dead in my tracks.
I spin toward the tavern and the doors burst open as a large dark-skinned man comes barreling out, gripping the collar of a white man’s shirt. The dark-skinned man shoves the other one onto the ground, mounts him, jerks an elbow back, and slams a large fist into his face.
“Oh, shit!” I back away as he continues punching the man over and over again.
A crowd files out of the tavern to watch the fight, throwing their hands in the air, hollering and cheering for this man, and drowning out my screams. Even as the big Black guy conjures blood from the one on the ground, they cheer. He punches the man until his face is bloody and raw, then he hops to a stand with his crimson fists in the air and roars, “Who’s next?”
“Enough, Killian.” Caz makes his way through the crowd, unbothered, like this is the norm—as if he’s constantly watching bloody fights between men around here. Meanwhile, I’m still cupping my mouth, stunned by what just happened and too afraid to move. “Bring them here,” Caz demands.
Two men stumble through the crowd, and Rowan is right behind them, his big gun pointed at their backs. “You try anything, and I’ll blow your fucking heads off,” Rowan says with a sneer. “I wouldn’t test me either. This here’s a new gun and my finger’s been itching to pull the fucking trigger.”
“I’m going to ask you this one last time,” Caz says, standing in front of the men. “Who sent you?”
The men stare at Caz. One of them, a skinny man with a bald head, quivers, while the other, plump and hairy, wears a tight grimace on his face, chin tipped defiantly.
“Fuck you, Caz!” the defiant one spits. “You’ll be fucking dead soon!”
Caz doesn’t react. He only stares at the man. Then he says, “On your knees.”
The man grimaces harder but doesn’t move. Caz gives a simple nod of the head, and the Killian man charges forward with his bloody hands and grips one of the defiant man’s shoulders, forcing him to his knees, and then gripping the back of his neck. The man winces but remains insolent.
“Who’s telling you I’ll be dead soon?” Caz asks. “Go on. Say his name.”
“I’m not telling you shit,” the man hisses.
“You came to my tavern, knowing damn well you were in my territory, and you gleefully stirred shit up. You caused a scene like this to drag me here. So tell me, who wishes me dead?”
The man raises his chin, nostrils flared, and Caz sighs before taking a step back, opening his coat, and drawing out his gun. Killian moves away as Caz points the gun at the center of the man’s forehead.
“Very well.”
Those are the last words Caz says before pulling the trigger and sending a bullet flying through the man’s skull.
My heart drops and I back away again, but I can’t bring myself to make a single noise, afraid he’ll use it on me next. He just…killed that guy—murdered him in cold blood, and everyone is still standing around, watching this man bleed out like he was slapped or something. Oh, God. Am I in hell?
Caz swings the smoking barrel of the gun toward the quivering man, who immediately throws his hands in the air.
“It—it was Rami! Rami sent us!”
“Why?” Caz barks.
“I—I don’t know, I swear, I don’t! T-they paid me! I just took the rubies and did what they said!”
“Yousef, you dumb fuck,” Rowan grumbles.
Caz keeps his gun pointed at Yousef, then he takes a step closer, pressing the hot barrel to his forehead. It sizzles on his skin, and Yousef whimpers. “Anything for rubies, eh, Yousef?”
The man squeezes his eyes shut, his hands in the air, silently pleading.
“Do me a favor. Run to Ripple Hills—and when I say run, I do mean run. Run the whole fucking way and don’t stop until you’re at Rami’s door. And when he opens that door, you tell that filthy fucker that he’ll be dead before he gets the chance to say my name again.”
“Y-yes. Yes. I will. I—I promise. I’ll tell him,” Yousef pleads.
Caz stares at him a moment longer, then lowers the gun and steps away. “Okay then.” He tucks the gun into the holster inside his coat. “Run. Now.”
Yousef nods and scrambles away, not daring to look back. Rowan lifts his gun and points it at Yousef’s back, and Caz raises a hand to the top of Rowan’s gun, lowering it to the ground.
“Let me use it once today. At least a shot in the leg,” Rowan says in a near pout. “He’d still make it to Ripple Hills.”
“If Yousef ever returns to my tavern, you can aim for more than his leg next time.”
Rowan rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t protest as he puts the gun away.
“Right! Show’s over!” Killian barks, waving his bloody hands. “Get the fuck back in the tavern or go home!”
The bystanders grumble as they make their way inside again, and as they do, Caz turns and looks at me, as if he’s just now noticing me.
“I told you to stay in the car,” he snaps.
“Who’s this?” Killian demands.
“He won’t tell us,” Rowan says. “He’s being all secretive about her. You think that means he has a thing for her, brother?”
“Depends on where she’s from,” Killian says, still glaring.
“Fuck off, both of you,” Caz grumbles. “Have either of you seen your mother?”
“Last I heard, she was visiting Helen.”
“I need her,” Caz says, then he looks at me again. “And you.” He points a stern finger at me. “Since you clearly have a hard time following orders, come inside where I can watch you.”
I can’t believe there’s a place I’m more terrified of than his home or the forest that surrounds it. This tavern doesn’t seem like a place for a woman to be, but he doesn’t wait for me to protest. He doesn’t seem like the type to wait for anything.
Caz marches into the tavern, the two men trail him, and I draw in a lungful of salty air before entering the tavern too.
