Dirty South Drug Wars

By Jae Hood

Tucked in the pine-covered hills of the rural South lie two small towns and two feuding families divided by a dirty river and a mutual desire: to reign supreme in the land of drug lords. Eighteen-year-old Rue Monroe has no interest in her family’s drug business. Thanks to the heartbreaking loss of her father and the abrupt abandonment of her mother, Rue’s left alone to care for her flighty little sister and make sure the bills get paid on time. Life can’t get any more complicated. 

That is, until Rue is reunited with Tanner Montgomery, the son of her family’s sworn enemy. 

Threatened by her own kin, Rue tries to fight her attraction for the boy she first met at the age of twelve, but Tanner doesn’t give in so easily. Tanner’s tireless persistence forces Rue to question everything she thought she knew about the Montgomery family. The two work together, unearthing old family secrets—secrets which might get them both killed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jae Hood
• Release date: Mar 28, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524272852

Jae Hood

Jae Hood is a full-time wife, mother, and nurse. And sometimes she sleeps. On her days off from work you can find her daydreaming, painting her nails, reading fanfiction, or investing herself in whatever hobby she's discovered on Pinterest this week.  Oh, and writing. You can definitely find her writing. Jae lives in a small, rural town in northeast Mississippi with her husband, children, and more pets than she can afford. Jae fell in love with books as a child when her mother entrusted Judy Blume to explain life's woes, and she fell in love with writing during an assignment in junior high. "Dirty South Drug Wars" is Jae's debut novel.

Book preview

Dedication

To the girl who inspired Ruby.

May you rest in peace among the stars, Artemis.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Chapter 1

My family said the man in the long, shiny wooden box was my father, but I didn’t believe them.

My father had warm and ruddy skin, earned by working on his old pickup truck in the driveway. Days of being out under the hot Mississippi sun left his skin tanned with small cracks and wrinkles on the surface.

The man was pale and cold, his hands placed one over the other. He wore a gray suit the color of charcoal, so the man couldn’t be my father. My father never wore a suit, not even to church. And he especially wouldn’t wear the light pink tie that was tucked so neatly below the man’s starched, white collar.

The Montgomery family murdered my father, according to Uncle Amos. They took him down with a single bullet to the head. The man in the box had heavy eyebrows and thick sideburns like my daddy, but no bullet hole.

Wouldn’t there be a bullet hole?

Uncle Amos walked with me, hand in hand, while he spoke to Uncle Matt. The name Montgomery came up over and over as they whispered to one another. I’d heard that name my entire life, all twelve years of it.

Uncle Amos escorted me away from the box and eased himself down onto the pew behind me. I sat next to my mama and sister Lucy on the first pew of the funeral home. My little sister sat in our mama’s lap, a solemn expression on her round face. Lucy was eleven and very pretty with shiny auburn hair that flowed down her back in large waves. She had dainty features and big, periwinkle-blue eyes that normally shone blissful and twinkling.

But not that day.

They were solemn and fixed high above our heads. I followed her gaze and saw a moth resting on the ceiling of the room, its dark wings standing out against the faded white ceiling. Lucy’s gaze held, never wavering as she stared at the insect, lost in her own world, a world few of us understood.

Lucy did that from time to time, traveled somewhere in her own head, unaware of the things happening around her. Our daddy called Lucy special. Our mama called her crazy, but she was still my mama’s favorite child. I was too serious, too quiet. Mama didn’t understand me or my love of the galaxy, of science and poetry, or my love of reading anything I got my hands on.

No, I was my daddy’s child, his pensive little hunting and fishing buddy.

Family, friends, and curious townsfolk crowded the room. Flower arrangements signed with the names of judges and lawyers lined the space, sent by crooks my daddy claimed as his friends. Daddy called them the Southern elite or the good ole boys, and he loved surrounding himself with them.

The room quieted as a handsome man and little boy entered. They both wore crisp matching suits, their similarities striking. The man looked to be in his forties, with raven hair and brown eyes. The boy, no older than me, with a thick mop of shiny black hair, the color of a starless night, stood by his side scanning the crowd. He seemed undisturbed by all the people gawking at them.

Then his gaze settled on mine.

The shade of his eyes would forever be embossed in my mind. They reminded me of the fun things in life, like root beer floats and chocolate-covered anything. They were the color of the warm mud on my bare feet during the summer while catching tiny slithering snakes from the low-lying sloughs below my grandparents’ house.

Deep, dark, endless, and warm, his lingering stare captivated and unnerved me. I shifted on the pew, and the boy broke his trance-like hold over me. He followed the tall man down the center aisle. He clutched a bouquet of white flowers in his hands, his slender fingers wrapped around the deep green stems. With crisp white petals flushed yellow at the base, they were the most beautiful flowers I’d ever seen, far more beautiful than the flowers covering the man in the box.

Someone shifted beside me and I turned around in the pew, breaking free from my rude staring. Uncle Amos stiffened in his seat, his face a mask of bitterness before he covered it with an expression of indifference. He rested uncomfortably while the raven-haired man and the boy approached the casket.

The boy cast one last glance my way before he and the man met their destination. The man leaned down and whispered something in the boy’s ear; the boy nodded.

My grandmother sat on the front pew near me, but she stood, unsteady on her feet, at the sight of the man and child. She shuffled from the main area of the congregation, and one of my aunts assisted her. My aunt glared over her shoulder at the two unfamiliar visitors. Uncle Saul shook the man’s hand, a gesture I found odd considering the growing scowl on Uncle Amos’ face. It seemed as if all of my family members shared the same matching scowl while the noble-looking man smiled somberly at them.

Mama’s sobs faded away, dissolving into quiet sniffles. She scooped Lucy up like a baby, mumbled something about checking on Nana, and rushed out of the room. Lucy’s clear blue eyes abandoned the moth on the ceiling to meet mine over my mother’s shoulder as she was carried away.

Uncle Amos stood and joined me on the pew. He nodded in the direction of the raven-haired man. You see that man, Ruby Red?

Yes, sir.

That’s Graham Montgomery. He lowered his voice and bestowed a brief, friendly nod to a passerby. That little boy is his nephew, Tanner. Graham and the little boy’s father, Tanner Sr., were brothers.

I nodded my understanding, my young mind mapping out the relationship of the two males standing nearby.

Tanner’s father died not too long ago, and Graham raises the boy now as his own. Graham Montgomery is king now that your daddy is gone, my uncle said, his voice intense.

People quietly referred to my daddy as a king, but I never understood what they meant. We lived in a pretty decent house compared to others in our poverty-stricken state of Mississippi, but it wasn’t a castle. The two-story cabin and private lake where Lucy and I grew up were created by my father and grandfather’s hands. Made of rough-cut lumber, it certainly wasn’t a castle, and our father didn’t wear a crown. He only wore faded caps with chewing tobacco logos splashed across the front.

Why does his uncle raise him? Where’s his mama?

She passed away when he was still a baby. Lung cancer, they say.

Sadness for the boy flooded my heart and soul, casting aside all thoughts of kings, crowns, and red, furry robes. Even at the age of twelve, the relationship between Mama and me was strained, but I still couldn’t imagine growing up without her in my life.

What happened to his daddy? How’d he die?

Murdered, just like your father. Shot in the head, the poor bastard. He never stood a chance.

Uncle Amos’ voice faded away as Tanner and his uncle approached. Amos stood, shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks, shunning Graham’s outstretched hand. Graham chuckled and placed his hands in his pockets as well, unperturbed by the brush-off. My other uncles abandoned their post near the casket, joining Uncle Amos.

My chest tightened when Tanner reached out, offering me the breathtaking flowers. Hesitantly, I took them, awed by their simple beauty. Pure and white, held together by a long, matching white ribbon, their smell mesmerized me. I closed my eyes, pressed the petals to my nose, and drew the scent into my lungs, savoring it.

Death and innocence. How appropriate for you to present them to the child who just lost her father. Uncle Amos’ voice was thick with sarcasm.

Is that what they symbolize? Graham sounded surprised at the meaning behind the flowers. My family glared at him from all directions, undeterred by the innocence in his voice. I honestly didn’t realize that was their symbolization. I simply asked my nephew to pick out some pretty flowers for a pretty girl. Both of his hands remained deep in his neatly pressed suit pants pockets. He rocked on his heels and shot me a smug wink that made my skin crawl.

Uncle Amos ignored his niceties, his face reddening with each second that staggered by. We’re even now, Montgomery. We’ve both lost a brother because of this feud. Let’s end this dispute between our families once and for all. Let it end here, in this room, forever.

Ah, but I’m not entirely convinced the right brother is being buried today, Graham said, his voice no longer friendly. His smiling face grew cold as he leaned back on his heels. I’ll never be sure who killed my brother, not until every last Monroe is dead.

The threatening undertone of the words he ground out made me shiver. I clutched the flowers between my fingers, hiding my face from the boy standing by his uncle’s side.

But I agree we should make some negotiations, go over the rules, and settle some boundaries. The moment the funeral is over, you and I will talk.

Graham reached out and touched his nephew’s shoulder then nodded his head in my direction, giving Tanner a pointed look.

Sorry for your loss.

Soft and quiet, Tanner’s voice was nothing like the firm, confident tone of his uncle. The simple syllables sent my heart racing inside my chest. I imagined the group of men could see it fluttering under my dress. I brought the bouquet closer to my heart in an attempt to hide the quivering behind the delicate flowers.

Graham smiled down at him and they turned, strolling down the center aisle of the chapel.

Uncle Amos sat back down. With one last glance, I turned to my uncle, catching his dark eyes narrowing on mine. Morbid curiosity got the best of me.

So, who murdered his father? I asked, anxious to get back to the conversation we hadn’t finished.

Uncle Amos stared at me for a long moment before speaking. Can you keep a secret, baby girl?

Of course. I scoffed and rolled my eyes at him.

He chuckled quietly, a cold, bitter sound. You’re right, Rue. You’ll keep my secret, because you’re a Monroe. Are you sure you want to know though? It’s a heavy burden to carry, Ruby Red, knowing the truth when no one else does.

Yes, just tell me who killed him, I whispered.

Uncle Amos leaned forward, making my ears burn in anticipation before he said two words, two words I’d remember for the rest of my life.

I did.

*

The quiet building erupted in hushed murmurs and sneers once the chapel doors closed behind the Montgomerys, but I was shocked silent, a newfound fear of my uncle taking root in my heart.

When Lucy and Mama returned, Lucy crawled out of Mama’s lap and nestled herself beside me, resting her head against my shoulder. She clutched her tiny, cold hand around mine, and I hugged her, placing a reassuring arm across her shoulders as silent tears flowed down her cheeks.

The lid of the casket was closed, and the man cut out of our sight forever.

Daddy’s dead, she whispered.

That’s not our father, Lucy, I told her, my face void of tears. He looks nothing like Daddy. That’s not him. Our father is big and strong. Our father’s gonna live forever.

My words did nothing to comfort my sister. She began gasping for air, and her little body trembled under my arm.

Wake up, Rue! The strength and harshness of her words betrayed her fragile face. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand, her breath shuddering. That’s our daddy! He’s dead, Rue! He’s dead! And it’s the Montgomerys’ fault. I hate them! I hate the Montgomerys!

My face grew hot as my cheeks flamed up, but not from the embarrassment of the hushed whispers and nosey stares around us.

Oh God ... what if that was my daddy in that box?

My eyes darted around the room in search of my father, but he was nowhere to be found. With my heart clenching inside my chest, tears finally arrived. Wetness flooded my cheeks, and I began to scream.

Daddy!

The white lilies slipped from my fingers. They made a crunching sound below my black Mary Janes as I lurched from the pew and scrambled down the aisle. I bumped into the knees of surprised relatives and they hissed their protests, their hands pulling at my black, pleated dress, but I shoved them away. I flung myself forward and grabbed the gold handle near the edge of the heavy lid, struggling to lift it and see my daddy.

Lucy appeared by my side, and the two of us grappled with the casket. The soft glow of the chandeliers made the gold handles shine, but our fingerprints smeared across the gleaming surface.

Uncle Matt grasped me around the waist, whispering into my ear. I kicked and clawed at him, ignoring his words. My little sister continued to struggle with the lid, her small voice calling out for our daddy. Uncle Amos scooped her up with ease and took her away from the casket as well.

The room continued to fill with sobs and gasps. The balding minister cleared his throat at the podium while Lucy and I screamed and fought against our uncles, who forced us from the sanctuary. The minister’s prayer request was shut out by the closing of the sanctuary doors.

Our uncles took us outside the building, kindly pleading with us to calm down. After the bribing didn’t work, they threatened us to be silent, pay attention, and stop making a scene. We’d embarrassed our mother, they told us, but Lucy and I didn’t care. Even though she was a year younger than me, we had twin hearts and I knew she didn’t care.

By the time we calmed down, the service let out. My mother shot me a glare as she took my sister’s hand. I picked up the broken flowers she threw at my feet, unwinding the long white ribbon from the stems and shoving it into a tiny pocket hidden among the pleats in my dress. Fresh tears welled in my eyes. I dropped the ruined flowers to the ground and we piled into the car.

Lucy pressed her face against the glass, excited to witness the cars pulling over to the side of the road. The police escort in front of the hearse was an unusual sight, one that brought laughter bubbling from Uncle Amos’ throat. He shook his head and told Mama that Daddy was probably somewhere laughing, wherever he may be, because even in death my father still couldn’t shake the cops.

The burial and the drive to the church Lucy and I sometimes attended with Nana went by in a blur. The adults filed into the building, the women with their fine dresses and pantyhose-clad legs and the men in their suits, free of their jackets due to the sweltering Mississippi heat.

April was like summer in the South, and the sun bore down on us children who were left to our own devices. Lucy and I watched the boys play tag for a while until she left me sitting on the sidewalk to dart after them.

A newer model car crept down the road and pulled into the church lot, sending my sister and wild cousins yelling and scattering. They ran around to the back, a game of basketball in the works.

Adrenaline rushed through my veins, forcing me to my feet when Graham Montgomery stepped from the car. I dusted the back of my dress off with shaky hands and crept sideways to the church doors. I shoved them open, darting inside to find Uncle Amos, who stood next to Uncle Matt and Uncle Saul. Breathless from running, it took several attempts before I could speak.

Graham Montgomery is here.

The words were barely out of my mouth when Graham entered the building. He wasn’t alone. Tanner stood by his side, his maple-brown gaze unwavering as I stared back. Maybe it was because I’d heard his surname throughout the years without meeting a single Montgomery attached to it, or maybe it was because he was the descendent of a king just like I was, but for some reason I was morbidly curious about the beautiful boy.

Graham. You don’t waste any time, do you? Uncle Saul sneered and crossed his arms over his massive chest. The seams in his shirt strained against the muscles, the fabric crying out in protest.

Ah, you know me, Saul. I always make time for the lovely Monroe family.

Where are the rest of the Montgomery swine? Uncle Matt spoke up, either ignoring or unaware of the way Tanner glowered at him from Graham’s side. I thought y’all traveled in packs together, like dogs.

I represent my family now that my brother is gone, Graham said. Tanner stiffened beside him. Until Tanner Jr. here turns eighteen, that is, if that’s the path he decides to choose.

Fine, Uncle Amos replied. Let’s negotiate. Rue, why don’t you run along, sweetheart?

She can keep Tanner company, Graham said.

Tanner’s eyes widened. He began to argue, but Graham shook his head and placed a gentle hand on his nephew’s shoulder.

I know you think you’re old enough to know all the secrets of the family trade, but you’re not. Be patient, son. Enjoy being a stupid kid while you still can. Graham winked at the scowling boy and gestured toward a classroom nearby full of colorful toys, a long table, and chairs.

The boy slumped off, his shoulders hunched and his head hanging in defeat.

After a long moment, I followed him.

Tanner sat near a window, peering through the wavy glass at the laughing children outside as they took turns tossing a ball to one another. His gaze left the window once I entered the room and lingered on me as I pulled out a metal folding chair and sat at the table. Neither one of us spoke for a time until he finally broke the silence, his soft voice causing me to flinch at the sudden sound.

What’s your name?

Rue.

Rue, he repeated. My silly named sounded fancy coming from him. Your uncle called you that in the lobby, but I thought I misunderstood him. I’ve never heard that name before.

It’s short for Ruby Red. That’s my real name. Ruby Red Monroe.

Ruby Red Monroe. The first hint of a smile played on his lips. I like your name. Where are your flowers, Ruby Red?

They were crushed, I whispered, shoulders slumping. Either my answer or sad disposition brought a frown to his face. I’m sorry. They were very pretty. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my entire life.

There was a pause before he whispered.

I have.

His cheeks flushed, and he dipped his head. My forehead furrowed as I thought over his words, the insinuation behind them slowly seeping in. My mouth opened and closed a few times, attempting an intelligent response, but finding none. Heat engulfed me, because no boy had ever called me pretty, not even Jeremy Stone who’d had a crush on me since kindergarten.

You, um, you didn’t give my sister any flowers. I shifted in my seat and changed the subject, trying to steer the conversation in another direction, any direction away from my embarrassment.

I didn’t know you had a sister. Graham only mentioned you, but that doesn’t matter. Even if I’d brought two bunches, I would’ve given you both.

The heat in my face burned even brighter. Why ... why are you saying things like that?

Because it’s true. Am I ... offending you? he asked softly, reaching up to rub his forehead. His fingers found their way into his shaggy hair. He pushed the strands away from his forehead, but they fell back in place.

No, you’re not offending me. I chewed on one corner of my mouth at his words. But you can’t say stuff like that to me. We’re not friends. Our families hate each other.

"I know they do. Both of our fathers are dead because of their stupid feud. Your father murdered my father."

The transformation of his voice, from tender to vengeful, kicked me in the chest. I opened my mouth to argue, Uncle Amos’ confession running through my mind, but snapped it shut at the memory of the promise I made to him. His was a secret I promised to keep, but not being able to defend my father nearly killed me. I didn’t want Tanner assuming Daddy was the one who’d ended his father’s life. My father wasn’t perfect. He’d made mistakes, many of which I’d witnessed through the years, but he was no murderer.

Tears sprang to my eyes, and I brushed them away. Embarrassed by my sudden onslaught of emotion, I glanced down at my lap certain the color of my sniffling nose matched the startling, scarlet strands veiling my face.

Please don’t cry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.

Tanner’s worried whisper sent a shiver through my bones. I slunk down in the chair and placed my hands in my lap, resisting the urge to wrap my arms around my body and hold myself together. Tanner left his place near the window and slowly approached me. He pulled a nearby chair away from the table and sank into it, facing me.

None of this is our fault, he said. I shouldn’t have said that about your dad, even if it’s true. Today’s not the day.

Sniffles filled the silence between us. I took a deep breath, willing myself to stop crying in front of him. He reached out, touching my hand resting on my thigh. His touch was warm, soothing. Fluttering sensations traveled from the back of my hand to the center of my chest. He held up my hand, my fingertips brushing over his palm as his fingers cupped mine.

Tanner smiled. You have stars on your fingernails. He threaded his fingers through mine, turning my hand to examine the curve of a broken moon painted along my thumbnail.

I love the stars, I said. They’re sparkling little soldiers and the moon is their king. Tanner, do you know why they call my father a king?

You don’t know? He sounded surprised by my question.

I shook my head, staring down at our joined fingers. His thumb rubbed light circles over the back of my hand, sending warm tingles quaking through my bones and pooling inside the depths of my belly.

"Jeb Monroe wasn’t a king like you’re probably thinking. He was a kingpin. That means—"

Ruby Red!

Tanner snatched his hand from mine and we both stood. The metal chairs made loud scratching sounds as the motion pushed them away from our bodies. Our uncles peered at us through the doorway, a horrified look crossing Uncle Amos’ face. Graham appeared just as mortified.

Let’s go, Tanner, Graham whispered.

Tanner cast me a somber smile before walking away and pressing himself past a glowering Amos to meet his uncle just outside the door. Graham shook his head and began walking, but Tanner remained in the doorway, glaring at my uncle. Uncle Amos grabbed my arm and yanked it. Pain throbbed in my arm with each squeeze of his hand.

You leave her alone. Tanner took a step forward, balling his fists at his sides. Don’t you hurt her. If you do, I’ll kill—

Uncle Amos turned and laughed, his hand still digging into my flesh. You’ll what? Kill me? Better Montgomerys have tried and failed, boy. He glanced at Graham, his lips quirking in a wicked, gloating grin.

Tanner stalked forward, but Graham walked into the room behind him, rushing to intervene before he could take another step. Graham wrestled him away, muttering in his ear. The man’s concerned gaze locked on mine, which shocked me enough that for a moment I became immune to the pain in my arm. The two Montgomerys left the room, one willing, one forced, leaving me alone with my deranged uncle.

Stay away from him, Ruby Monroe. Do you understand me? I swear on your father’s grave, if I ever find you mixed up with a Montgomery boy, I’ll kill you myself. Is that clear?

Yes, sir.

Uncle Amos’ strong fingers dug into my bony arm as he squeezed and shook it, emphasizing the seriousness of his words. I gritted my teeth, struggling to fight through the pain. He released my arm after one final squeeze and left the room, shaking his head and muttering to himself as he went.

I stayed in the classroom for a long time after he left. An angry, red handprint glared at me from my skin, sore and throbbing. The memory of Tanner’s fingers gently grasping mine outweighed the pain, making it practically unnoticeable. Another type of pain filled my body, crippling and stealing the air from my lungs. The pain had a name, one called uncertainty. I was uncertain of the chance of ever seeing that brown-eyed boy again.

Little did I realize we would, in fact, meet again, and our worlds would come crashing down around us because we’d be caught in the middle of our families’ war.

Chapter 2

Over the years following the death of my father, our two families continued to feud and squabble. No one knew exactly what started the decades-old quarrel. I’d assumed it stemmed from their rival drug trafficking businesses, but my cousin Brodie told me that had nothing to do with it.

Brodie claimed the war started many, many years ago when a Monroe ancestor began a secret, torrid love affair with one of the Montgomery men. They were both married and were both found dead, terrifyingly similar to the way my father was found ... shot in the head and dumped in a vacant field. Thus began a lifelong hatred between the two families.

Although the men of the two families fought and argued on a more serious level, the children played on a whole different ball field. Brodie, being a prankster by nature, loved to get the best of the Montgomery kids. He’d once ordered a bunch of gay porn in Tanner Montgomery’s name and had it shipped directly to Graham Montgomery’s home address.

Brodie stayed in detention for one thing or the other, but he wasn’t the only Monroe who held a semi-permanent desk there. My cousin Josie practically lived in detention for all the stunts she pulled while in school. My twin cousins, Olivia and Peyton, stayed in trouble quite a bit as well. It couldn’t be held against them. We’d all been raised pretty rough. Having the FBI or DEA knock down your bathroom door during a bubble bath a time or two made a person bitter, and we were a cynical, bitter bunch.

We were the children of a bunch of criminals, a gang of brothers who were rumored marijuana traffickers. The rumors hadn’t been proven and wouldn’t, not while Buck Bridges was the sheriff in town. Buck had been in cahoots with my family for as long as my memory allowed and was excellent at covering evidence of my family’s indiscretions.

I didn’t agree with the lifestyle of my relatives. Most of my drama had ended with the death of my father. There weren’t as many detectives knocking down doors. There were fewer instances of unmarked vehicles parked at the end of our long, tree-lined drive, although the visits didn’t completely stop; Detective Benson Holloway had made his presence known around my house over the years.

My life was a strange one, to put it mildly. My grandparents had raised a bunch of thugs, but my grandmother was very well respected in our tiny community, just as my deceased grandfather had been. She was a local business owner and brought revenue into the community with the bakery she owned.

My uncles were business owners as well, owning a construction company that contracted out to wealthy people all over the South. My father once owned that company, but it had been passed along to his brothers, who were already ensconced in the business, after his death. It was a good, legitimate cover for their drug operation.

Lucy and I were latchkey kids. Our mother Christine worked long hours as a nurse at the local hospital, which was located directly across the Tennessee-Tombigbee River, or the Tenn-Tom as us locals called it, in Birchwood. That was Montgomery territory, but Mama’s indiscretion was forgiven. Legitimate work happened to be one thing their verbal contract allowed. Aside from that, the rules were simple: the Montgomerys stayed on their side of the river and the Monroes stayed on ours.

We didn’t need to cross that river to entertain ourselves. Not when I had a license to drive and plenty of Monroe territory to do it in. I drove Lucy and myself everywhere in my beloved Jeep. There was nothing greater than riding around with the wind whipping through our hair, a small freedom I learned to enjoy.

The Jeep had been a gift from my mother on my sixteenth birthday, but she didn’t give it to me out of the kindness of her heart. Work kept her busy, too busy to cart Lucy and me around, or so she said. Truth be told, even when she wasn’t working she was rarely home.

Over the years I’d become the woman she never was. I was the cook, the housekeeper, the one who made sure the bills were paid on time. Most of my spare time was spent keeping Lucy out of trouble, and that was hard enough to do on my own. Lucy became dependent on me, and I hated that I was a sixteen-year-old girl and already felt twice my age. Mama made me feel guilty for complaining, telling me she was a single mother and to stop being so selfish about helping her out. Over time, I began to resent the woman.

I wished my father were still alive. But he wasn’t. He was dead, and it was by the hands of a Montgomery, or so my family repeatedly claimed. The identity of his killer was never uncovered. No evidence was found other than tire tracks near the empty field where his body was discovered. The tire tracks were identified to a make and model of car not found to belong to anyone in our small town or in Birchwood.

Mayhaw was much smaller than Birchwood but still in the same county. Birchwood was extremely prosperous, thanks to Graham Montgomery who owned one of the biggest furniture factories in the great state of Mississippi. It supplied thousands of jobs.

I didn’t share the same sort of animosity for the Montgomerys as my family did. I still couldn’t stand them for the simple fact that one or more of them had caused my father’s demise. However, my father had been in the thick of it all, bringing trouble his way by his own hand. Not only did I blame the Montgomerys for his death, but my father and his own brothers as well. If not for the way they chose to live their lives, my father would still be here, walking this earth.

I hadn’t seen a Montgomery since the day they lowered my father six feet into the red-clay until one pivotal day, a day I’d never forget. It was the day I was kicked while I was already down.

The stomach virus ran rampant throughout my school. When the nausea hit me, it was sudden and startling. Coach Brookes dismissed me from gym after finding me hunched over, clutching my abdomen and moaning in pain.

When I arrived at the nurse’s office, Mrs. Glover emerged from the back room wearing a pair of pink scrubs and a smile on her face that dissolved as soon as she set her sights on me. With her face bunched in concern, she peered through her thick glasses.

Rue, you look so pale. What’s wrong, sweetheart?

I think I caught the stomach virus. A wave of dizziness washed over me, and I leaned against the small desk for support.

Mrs. Glover tsked in concern and wrapped one arm around me, leading me to a room in the back of the office. While she took my temperature, she rubbed my clammy hand in a motherly fashion that was foreign to me.

You have a low-grade fever, she announced, peering at me over the rim of her glasses. You need to go home, sweetie, and take something for that fever. And drink lots of water. I don’t think you’re in any shape to drive yourself home. Is Christine home today?

No, ma’am. I groaned, pressing my hand to my warm forehead. Why was I suddenly so cold? She’s working a double shift today. Can you call Aunt Maggie?

Aunt Maggie eventually arrived to pick me up from school. Both women helped me into her small, white pickup truck. The inside smelled of pineapples and coconuts from the multiple air fresheners hanging from the rearview mirror. They were meant to mask the smell of weed, but my canine-like nose still detected the scent. Rolling my window down to escape the smell, I took mouthfuls of clean, warm air into my lungs.

After seeing me glare at the offensive air fresheners, Aunt Maggie snatched them down from the rearview mirror and shoved them into the console, closing it with a satisfying snap. She murmured her apologies, and I gave her a watery smile.

You poor thing, she said, pulling the truck through the parking lot.

Aunt Maggie’s curls bounced and danced in the wind. Her hair was just as blonde as her daughter Josie’s. Josie was the only Monroe kid who didn’t have red tones to her hair, making her look like an oddity among the mass of us.

I’m taking you home and making you some homemade chicken soup. Nana’s recipe, of course.

Ugh, don’t mention food. I’m never gonna eat again. I fished my cell from my back pocket, desperate to distract myself from my rolling stomach. Besides, we probably don’t have any of the ingredients. I haven’t been to the grocery store in a week ... maybe two.

Aunt Maggie’s lips drew into a hard, firm line. It was no secret she’d grown to dislike my mother, a person who was once her best friend. Aunt Maggie had voiced on more than one occasion her disapproval of the way my mother piled everything on my shoulders.

I shot Lucy a text telling her I was sick and to be discreet while using her spare key to drive home. Lucy was only fifteen, and I couldn’t afford a ticket for her underage driving.

Maggie changed the subject and began to ramble on about Josie’s antics, her voice sounding disturbed, but the slight smile on her face told me she found the behavior amusing. She began trying to pick me for information on some boy Josie had supposedly started dating. Little did she know Josie wasn’t dating anyone. Josie was screwing a couple guys, but she wasn’t dating any one particular person. I gave vague answers as we turned down the winding country road where Mama, Lucy, and I lived.

Aunt Maggie pulled into the driveway, her voice breaking off as we made it not even halfway down the tree-lined drive. She shoved the gear shift in reverse, quickly and quietly backing up the steep hill.

Startled, I glanced at Aunt Maggie, taking in the horrified expression on her face. I followed her anxious gaze, but nothing was out of the ordinary about my home at first glance. The lake and small swimming pool were shimmering just to the right of the two-story house. Birds swooped down, snatching surface-dwelling fish from the water.

But then I noticed an unfamiliar vehicle sitting in the driveway.

The pickup truck was a huge, gleaming monstrosity with fat tires and completely chromed out in silver. It was an extended-cab, diesel-guzzling giant painted hunter green. It looked brand-spanking new and probably cost more than our house.

My God, Rue, Aunt Maggie whispered, her face pinched in distress. What in the world is going on?

Whose truck is that? I struggled to get one last glimpse as Aunt Maggie backed up the road and parked on the low shoulder.

She didn’t respond as she hid her vehicle out of view from the house. She fumbled around inside her purse, snatching her cell from within its depths. Her trembling fingers tapped at the screen.

Saul, the nurse called me to the school to pick up Rue ... No, Josie’s fine. Rue has a stomach virus. That’s not why I’m calling. You need to get down to Christine’s house now ... I’m not playing. Stop what you’re doing and get down here now! she hollered in the phone, ignoring my confused expression. You won’t believe whose truck is sitting in her driveway as we speak. Hurry up! I’m too scared to drive back down there ... I swear it looks like Davis Montgomery’s truck. Just hurry!

The frantic, concerned voice of my father’s younger brother drifting from the speaker of the phone ended with one tap of Aunt Maggie’s manicured finger. She dropped the phone onto her lap and shoved a thumb in her mouth, chewing away at the nail.

A knot of dread formed in my stomach. There was a Montgomery in my driveway. My stomach rolled again, but it wasn’t from the virus. There was only one reason for a Montgomery to be at my house, and an image of my father flashed through my mind. My poor mother ... what if she were dead? No matter how much I resented her, I’d never wish any harm on her.

We sat silently in the truck parked in the tall grass growing alongside the road. Aunt Maggie’s expression told me not to mention the truck or my mother. Her face was stark white, her pink lips stretched in a worried frown. The unease in my stomach continued as we sat in the increasingly warm vehicle. Sweat beaded across my forehead, and I switched the air conditioner onto a higher setting.

Uncle Saul’s antique, red Chevy truck breezed past us on the road. Its engine chugged as he pulled into the driveway like a gangbuster. Maggie followed, pulling in behind him. I watched the back of his curly head through the glass as he cut the engine and jumped out of the truck.

Saul wore a plaid shirt with the sleeves ripped off. His thick arms shone with sweat and his jeans were practically white with concrete dust. He had the same handsome, rugged features of all the Monroe men: reddish hair and wicked eyes.

I slid out of the truck, falling in place beside my aunt who leaned against the hood of her vehicle, her hands wringing together. My heart hammered against my chest as Uncle Saul climbed the small concrete walkway that led up to the lake house. He tried to open the front door without luck.

Do you have your keys? Aunt Maggie asked, her voice edged in nervousness.

Nodding, I fished them from my pocket and handed them to her. She crossed the distance between the vehicle and where Uncle Saul stood, tossing the keys into his hands before returning to me. Uncle Saul slid the key in the doorknob before disappearing inside the house. Aunt Maggie and I stood for what seemed an endless amount of time before we both jumped at the sound of breaking glass and shouting drifting out the front door.

Uncle Saul shoved a man, much smaller in size, through the open door. The man fell to the ground with an oomph beside the walkway, landing under the tall pine and oak trees that surrounded the house. He was lanky with sharp features and was probably quite handsome, if not for his busted lip and rapidly swelling right eye. He struggled to stand, his white shirt smeared with dirt and broken leaves.

Uncle Saul descended the steps, his boots hitting the sidewalk as he made his way to where the man stood. He slugged the man in the face, and I cringed in horror as his head snapped around. The man managed to stay on two feet and then flung himself at my uncle, wrestling him to the ground. They began exchanging punches, kicks, and curses as they fought, and I yanked my cell from my pocket with the full intention of calling the police.

My mother emerged from the house, her auburn curls in disarray as she ran screaming down the steps. She trembled in fright at the sight of the two men duking it out in front of her house. Her white hospital scrubs were wrinkled, and the top was on backward. Pale, red lipstick was smeared across her face, trailing all the way to her neck.

Saul! Stop right now before you kill Davis! Just let me explain! She grabbed at Uncle Saul’s flailing arms.

Uncle Saul flung her off him. I cried out as she fell into the flowerbed full of the same flowers she’d planted while my father was still alive. The black soil ruined her white uniform as she lay sprawled out on the ground.

Mama! I called out in tears, my stomach rolling yet again.

I attempted to dart forward, but Aunt Maggie held me back. I struggled against her as my mother lay on the