Giant Men and Violent Women

We're Heading In

ASHLEY

Louisiana is significant. There's no denying it. She just is. It's not about me wanting her. It's not about me feeling sorry for her. I neither desire nor sympathize with her. She left me. Yes, I drove her to her destination, but she left me. Even before then, she'd doubted us. She wasn't even sure she wanted to be with me. So, this isn't about some sense of duty on my part.

This is about something being wrong. This is about her father being the leader of New Hampshire and her possibly being used as a weapon against the House of New Hampshire. As long as she's out there, we have a weakness. As long as she's missing, her father will continue to pace the floors with little to no concern for running New Hampshire. He is now the face of the new republic. We need him attentive and focused. We need to find his daughter.

So, I called Mercer, the ten mountain boys from earlier today and, reluctantly, Dallas, and I told them we had to go to Boston. Dallas actually sounded like he was tired when he answered the phone. Like he might be too sleepy to come to work. Never mind the fact that we're trying to find his siblings. But we have to find Louisiana. This isn't her and Charlotte being rebels. I don't know why, but something tells me that they're in trouble.

So, I'm in Mercer's truck, and we've got the rest of the fellas trailing us. "Remember, I can't go around, asking for her," I remind Mercer.

He beats his hands against the steering wheel in tune with the reggaefolk.

"Yes, I know, Ashley," he says, like he's heard this story a thousand times before. "Presley Ann is the boss. You are afraid of her. We must not tell her about this evening."

"Shut the hell up," I tell him.

Listen, I need to keep the peace with Presley Ann, and I can't do that by trying to find Louisiana the day before my bell-ringing. And, no, I shouldn't be at a bachelor party because I just had one last week when I was set to marry a different woman. I figured another one would be in bad taste.

I like being in the field, but I have to fall back tonight and let the others do the asking. I might even stay in the truck so that I won't be seen, looking for another woman. Such is the life of a married man.

The bright blue glow of Mercer's cell phone lights up his truck. He's got a message waiting for him.

"Would you mind turning that down, please?" I ask him. "It's terribly bright."

"Whatever. So, looks like we're not the only ones on the move," he says, glancing at his cell phone.

"What happened?" "Presley Ann's in Vermont." I look at him.

He glances at me and smiles. "Like I said, I can't wait for this marriage."

Adrenaline surges through my veins.

"I swear to God, I'm going to finish that motherfucker," I say of Jewels.

Mercer turns his phone toward me. There's a map up, a blinking yellow dot on the screen. Presley Ann's truck. Mercer and I installed a tracker in Presley Ann's truck last night. I know. I neglected to leave that part of last night's activities out. But my guys were having trouble following her without Boxer seeing them, thanks to Dallas. He followed Boxer too closely one night, which tipped Boxer off that he was being followed. Ever since that night, they noticed him staring in the rearview mirror, driving at alternating speeds to spook them and then shaking them just as he and Presley Ann entered Boston. Installing a tracker in her truck was our only option. And since then, she hasn't gone anywhere. Now, she's in Vermont.

"Good ol' Jewels," Mercer says to me. "It's gonna be fun, dealing with this dickhead. He's relentless as hell."

"Let's go."