Jackson
“You need to stay away from my daughter!” Loretta Harris hissed, storming into the auto shop late one Tuesday afternoon. “She is not one of those women you use for your sick sex-capades!”
I looked up at her as a heavy sigh rolled across my lips, then went back to working on the car in front of me.
Did she just say sex-capades?
I had a new favorite word.
“Unless you got a car with you, I reckon you should leave,” I muttered, grabbing a wrench from my toolbox.
She click-clacked over in her high heels and placed her hands on her hips. “I mean it, you-you-you animal. Keep your hands off Grace or else!”
“Or else?” I cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t take well to threats,” I warned her.
“Well, I don’t take well to people coming for my family,” she countered.
“No one’s coming for your family, your highness,” I mocked. “So, if you would please leave...”
“What’s your deal with her anyway, huh? Are you just trying to get back at me for something?”
I pressed my hands against the car, rising to meet her stare. Her eyes matched her daughter’s, yet hers were filled with hate. “What in the hell would I have to get back at you for?”
“When you came to me as a kid, asking for my help.”
I snapped my band. Deep breaths. “I ain’t got time for this.” I rubbed my palms against my jeans and turned to walk away. “Let yourself out.”
“You need to stay away from my daughter, or you’ll regret it,” she ordered once more, making me tense up.
“Once again,” I growled, snapping my band, “I don’t do well with threats.”
“It’s not a threat; it’s a promise. If you keep crossing paths with Grace, I’ll make you suffer.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “How is that any different than what you and yours have done to me for so many years?”
“Listen—”
“No, you listen,” I howled, moving in closer to her. “You don’t come into my shop barking demands at me. You don’t tell me what to do or how to do it, all right? This is my life, and you don’t get to control it. I know you’re used to having your minions do everything you want them to do, but I’m not your show pony, all right, woman? When you tell me to jump, I don’t say how high, so how about you take your empty threats and get the hell out of my sight?”
“I wished you would’ve stayed gone all those years ago when you went to rehab,” she told me.
“You should’ve prayed harder to that god of yours.”
Her bottom lip trembled, which was the biggest sign of weakness Loretta Harris ever let herself show. Then she reached into her purse and pulled out a checkbook. “How much?”
“What?”
“How much do you want? I’ll pay you any amount to stay away from Gracelyn Mae.”
“Is that how you always get your way? With a check?” I huffed. “I don’t want your money.”
“How much?” she badgered, pulling out an ink pen. “I’ll pay you for all of your land, too, if it means keeping you and your lowlife of your father out of my town.”
“The last thing you want to do is talk about my father,” I hissed. Even though I hated him, a Harris had no right to spit on his name. “Get out.”
