Reed (Book 2, Southern Royals Saga)

Chapter 26: Last One

December 22, 2014

Northwestern Arkansas

4 P.M.

I left early this morning; a lot earlier than I usually did to make a delivery.

I guess I was in a rush to get it over with; my last deal.

Or maybe, it was so I could deter my girl from asking any more questions about things...

"I was just thinkin',"

"Oh no," I joked, snickering against her shoulder as she huffed at me playfully.

Liv rolled over, facing me with a serious expression.

"Royce," I quirked an eyebrow at her; we just made love and she wanted to talk about Royce? "I don't remember a whole lot from that night, but I do remember some things he said. About you, and about a kid..."

I move away from her and sit up on the bed; of course, that's what she'd remember.

"Brandon?"

I rubbed my temple, "I was kinda hopin' you'd forgotten."

"Is it true, though? Did you kill a 16-year-old kid?"

I was silent, not knowing how to answer, but I knew the answer was yes; I killed a young kid who tried to pull a fast one on me, or so Liam led me to believe.

That, mixed the cocaine in my system, was a rather deadly combination.

"I didn't want to," I say, meeting her soft gaze, "That's all you need to know."

That's all she would ever know.

I wove down the dirty, dusty roads, wondering why my dad had to opt for a black car; dust covered the hood of Shelby, and I grumbled to myself at the thought of having to hand-wash it. Again.

Just on the outskirts of Fort Smith sat an old modular home, hidden beneath the pines and oaks, tucked out of view. The front lawn was nothing but overgrown grass, weeds, and about three broken-down vehicles rusting away.

I parked Shelby under a shade tree and made my way across the thick grass. I was ignored by the old hound dog that had grown used to me over the years.

"Hey, Butch," I lean down and pat his head before climbing the rickety, wooden steps, and banged on the door, holding the delivery over my shoulder.

The man answered quickly, well aware of how prompt I liked to be.

"Brandon," he greeted, a bright smile on his tired face, "Come on in."

I followed him into the trailer, shutting the rickety screen door behind me.

The inside was vastly different from the outside; the air smelled of a mixture of incense and weed, two things Roman burned on a daily basis. The carpet was shag and red; the furniture was leather and clean, the countertops and surfaces spotless.

OCD had its perks, I guess.

In addition to that, Roman was divorced, with three sons he never got to see because of his compulsions and excessive drug use.

I dropped the duffel on the brown sofa, "You already paid, Anthony?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

"First of every month, like clockwork," Roman gestured to the couch, "Sit.

I decline at first, "I really shouldn't. I gotta get back home."

"What's the rush? Sit. Tell me what you been up to. Anthony tells me you got yourself a girl now."