Dirty South Drug Wars Read online

  “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-o
ld 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 M
aggie 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.