Heap of Trouble [Trouble, Tennessee 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Read online

  “What?” Heather shook her head. Were there two people there? She slid against the wall again, reaching with her fingers before she dragged her body behind her arm, scooting alongside the funnel-like area and praying for that ladder.

  “Are you alone here?”

  “Are you?” A childlike squeaky voice filled the hole. Evil laughter resonated.

  Goose bumps scattered along her spine and arms, and she covered her mouth to mute a cry. Multiple squeals, like those from rats or mice, resounded.

  “No,” she whispered, closing her eyes and trying to disconnect from the moment. How had she ended up there? What poor decisions had she made in life? Would those choices make it virtually impossible to bounce back, to regroup and move on?

  Had she really been that terrible? Had she been the kind of person who deserved to end up in a dark hellish space with talking walls or ghosts or whatever the hell it was in there with her?

  “Oh, Heather!” Toms Vance called out to her. “You doin’ all right down there, honey?”

  “No!” She looked up, hoping and praying Toms had taken pity on her. “I’m here, Toms. And I’ll do anything.” She tiptoed away from the wall, counting out each of her ten small steps in case she needed to return to her starting place.

  “Ah now, darlin’,” he crooned. “Of course you’re there. Where else would you be, cupcake? I mean, it ain’t like you and Longs are goin’ anywhere anytime soon.”

  “Longs?”

  “Jims. He’s down there with ya, girl. Who ya think has been talkin’ to ya?”

  “Longs? Jims? Are there two of them?”

  “Just Longs. That’s the name we give him when he gets himself in trouble.”

  “Jims, is that you?”

  “Gotta drink? Wanna sip?”

  “What have you done to him?” She looked up but only saw blackness.

  “Me? Girl, it ain’t me that did that. Longs went on a binge, ya see. While we were a’tendin’ to ya? Longs here got in the stash. Snorted that shit until his eyes bugged. Didn’t ya, Longs?”

  “Gotta smoke? Gotta drink? Gotta bump?” His chanting had slowed.

  “Jims. It’s Heather. Be still. Trust me. I’ll get us out of here.”

  “Out of here?” The childlike voice returned. “I don’t think so.”

  The hair on Heather’s neck stood up. The drastic change in his voice frightened her, but what frightened her more was the possibility of spending time with him. Normally, Jims was harmless. At the moment, he sounded just plain scary—or fucked up.

  “Let Jims go,” she pleaded. “He’s your brother.”

  “Ha! Girl, ya think I’m that stupid? Think I’ll come on down there and save ole Longs and then you’ll make a ‘scape for it?”

  “Please, Toms. I’ll do anything.” Her mouth was dry. Her lips parched.

  “And that anything is what concerns me and Rons. Want to tell me what ya meant by sendin’ out an email to a complete fuckin’ stranger?”

  His rage was as harsh then as it had been in the days leading up to her visit to the hole. How could she reason with him when he seemed bent on making her suffer for the rest of her natural life?

  “Whip me,” she suggested, calling up to him. “Please. Send the ladder down. I’ll take my spanking. You can whip me. Just don’t leave me down here!”

  She’d spotted the horsewhip in the kitchen. They kept it propped in the corner as if to represent an everlasting threat, a possibility for corporal punishment.

  The wood covering the well moved a tad, enough for an instant flash of light, but nothing more. He was toying with her and the taunting made her more desperate than anything else.

  “Gotta a drink. Wanna—”

  “Shut the crazy shit up, Longs. You can carry on when I’m not here to witness it.”

  “Jims is your brother, Toms. You’re doing this to your brother? Why? What did he do that was so terrible?”

  “Did ya miss the part where I told ya he was doped up?”

  “No, I heard that part,” she said in a breathless voice, hoping she could keep him talking until he changed his mind about leaving her there. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea, Toms. Maybe Jims needs a hospital.”

  “He needs to dry out.”

  “And I’m sure he will.” She tried to remember the last time she’d seen Jims. Had he been at the Vance home prior to her stunt? She couldn’t remember.

  “He’ll sober up in a few days,” Toms said. “He needed a good woman to show him the way.”

  “Toms, please.” When she’d first come to and had realized where she was, she’d made up her mind. She wouldn’t beg. Now, however, she would do anything to help herself. She was cold and frightened. “I wanna go home.”

  “Aw, poor baby,” Toms drawled. “But hers didn’t wanna go back to the family when ole Toms first met her.”

  The baby talk turned her stomach. He sounded sinister, possessed.

  “Toms, please. I will do anything.”

  “I believe ya, cupcake. Thing is, me and Rons have another duty for ya now. And we’re willin’ to bet that SOS you sent out is gonna get us just what we’re in the market for.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That brother of yourn, he’ll be lookin’ for ya. And when he comes, me and Rons? We’ll be ready for him.”

  Jims had begun chanting in whispers. Doped or not, he was clearly afraid of his brothers.

  “I made a mistake,” she said, thinking of Bradley then. What if Toms and Rons had set her up? Had they known she would send out a message for help? Was that the only reason she’d been permitted to use the computer? Panic struck then and she buried her face in her hands, trying not to sob, fighting like mad to keep the wails contained.

  “Yeah, buddy. Rons said to me, ‘Toms, I reckon that girl of ours has ‘bout served her purpose. Ain’t gonna take the willin’, ya know’ and well, I reckon I agree. That’s what he said to me. He believes yer willin’ but yer only willin’ to take the bold and few. What’s them fellas names?”

  “I don’t know.” Heather couldn’t think. What fellows did they know about? It wasn’t important. Right now, she needed to keep Toms busy. Heather swallowed. “I’m thirsty.”

  “Wanna drink? Wanna sip—”

  “Knock it off, Longs!”

  A chain rattled in the distance. Something scraped against the stone wall.

  “Do you have him restrained?”

  “In a way,” Toms replied.

  She rubbed her wrists and was silently grateful. Things could’ve been worse.

  “So tell me somethin’, cupcake.” The wooden planks shifted and this time, Heather glanced around at the surrounding area, shocked to find the area in front of her vacant until Toms threw down four bottles of water. She turned to find Jims but the well went black again.

  Where was he? She turned around quickly and whispered, “Jims?”

  She heard shuffling and could tell something was in front of her. She backed away a step, assuming Jims had gone for the water, something she should’ve done as well.

  High above them, Toms called out, “Rons says your brother is part of that Trouble bunch. Says that older guy you snuck around with—what’s his name again? Ah, it don’t matter—Rons says he’s in Trouble, too. Sort of figured on that’s why you called your big brother. Reckon ya wanted that man of yourn to come fetch ya.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yep. Ya do. Gabe. That’s his name. Gabe and Bradley. Brother and boyfriend.”

  She closed her eyes, willing her tears away, not that anyone would see them in the darkness. For a minute, she could’ve sworn her mind’s eye was playing tricks on her.

  She pictured Gabe on his twenty-first birthday, driving around the high school parking lot. He had heard a rumor that day and he had been out looking for proof, trying to find out if gossip held truths.

  Heather grinned then at the memory. He had slowly crept up one aisle and then another, movin
g through the rows of parked vehicles as he searched for her. She’d hidden from him, darted in between vehicles in an effort to stay out of sight.

  Prior to that particular afternoon, Gabe had believed she’d just celebrated her twentieth birthday. In fact, she’d been seventeen.

  Heather still remembered the look on his face when he found her crouched down behind her old Plymouth. And the words he’d spoken? Well, those sentiments still haunted her to this day. “I wanted you. I had set my sights on having you. And you’re nothing but a kid?”

  Now, twenty-one, Heather wondered if Gabe still thought about her. They’d kept in touch by emails prior to her stop at the Vance family farm. Before arriving at the Vance property, she had heard about Trouble and someone had suggested that he worked there with her brother, but that’s not why she reached out to Bradley. She had reached out because she was frightened and she wanted to go home, wherever home was now. She’d been away for so long, she couldn’t be sure.

  “Ya quiet for a reason, cupcake?”

  “Please.”

  “Beggin’ is not attractive, Heather.”

  “Why won’t you let me out of here?”

  “’Cause I got some plans for ya. Ain’t’cha figured it out yet?” Toms laughed “Rons says to me, ‘Let her have a little freedom. See if the drugs are still in her system.’ He was guessin’ no and he was right. He wanted to know if you were still feedin’ on this poison or doin’ yer own thing.” Toms grunted. “Guess you was a’playin’ us, huh?”

  “Toms, I always liked you.”

  “Did ya now?” He laughed. “I took ya for a woman more apt to spend time with Dons.”

  She shuddered at the mention of the older Vance brother. He was about six feet tall and two hundred and eighty pounds or so of pure wickedness.

  “I’m not anyone’s type.” She wondered if he’d thrown out a name for a reason. Did the brothers plan to feed her to Dons? She hated to think of herself as his next meal, but there were strange happenings around him. The women Dons brought to the mountain never left his room and she never saw any of them again.

  “I want to go home,” she said, staring up. “Please. Let me walk out of here. You don’t have to give me a ride. I just want to go home.” It was then when she realized those tears were coming in droves. Her face was wet. Her lips quivered.

  “Ha! Ya ain’t got a home, girl! Ya ain’t got a song or a prayer neither. Ya betrayed us and here we treated ya like family. Listen at’cha. Sayin’ ya wanna go home.” He moved the boards and slammed them to one side or the other. “Ya are home, bitch! Pick a corner and get comfortable cause ya ain’t goin’ any gosh’d damned where!”

  Chapter Two

  “What the hell were you thinking out there? Saying all that nonsense in front of Bradley?” Allister threw a right punch at thin air as he followed Draegan into the main office. Markie and Harley stayed right on his heels.

  “He was speaking the truth,” Harley said, sitting on the edge of the sofa. “The Vance boys are ritualistic sons-of-bitches.”

  “Explain that,” Allister said.

  “What he means is—”

  “I didn’t ask you, Markie.” Allister nodded at Harley.

  “Actually, Markie knows them better than I do.”

  Markie clucked. “Not really. I knew the younger one but Draegan here, why he had quite the experience with the others. Didn’t ya, sugar?”

  “I wasn’t on my knees for one of ‘em, Markie,” Draegan reminded him.

  “Don’t be crude,” Markie said in a girlie voice. “There’s no need for jealousy. I always tell everyone I’m saving the best for last.”

  Allister crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “So Markie was up in some dude’s business and you…what, picked him up after his one-night stand?”

  “It’s a little more complicated than that.”

  “We’re wasting time here, boys,” Harley said. “We need to load up and hit those hills before the day is done.”

  Draegan gripped his chin and placed his forefinger over his lips in thoughtful consideration. After a minute, he said, “We have policies here for a reason.”

  “You saying you don’t think we should go after Heather?” Allister asked.

  “I’m sayin’ we have policies. If we break our own rules, we need to go to the Vance’s place with the understanding that about half of us may not come back.”

  “Oh, bullshit.” Allister rolled his eyes. “You’re so damned dramatic at times.”

  “In this case, he’s a little on the conservative side.” Markie tilted his head and took a deep breath before adding, “Think high-collared shirt, knee-high socks, and Sunday’s best. That kind of conservative.”

  “Markie, can you please just hush a minute?”

  “For you, sugar? It’ll be my pleasure. You’ll just owe me one.” He gave him a heated look and Allister sneered. “Never mind. We’ll call it even.”

  Allister turned his back to Markie. “What do you know about the Vance brothers?”

  “I about got my killin’ out at their place. Markie was seeing the younger one, and apparently his brothers didn’t know anything about his sexual preferences until they met Markie.”

  “Imagine that,” Allister mumbled. “Go on.”

  “I went out there to pick Markie up. Mac was with me. It took us about four or five hours just to find him.”

  “What? Why?”

  “They have wells on the property,” Markie said, the color now drained from his face. “Your brothers are good stock. Most folks would’ve left me once they saw that place. Not Mac and Draegan. They searched every last well until they found me.”

  “Wells?” Harley asked. “What are you talking about?”

  “Wait a minute. You’re saying they hid you in a well?” Allister was starting to understand some of Markie’s phobic tendencies.

  “Yes, they did.”

  Allister felt a sudden pang in his chest. Markie irritated him to no end, but they were family. When they were kids, Markie practically lived with them.

  “I never knew.” Now that he did, he felt damned bad about it. Markie had always been afraid of the dark and hated confined spaces. Allister’s eyes watered and he looked away. Damn it. Drudging up the past must’ve been difficult for Markie.

  Harley pushed away from the couch and paced. “Draegan, what do you remember about the property?”

  “Probably about as much as Markie does. The Vance home is surrounded by woods.”

  “Will that be a plus or a minus in our favor?”

  “Definitely a negative, brother,” Draegan replied. “There must be a good five hundred acres up there.”

  “And the wells?” Allister asked.

  “I remember one of the Vance brothers boasting about ‘em. At the time, he claimed most of ‘em were dry. If you believe the locals and rumors, those wells were dug for one purpose—hiding bodies.”

  “How’d you find Markie?” Allister asked.

  “You have to ask?” Draegan laughed. “Man squeals like a stuck pig when he’s frightened.”

  “And I sang hog tunes to Old McDonald’s Farm when I realized they planned to sacrifice me.”

  “What?” Allister screeched.

  Draegan rummaged through the main desk looking for the gun cabinet key. As soon as he found it, he passed it off to Allister. “Sort of makes sense now, huh? What I said back at the barn? That wasn’t for shits and giggles, Allister. These guys are worse than any we’ve ever faced.”

  “Doubtful.” Allister loped to the gun cabinet without a break in stride. He chose a few shotguns and a couple of forty-fives, his weapons of choice. “Can you think of anything that will help us when we go in there?”

  “Yeah,” Draegan said. “Be sure when you see a Vance brother, you shoot to kill. We don’t need survivors. If we have those, we’ll have problems later.”

  “We’re not going on a killing spree,” Harley stated flatly.

  “Then I can’t app
rove this,” Draegan said.

  “You’re serious?” Harley winced. “Man, if we go in there with a murderer’s agenda, we’ll be brought up on charges and rightfully so.”

  “Well what do you propose we do? Think we should just drive on up to the main house, peck softly on the door, and tell the fellows we were out for a drive and wanted to have a look around?” Draegan snorted at that. “Hell no. When we go in, we go in right.”

  “Listen to yourself. We aren’t going in there with our guns drawn. One of our own has a sister being held there!”

  “And I’m aware of that, Allister. Still doesn’t change the fact that we have rules and we typically stick to them. Fact of the matter is, I’m not for this. I don’t think we should go at all. We specifically had guidelines to follow, rules in place to prevent these shotgun practices. If a woman wants our help, she comes to us. That’s just the way it is.”

  “Sugar, you and I both know if she escaped wherever she’s being held she’d still have a long walk out of those mountains. There’s no way she could get out of there undetected.”

  “Exactly,” Draegan said, crossing his arms. “And there’s no way we can get in without being seen. I can’t, won’t, approve of this.”

  “Who died and left you king?” Harley asked, choosing automatic weapons. “I’m with Allister. This is a family matter. Bradley is one of ours so that makes his kid sister ours, too. Look at it this way. Our bylaws are a guideline. One of the rules in the handbook states the women must come here and remain here only if it is by choice. Apparently, Heather wants that opportunity or she wouldn’t have risked contacting someone on the outside. She reached out to Bradley. She wants our help. It’s no different than when we go to the area hospitals to pick up a new resident.”

  “I agree, sugar,” Markie said, crossing and bouncing his leg. He gave Draegan a sympathetic look.

  Draegan returned it with a stern glare. “If you agree so much, how come you aren’t picking up your pistol and loading your guns?”

  “Oh darlin’, you must’ve forgotten.” He grabbed his crotch. “I’m always locked and loaded here. Does this mean we’re going after Heather?”