The front tire going into a pothole, sending her soaring over her handlebars.
She’d landed hard, rolled into the ditch.
Brakes squealed, gravel crunched as Seth and his animal brothers jumped out, laughing.
She didn’t stand a chance.
Miriam squeezed her eyes closed.
You’ve got this, she told herself.
She pressed on around the counter, passing through colorful hanging beads being ever so careful to not make a sound. She could hear Seth saying vulgar words about the woman and her encouraging him, thinking only of what she would get out of the exchange. What was he giving her? She felt sorry for women who reduced themselves to being nothing more than meat for men to force themselves upon. Sure, she was getting paid but she knew no woman in her right mind would do this if given the choice. No doubt there was someone pulling the strings, a guy behind the scenes pocketing the lion’s share of the profits. Most of the women in these joints were being trafficked and no one questioned it.
The corridor had several doors that led into massage rooms. Seth was in the second to last. The door was slightly ajar. Through it, Miriam could see his naked ass. He was on top of an Asian woman. The very sight of it gave her a flashback. Like being hit with a memory that her mind had pushed down into the farthest regions. Had he really done this to her? The noise he was making. It was familiar. Those words. Those disgusting words. She felt her fingers tighten around the handle of the machete. Her jaw clenched. Every muscle in her body tightened.
No one is to touch a Strickland. You hear me?
Her mother’s words came back to her.
Fuck the agreement.
Miriam burst into the room, wielding the machete above her head.
Seth turned his head, his eyes widened as she brought it down on his back, striking him multiple times. He rolled off the woman, his arms rising to defend himself but doing little to stop the heavy blows.
Behind her the woman screamed, and ran out of the room, naked, blood covering her.
Miriam stopped short of killing him and walked to the doorway and pulled the 9mm to shoot the woman in the back. No one could know. Two rounds and the girl dropped.
Behind her, Seth wailed and writhed in agony.
She dropped down to eye level and pushed back her hood so he could see her face.
“You?”
“That’s right. You will never do this again to another woman. You hear me?”
“My… family… will…”
Before he could spit the words out, she rammed the machete straight through his throat and out the back of his neck. “Will do nothing.” She extracted the blade and his body sank to the side, blood gushing out and forming a huge pool. Miriam stood there for a second observing him like the piece of trash he was before she unleashed another flurry of cuts to his body, releasing all the pent-up anger.
Chapter Ten
By July 1, the marijuana would be up to his waist. Hank Strickland basked in the beauty of the new crop inside his curved white greenhouse. It had been three months since he’d turned his back on Eureka, since Colby had visited and asked for his help. For a brief moment, he’d seriously considered it, but then the memory of seeing his three dead sons came back and no matter what was at stake, no matter how different Colby was from his family, he couldn’t do it. It would have been an insult, an act of weakness. It would have made the Rikers think they could get away with murder. Instead, he’d ordered his family to stay at the farm. In the weeks after, he expected the Rikers to show but they didn’t. They wouldn’t. All they cared about was themselves.
Of course, he’d heard about the outcome and the demise of Captain Evans and the militia. He had to hand it to Colby. He’d risen to the occasion, faced the threat head-on and demonstrated leadership. It was admirable and yet at the same time reckless.
That kind of courage if not kept in check could inspire.
The last thing he needed was Colby rallying an army of Native Americans to wipe his family out.
No, the Stricklands could hold their own against the Rikers but they weren’t immortal.
“Ah, Derek said you were out here.” Ruth appeared in the doorway. She was wearing a flowery dress that came down to her feet, white sandals and several strands of brown beads around her neck. Her gray hair was pinned back showing that beautiful aging face. “We have a guest.”
“Please tell me it’s not Colby.”
“No. It’s Dan.”
He groaned. “Even worse.”
Hank figured he was here to rub salt into an already open wound. It was another reason why he hadn’t stepped off the mountain. Even though he felt justified in not helping, blood was blood and there was no getting around the fact that they had left him there to die.
“You should have told him I wasn’t here.”
“Hank Strickland.” Ruth wagged a finger at him. “I told you to help. You made the call. I supported you in that decision even though I felt it was wrong. So you get your butt out here and speak to him. I’ve already had to face him, so it’s your turn now.”
He could feel his cheeks going a slight shade of red. She was the only one that could do that. Hank removed the thin blue jacket he was wearing, and hung it on a shovel. He smoothed out his red plaid shirt and stuck his hands in a bucket of water to clean off the grime. Strolling from the back of the greenhouse to the doorway, he straightened up, swallowed his bitterness and ventured out into the bright sunshine. Dan was sitting on the porch, a glass of iced tea in hand, rocking gently in a chair. Hank wiped his hands on a cloth as he approached.
He squinted. “Here to gloat, Dan?”
“Of
