Page 45 of Rolling Thunder

“I knew you’d come to your senses,” he muttered, turning back toward her house. He gave her a shove toward the porch and released her simultaneously, so she was thrown off-balance and sent stumbling forward. It was an effort not to fall on her face in the shell, which was exactly what he intended as he walked along behind her, watching her with merciless eyes. She got her balance and began walking jerkily back to her house. Anything could happen now. Whatever happened, it had to happen to her and not Bill.

He followed her back up the porch and into the house, slamming the door hard enough to make her jump, and then he laughed at her.

Anger boiled up inside her, and her senses sharpened. Her thinking was finally calm and clear. Her hands didn’t shake. She knew she couldn’t take him on under these circumstances. She had to outsmart him—pretend to cooperate. No matter what he did to her now, no matter how long she had to play along, she was going to end this once and for all. There was no way she was going to let this monster take over her life again.

The last man in her house had been Evan. The contrast was so very stark now in the presence of Trent. Having been with a man like Evan, having tasted brief sobriety with Bill’s help, she simply couldn’t let this evil take her back. It took being in Trent’s presence again to drive it home. She could never go back to that life.

Trent got another beer and followed Kayla into her bedroom. He reclined on her bed, his stringy, dirty hair on her pillow. His eyes were mean, his skin sallow. He swung his legs up, clad in dirty, worn jeans, and rested his boots on her blanket. She imagined the detritus in the alley behind his club: used condoms, needles, cigarette butts, other garbage. Now the boots that had walked through that were on her bed. Horse shit would have been way less offensive.

She hated his fucking guts. How had she ever been flattered by his interest in her? She dug a duffel bag out of her closet and began rummaging through her things, imitating the obnoxious way she’d seen her mother pack a hundred times. Tedious, messy, accomplishing nothing.

Ten minutes later, he had finished another beer, smoked a cigarette, and was no longer patient.

“Christ, Kayla, you’re worse than your mother,” he said, referring to her packing strategy. She took out all her stage clothes and held them up one by one, as if to try to choose. It was deliberate. She was stalling, biding her time. It was working.

He paced up and down the hallway between her living room and bedroom like a caged lion for ten more minutes. By the time he finished her last beer, his patience completely ran out. He stalked back down the hall to her bedroom and glared at her.

Now was the time Kayla had planned for. He would either drag her out of the house with nothing, or he would leave her to her tiresome task. She hoped she guessed right.

She did.

“I’ll give you till tomorrow morning,” he spat, exasperated. “If you ain’t there, you know what’ll happen.”

“I’ll be there,” she said calmly, meeting his gaze. He stared her down for a few long moments.

Then he turned and left.

Before she could dare be relieved, a new terror gripped her. What if he’d already hurt Canyon Bill? He didn’t say he hadn’t. She waited, poised, listening to Trent’s hidden car pull away. Then she bolted down the steps and ran across the pasture toward Bill’s trailer. There was a lamp on in the window. She ran, praying as she went, lungs burning with panic and exertion. What would she do if Trent had already hurt him? She hadn’t obeyed him and come back to Fort Myers the first time he’d threatened her. And that was more than enough to trigger him to violence.

Winded, she arrived on the steps of the trailer, frantically knocking on his door.

“Bill?” she called. “Bill!?” Her chest squeezed. Was she too late? The door opened, and Bill stood, looking groggy and confused. She’d obviously just woken him. He focused on her face and began to look alarmed.

“Are you all right?” she demanded.

“I’m fine. What’s going on?”

She looked him over, and saw only kindness and concern. Most importantly, he wasn’t hurt. She took a deep breath. It was all threatening to catch up with her now. The anger that had fueled her bravery was evaporating. There was nothing to it but to do it. Her choices were stark. Go back to hell with Trent, or tell the truth and find a way to protect herself and the people she loved.

“You’re not safe here,” she blurted. “The guy who came here with my mother, Trent? He’s gonna hurt you if I don’t do what he wants.”

Bill didn’t seem terribly shocked.

“I think maybe you should leave here for a while,” she finished.

“I think I’ll clean my guns instead,” Bill said, and there was an old familiar edge to his voice that she didn’t often hear anymore.

“He’s really bad news, Bill.”

“I know he is. Whatever it is he wants from you, don’t do it.”

Bill turned and went into the kitchen. Instead of starting the coffee pot, he deftly began laying out guns, oil, and rags on the table, true to his word. She followed him inside, instinctively closing and locking the door behind her.

“You have a lot of guns,” she said, dumbfounded.

“I used to do more exciting things than fixing fences,” he said with a half smirk. He didn’t look at her or demand information. He seemed unexpectedly prepared for the idea of a threat to his personal safety.

“If I’m not in Fort Myers tomorrow morning, he’s gonna come for me,” she said. Her plan had seemed great until now.

---