Page 56 of The Heir

She scrabbled at the leather of his kutte again and the local sheriff slid forward just in time and grabbed her officer’s wrist. “That’s enough, deputy.”

“She was assaulted by–” The female officer grew louder with every word.

“Yes, if she requires assistance, her father will bring her down to the station. Isn’t that right, Michael?” The sheriff spoke over her, to the point of shouting.

“Mhm,” my father mumbled.

“Very good.” The sheriff cleared her throat.

The deputy reluctantly moved away, but the damage was done. I was trembling in the devil’s arms. He stroked my back and slowly rocked me.

“I don’t want him to go to prison,” I hated the way my voice cracked and thinned. “He’s been to the county three times now this week. They're going to throw the book at him.”

“Baby, you don’t get to decide that.”

“Do something!” I half wailed, tugging at his kutte in a way that would have sent the sheriff into a panic attack.

“Baby, I don’t have that power, either. You think any of those clowns are gonna give me a badge or a bench anytime soon?”

I collapsed against his chest, hot tears streaming down my face while I struggled to breathe.

“Hey. Hey, now–” my father stammered. “Ah shit. Listen, babydoll. Get… Get on the phone. Ol’ man Winehopper golfs with the prosecutor and the judge. Lord knows he’s used them to fuck me a time or two, maybe he can place a call and do you a favor this time around?”

I covered my mouth and stumbled toward the parking lot. I needed to sit down in my car. I needed to compose myself… I needed to call my grandpa and pray for once in my life, my father would be right about something.

Chapter Twenty-One

Marchella

I dialed my grandfather’s number, and as always, he answered on the second ring.

“Afternoon, granddaughter,” His typical reply was comforting, but I still couldn’t find my voice.

I didn’t know where to start.

“Marchella?”

I tried to answer, but all that came out was a shuddered breath.

“Marchella, are you alright?” His voice grew thick with concern. “Honey, where are you at?”

“I’ll be there,” I managed.

I hung up and started toward his house. I was on the verge of hyperventilating for most of the ride. When I spotted his farm truck barreling down the highway, I pulled over and lost it. I collapsed on the steering wheel and sobbed.

I don’t remember getting in his truck, but somehow, we made it back to his house. Gran helped him get me inside and she covered me with blankets and brought ice water for me to sip and a box of Kleenexes.

“Are you alright?” she whispered, taking my hand in hers.

I gave a stiff, uncertain nod, before a strangled, “No,” escaped me.

I started to cry all over again, and she pulled me into her arms and held me. She rubbed my back and tutted, “Bless your heart, love. Bless your sweet heart.”

Grandpa paced for a while, occasionally finding his seat only to shoot back up and pace some more.

“What has he done now?” he demanded after I’d been quiet for a time.

“No-nothing.” I managed. “Well, I don’t know. Blaze came from Georgia, and the first night he was here Mackie and May got into a scuffle and my dad pulled a pistol.”

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