Page 72 of Trailer Trash

My blood ran cold. “Who said that?”

He ignored me and stood. “I need another beer.” Then he headed toward the house.

“Neely Kate,” Jed grunted in a low tone. “Are you in danger?”

Confused, I watched Beasley disappear inside the back door. This was not the scared, bullied man who had watched his brother abuse me for months before finally stepping up to help me escape. This man was still scared, but he’d turned defiant and belligerent. I was pretty dang sure if faced with the same choice, he would have made a different one now. And I was pretty sure he had a major case of buyer’s remorse.

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly.

“I think we should go. Now.”

But Beasley was already out the back door with two cans of beer in his hands. As he approached, he tossed one to Jed, who reached out and caught it without any effort. A look of mock appreciation filled Beasley’s eyes as he sat down and popped the top of his drink. He looked at me with a sneer. “I would have gotten you one, Neely Kate, but I remembered how much you hate to drink.”

I gasped at his obvious reference to Branson’s parties.

“When did Branson start visiting you in prison?” I asked. It was a leap, but not a hard one to make. Beasley had always been desperate for his brother’s approval, and he seemed like a mini-Branson in the making. It stood to reason that Branson had started poisoning his brother against me.

“A couple of years ago. You hadn’t been calling as often, and I was lonely for visitors. I was pretty surprised to see him sitting at that table, but he said he hadn’t forgotten about me. He just had to stay low so you couldn’t have him arrested.”

“I wasn’t planning on having him arrested. All I cared about was breaking free, Beasley. You knew that.”

“He said you’d say that.”

My mouth went dry. “When did he say that?”

“Last time I saw him. Last November. He said someone was poking around into the past, and he was pretty sure you’d hired some woman to start covering your tracks. He told me that we Desoto boys had to stick together or else I’d end up doing more years. Only for murder this time.”

I shook my head, fear coursing through my blood. “No, Beasley. I want the past buried. I want no part of it. That wasn’t me.”

“She claimed to be related to you. She visited me in prison, asking all kinds of questions about when you’d lived in Ardmore as a kid, but she was also interested in the more current stuff. Including how I ended up in prison.”

“Did you tell her?” I asked, feeling lightheaded.

He watched me for several seconds; then a cruel look spread across his face. “I always wondered why Branson liked it so much.”

Oh, God. “What?”

“Controlling you. Making you do things you claimed you hated.”

“Claimed?”

He took a sip of his beer and turned a watchful eye on Jed. Satisfied Jed wasn’t about to jump him, he gave me a leer. “Branson said you liked it that way. That you liked to be dominated. He told me that you’d tricked me into helping you.”

I slowly shook my head, words escaping me.

Jed’s hands gripped the sides of his chair.

I needed to get myself together, get my answers and then leave. “Did you tell Branson what we did?”

“You mean whatyoudid?” he asked bitterly. “What you dragged me into.”

“I never asked for your help,” I said, my voice sounding far away. “I never asked you to take the blame.”

“You didn’t have to. Branson said you were like a siren, making men do what they didn’t want to do. He says he didn’t want to keep you like that, but you were sick and perverted and made him do it.”

I shook my head. “You saw me, Beasley. How many times did you see me crying? You kept telling me you were sorry for not helping me escape.”

“He said it was an act.”

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