Page 22 of Property of Indiana

“He’s got some power behind those legs,” she snickers. “Why are y’all forcing them out?”

“Because we did some research on those living around you and found out they’re all into some shady shit. Shit we don’t allow to happen in our town,” I summarize.

“Drugs?” she asks, turning her head and looking at me.

“No. We don’t give a fuck what they do in their homes as long as they aren’t spreading that toxic shit on the streets. We aren’t anyone’s parents. The one Rebel just made squeal likea prepubescent girl, is a child predator. He has a history of grooming little girls.”

“Grooming?” she squeaks out.

“Not going into more details than that, Zoey,” I admonish. She doesn’t need that shit in her head, especially now that we’ve taken care of it. That man won’t be guided out of town, he’ll be a guest in our tomb. Not that I’ll share that information with her.Ever.

“Okay,” she drawls. “And the couple on my left, what did they do?”

“Have their grandson on a bidding site where they’re selling his virginity to the highest bidder,” I grind out.

“What?” she whisper-yells. “Do the parents know?”

“From our intel, yes,” I reluctantly answer. “Seems the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree in that family.”

“I’m surrounded by scum,” she mutters, placing her face back against the window and watching. Her eyes swivel through the street, she has a bird’s eye view of the entire block from her angle. “What the hell did the Jefferson’s do? They’re a sweet, old couple, who brought me and Elodie a gift basket full of fresh fruit from the farmer’s market to welcome us to the community when we moved in for heaven’s sake! I’m living in a ring of sin and depravity.”

Sighing, because I really don’t want to answer that question, I stall.

“Harrison, what did they do?”

“They’re extremists, honey,” I answer underneath my breath.

She gasps. “Racists?”

“Fascists. Homophobes. Anything that has to do with hatred you can find them rallying. They’re despicable people, Zoey. I don’t want those kinds of people around you or Elodie. I want our girl to learn to love, not hate.”

“They need to burn,” she huffs out. “What is wrong with the stupidity of people? Seriously, Harrison. We have children starving who only eat twice a day at school, couples are struggling to make ends meet so they can keep a roof over their family’s heads, and people like them,” she hisses, jabbing her finger into the pane of the window, aiming toward the Jefferson’s home, “think they’re almighty and better than anyone because of their skin tone! It makes my stomach churn.”

I can physically feel the aura of hatred seeping off her. It’s one of the things that connected us when we initially met. The day I ran into her, she was protecting a boy from school who was being bullied for the clothes he was wearing. Even not knowing her or the boy, I stepped in and let it be known that I would be their worst nightmare if they didn’t back off. Not all families can afford to take their kids to a mall or shopping centers that cater to the fashion conscious and rich for school clothes. My parents had to hit the outlet plaza and thrift stores when things got tough financially for our family. But our shit was always clean and maintained.

“Makes me want to sell my house and move somewhere secluded,” she harrumphs.

“We’re making it to where you and other parents don’t have to make that choice,” I disclose. “We may not be law abiding, but there are things we won’t tolerate.”

“What about the sheriff? Will he stop your club from cleaning things up?” she inquires.

“He shouldn’t. We’re doing his job for him,” I state, clicking my tongue on the roof of my mouth. “He was ordered to remove those types of people or arrest them if he found enough evidence to do so. But he’s a lazy fucker who doesn’t lift a finger when it comes to abolishing crime in Canton.” I don’t mention that he doesn’t do a damn thing because that’d mean making his son answer for his crimes.

It isn’t about tarnishing their family name either, he’s just as corrupt as Jerome, that fucking son of his is. You are a product of your upbringing.

“He’s as much of a weasel now as he was six years ago when I fled from town,” she remarks. “Why does he keep getting re-elected?”

“That’s something we’d all like to know,” I seethe. “He’s got connections that we haven’t unraveled. Once we do, we’re going to make sure that information gets leaked.”

“Ouch, that’s gotta hurt,” she suddenly announces, wincing.

“What happened?” I inquire since my face isn’t glued to the window.

“One of your brothers,” she starts off around a giggle, “just used Steve's television set like a bowling ball to take him and Danny, my other neighbor, out. They both went down like pins. Strike!” she hollers, laughing hysterically. “That’s some funny shit, your man, he just gave me both thumbs up and smiled at me. What do you guys do, bench press cars to get all that strength? Eat your Wheaties? Suck down huge jars of spinach?”

“No, it comes to us naturally,” I tell her, showing off my guns by pumping my arms and showing off my muscles.

Rolling her eyes at my theatrics, she climbs out of the tub and heads to the kitchen. Like the lovesick fool I am, I follow her. She opens up what I refer to as her junk drawer and pulls out a bronze key and sets it on the counter. “This is for you. I had it made yesterday,” she whispers. “I didn’t forget about you, Harrison. I was just waiting for the right time to give it to you.”

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