Page 72 of Song Bird Hearts

He looks like he might listen to death metal or classical music. Not country.

“I do now.” He saunters over and claps Hank on the back like they’re old friends. “I’m Lennox, by the way.” His bright eyes meet mine. “You and I are going to be real close soon.”

I glance from him to Hank. “What the hell is he doin’ here?” I ask. “And why does he look like he just walked out of an episode of Mob Wives?”

Hank snorts, but it’s Lennox who grins and answers.

“Hank called in a favor,” he says. “And when Hank calls, I don’t ask why. I just show up with my best boys and some fireworks.”

I look between them, suspicion creeping up my spine. He’d said he wouldn’t tell me but. . .

“You two go way back or somethin’?” I ask.

“Or something,” Hank says with a grin, not elaborating despite my clear fishing.

Lennox turns his full attention to me then, and it’s like being stared at by a cobra—gorgeous, mesmerizing, and inherently dangerous.

“So?” he asks. “What can The Crows do foryou, Valerie Decatur?”

Chapter35

Valerie

The coffee from Ugly Mugz tastes like hopes and dreams stirred all up with vanilla, Georgia’s newest roast even more iconic than the last one. The woman is slowly making a name for herself outside of more than just Steele, and I’ll happily toot her horn every chance I get. I swear the woman should start a whole ass franchise. I cradle the chipped ceramic mug I’d made five years ago between my hands and lean against the hood of John’s truck, watching as my hometown comes alive.

Locals mill around the square with purpose, some armed, some wide-eyed as they try to find their place. Media vans cluster on the far edge of the parking lot, their microphones pointed like spears toward the town. The locals are refusing to do any interviews with them, preferring to talk only to Indie Chen, our newest local newspaper owner and reporter, but the big media has plenty of my fans to give them stories. I watch as Indie moves around the street, a camera in her hand, her group of rodeo stars at her back. The Crimson Three were already grown and making a name for themselves by the time I graduated high school, so we weren’t ever close, but I tip my mug to them all the same, from one heavy fame to another.

I get it now. The pressure. The weight. It’s too much to handle alone.

They got each other, and now Indie to keep them grounded. Just like I have Knox, Gilden, and Wolf. There’s something in the water in this town, making us reach for the stars, and I’m here to help those who come along after me, whether it’s with my own two hands or my memory.

Just like I’m here to protect my town.

John and his deputies have the streets blocked off, checking IDs for anyone who wants in. It’s the only way we knew how to try and stop the Foundation from sneaking in, and it’s not fool proof. There’s a strong chance me standing in the street right now could get me killed, but we’re doing our best. Now with the evidence Wolf brought, we plan to do better. The livestream countdown is running again, scheduled to start in just over three hours. I plan to read from the book then, live and uninterrupted.

In the middle of everything, right outside our town’s favorite boutique coffee shop, I stand in the center of all the action.

The boys stand close, never too far from me.

“So, you’re tellin’ me,” Knox mutters, one hand braced on his hip and the other gripping his mug, “that the head of a fuckin’ gang is now helpin’ us?”

His voice has that dry, Texas-burnt disbelief that I’ve come to associate with anything outside his control. His accent is slight most of the time, but every now and then, it slips out stronger than before.

“Just who are you, Valerie Decatur?” Gilden asks, grinning like this is the best plot twist he’s ever witnessed. “Country star? Shadow Queen? Cult leader?”

“She’s everything,” Wolf says with a quiet, razor-sharp loyalty I still don’t know how to handle.

My face flushes immediately. “It wasn’t me,” I say. “It was Hank.”

“Of course it was,” Knox says. “And you just happen to have a father figure in your life that can call on a massive national gang for a favor.”

“I don’t have answers about that,” I reason. “I don’t understand it either and he wouldn’t tell me. I’d say he was a threat if he wasn’t Hank. All I can tell you is he ain’t a threat to us.”

“He does make a mean chicken-fried steak,” Gilden adds with a wistful sigh.

Before I can respond, a line of black cars pulls onto the street, each of them blacked out and tinted so dark, all you can see is your reflection in them. Everyone in the vicinity watches as they park in any available spot, only for the roughest, most dangerous people to start climbing out of their insides. Tattoos, black suits, and sunglasses that hide their eyes, they look more like the Men in Black than the actual feds. More than a few women in the area make eyes at them, and I don’t blame them. They’re hot, in a bad-boy-ruin-your-life kind of way. At their front, Lennox exits his own car looking like a tattooed angel of death. He nods once toward me. No words. Just the silent promise of violence delivered and debts paid.

Knox scoffs at the spectacle of it, his eyes wide with disbelief. “What has my life become?” he grumbles. “I thought the swamps of Louisianna were bad.”

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