Then It For You

Chapter 6:

"Yeah," Kael says into the phone. "She's here."

The voice on the other end comes through loud enough that I can hear the shape of it from across the room. Fast. Sharp. Used to being obeyed.

Kael doesn't interrupt.

He stands behind the counter with the receiver against his ear and his jaw working slowly, chewing on nothing, and he lets the man talk himself all the way out.

I stay where I am. Feet wrapped. Back against the chair. Watching.

"Uh huh," Kael says.

Silence.

"You done?"

More sharp sound.

"No," Kael says. "Now you listen to me."

He doesn't raise his voice. That's the thing I notice. He doesn't raise it and he doesn't move and he doesn't put any heat into it at all. He just says it flat, the way you'd read out a list.

"I'm gonna say this one time, and then I'm gonna hang up this phone and go back to drinking my coffee."

The line goes quiet.

"You put your hands on her. I don't know when and I don't know how many times. But I know a handprint when I see one, and I saw four of them on her throat."

The voice comes back. Higher now. Faster.

Kael waits it out.

"You finished?" he says. "Good. Because here's what I know that you don't."

He tips his head, and his eyes come up and find mine across the room.

"I know she came in here barefoot with a split lip and a cracked rib. I know she ran from a house with a gate that's never open. And I know she's got a tan line on her finger where a wedding ring used to be."

The line's dead quiet.

"Now you can call this bar again and I'll answer it again. You can send another lawyer and I'll walk him out the same way. You can bring the state police and a judge and whatever else your daddy's money can buy."

He pauses.

"But when you get here, and you will get here, you're gonna be standing on my street. And I've been standing on that street for sixteen years. I know every crack in it. I know every man on it. And I know exactly what happens to men who come here thinking they can take something that isn't theirs."

The voice says something short.

"No," Kael says. "You'll leave with less than you came with."

He holds the phone out toward me.

"What are you doing?"

"He wants to talk to you."

"Kael—"

"I told him he could have one minute." His voice is flat. "One minute. Then I hang it up."

"I don't want to talk to him."

"I know." He tips his head. "But you're going to hold this phone and you're going to hear his voice. And you're going to remember why you ran."

---

I take the phone.

It's warm from his hand.

I put it to my ear.

"Elara."

And I stop breathing.

Because it's Marcus. It's his voice, exactly the same as it's always been. Warm. Soft. Patient. The voice of a man reading a story to a child.

"Baby. You had me worried sick."

I don't say anything.

"Where are you?"

I don't say anything.

"Elara. Come on. You know I hate it when you go quiet." A pause. "You've been confused. You've been confused for a while now. I've been telling people that. I've been telling them you haven't been yourself."

My hand tightens on the receiver.

"You remember last month? When you burned the toast and you couldn't remember whether you'd eaten breakfast? You cried for an hour." His voice is soft. "You've been forgetting things, baby. Little things. And I've been covering for you. Because that's what a husband does."

I look at Kael.

He's watching me. Not the phone. Me.

"I've already talked to a doctor," Marcus says. "A good one. In the capital. He's got a bed for you. It's a nice place. It's got a garden. They'll take care of you."

"Marcus."

"There she is." His voice warms up. "There's my girl."

"I'm not coming back."

The line goes quiet.

Long enough that I can hear him breathing.

"Elara."

"I'm not coming back."

"You don't mean that."

"I mean it."

"You're confused." His voice is still soft. Still gentle. "You're confused and you're with strangers and you're saying things you don't mean. I know you, baby. I know you better than anybody. And I know you're going to regret this."

"No."

"Elara."

"No." My voice is shaking. "You put your hands on me. You put four fingers on my throat and you squeezed until I couldn't breathe."

"I never—"

"You did. Last month. In the kitchen. Because the butter was cold."

The line's silent.

Then, softer than anything:

"Is there a man there?"

And Kael reaches over and takes the phone out of my hand and hangs it up.

---

The receiver settles on the hook with a sound like a door closing.

Nobody says anything.

The bar's empty except for the four of us. Me in the chair. Kael behind the counter. Denny at the door. Dutch standing in the shadow of the hallway with his arms crossed.

Then Kael picks up his coffee.

"Denny."

"Prez."

"Call Dutch. Tell him I want every man in this town by noon. Not the club. Every man. Every patch. Every prospect. Everybody who's ever ridden with us."

"Prez."

"Callum. Get on the phone with the Ashford chapter. Tell them I need bodies. Tell them I'll owe them."

"Prez."

"Jax. Call the sheriff. Tell him I need to know what's coming through his county line."

The room empties.

The front door opens and shuts and the bell rings twice and then it's quiet again.

---

Kael comes around the counter.

He pulls a chair up in front of me and sits down so we're face to face.

"How you doing?"

"I don't know."

"That's a better answer than fine."

I look at my hands.

"He said he'd already talked to a doctor. He said he had a bed for me."

"I heard."

"He's going to do it. He's going to call a judge and a doctor and he's going to get a piece of paper that says I'm confused." My voice is shaking. "And then the state police are going to come to this town and they're going to take me out of here and put me in a car and drive me back to that house."

"No."

"You don't know—"

"I know." Kael's voice is flat. "I know exactly how men like your husband work. I've been dealing with them for sixteen years. They don't fight. They buy. They buy a judge and a doctor and a lawyer and a state trooper. And then they show up with a piece of paper and a smile and everybody in town believes them because they've got a suit on."

"And?"

"And I've been beating them for sixteen years." He tips his head. "Because the one thing a man like Marcus Sterling can't buy is a whole town."

I look at him.

"He can buy a judge."

"He can buy one judge. He can't buy four hundred people."

"He can buy a doctor."

"He can buy one doctor. He can't buy Miss Ada. He can't buy Carl. He can't buy the diner sisters or the church ladies or the man who empties the grease trap at the diner."

I almost laugh.

"You keep mentioning him."

"He's a good man. He's got a shotgun and a short temper and he hates the Sterlings. He's going to be very useful."

---

Kael stands up.

"Now," he says. "I need you to do something for me."

"What?"

"Eat something. Sleep for two hours. And then come back down here and sit at the end of the bar and let the whole town see you."

"Why?"

"Because at noon there's going to be fifty men in this lot. And every one of them is going to want to know who they're standing up for. And when they see you sitting at that bar with your feet wrapped and my patch on your shoulders, they're not going to ask a single question."

I look down at the jacket.

It's still hanging off me. The sleeves swallow my hands. It's the warmest thing I've ever worn.

"Okay," I say.

"Okay?"

"Okay."

He nods once.

Then he reaches down and takes my chin between his thumb and his finger and turns my face up toward his.

"You're not confused," he says. "You're not crazy. You're not going back to that house. And if Marcus Sterling shows up on my street tonight, he's going to be very sorry he did."

I look up at him.

"Okay," I say again.

"Okay."

He lets go and walks to the door.

And then the bell rings and it's just me and the bar and the sound of the rain.

Chapter 6 Ends.