Page 2 of Executing Malice (Jefferson Rejects #4)

LEILA

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There’s blood in the water and the sharks are circling.

It’s hard to miss even before the bells over the bank door rattle.

The sound punctures my brain, wraps around the pinched nerve at my temple.

The subtle migraine spikes with the invasion of three-inch heels and mothballs as Dolores Winslow, her second in command Irene McCafferty and the committee secretary Viola Henderson charge in.

“Dear friends, we are in grave danger.” Already clad entirely in black, hair swaddled in a wrap, Dolores Winslow is the very picture of a fortune teller come to dispense our doom. “Just beyond those doors lies an evil our community must once more band together to abolish.”

Despite the small stack of twenties pinched between my fingers, I follow the thin line of her skeletal arm to her equally bony finger jutted with a scarlet talon in the direction of the bank windows.

My heart skips a little at the object of her ire. Warmth pools in my belly and crawls up the back of my neck .

I quickly look away before I’m caught staring at the work of art displayed just outside by the curb. The still figure straddling several tons of beautiful metal and chrome. Even half hidden by passing cars and pedestrians, his pull is magnetic. It’s raw and delicious.

Or I’ve watched too many thirst trap videos, and my brain needs a reset, according to Dolores.

“We are but lobsters in a pot slowly coming to a boil, foolishly unaware and the only ones who will suffer are our children. We are here to advocate for your support in cleansing our community.”

“What has he done, Mrs. Winslow?” I dare to ask.

Because the Antichrist they’re claiming has come to Jefferson is definitely dangerous, but only to my panties. As far as I’ve noticed —and, yes, I have been watching him very closely — he hasn’t done a damn thing.

Yet, according to Dolores and company, he’s been slaughtering babies in his spare time.

“Why, isn’t it obvious?” thick, plastic bangles clink and clatter down frail wrists with the sharp jerk of her purse straps over her shoulder.

“Two months, he has been lurking outside the bank on that filthy device, causing all manner of commotion, disrupting our peace.” Long hands clap together at her midsection like she’s made her point.

“What will our youth make of this shameful behavior? It’s a seed that will take root in their minds and dissuade them from God and family.

They’ll get it in their heads that this is appropriate, and we simply cannot allow that seed to flourish.

We must eliminate this disease by whatever means necessary. ”

Against my better judgment, I sneak another peek at the figure causing all this chaos with a new and surprising sense of fear. A prickling of dread laced with anger at the audacity of this woman.

“He’s just sitting there,” I protest, forgetting all about Sheila Pavlova waiting for her withdrawal. “I don’t see how that’s a crime.”

“You wouldn’t.” Dolores arches her chin just enough to peer down the sharp line of her nose at me. “No offense, my dear, but you’re not exactly from Jefferson, are you? You don’t fully understand the blood and sweat those of us born and raised here have had to shed to maintain our community.”

Her words cut.

Each one is a fine razorblade aimed to draw blood. There is no mistaking her subtle hint to the fact that I’m not one of them. I never will be.

It’s true I wasn’t born and raised in Jefferson, but it’s the only home I remember. The only home I’ve had the last eight years. I may not think burning a man for sitting outside is necessary, but I do love my town .

Minus bitches like Dolores Winslow.

“I was born and raised here, and I say leave the boy alone.” Sheila sets a sun spotted arm on the counter for balance and turns her head to fix the Lady’s Tea Garden with the full weight of her irritation. “He’s not bothering anyone.”

Irene sniffs, crinkling her unblended nose contour. “He’s bothering everyone. We’ve been speaking with the other businesses along the hub, and the consensus is that no one is pleased by his noise or loitering.”

I get it.

I was confused by the sight of him the first few times, too, but it’s been a few months now.

The novelty should have worn off. The guy clearly isn’t going anywhere.

I know because I watched Dolores and company harass him every day for weeks before changing tactics.

This is their next attempt; badger the shops along the hub to get Sheriff Brewer to remove him.

Enough complaints and he will submit to public pressure. We all know it.

And if that doesn’t work, if Brewer ignores the people’s cry for change, they will take matters into their own hands. Community justice. Whatever force necessary will be executed to clean the stain from our streets.

This isn’t our first rodeo.

Or our first forcible removal.

It’s just another day in Jefferson .

“If we ignore this blatant disrespect now, what will this teach our children? Where will this lead?”

“Hopefully to you shutting your mouth.” Sheila mutters, giving Dolores a disgusted scowl. “Don’t you have a baby to sacrifice in your cauldron?”

I am not quick enough to hide the disappearance of my eyebrows vanishing up into my hairline.

Oh shit, I think, slightly impressed by the balls. I could never. I mean, I could, but Mom would kill me physically right after Dolores finishes me off socially.

Dolores ceases her attempts to do the Lord’s work by convincing the only two people — myself not included — in the bank and fixes her wide, crazy eyes on the woman at my counter. Her thin lips pinch, disapproval twisting with her hatred.

“Sheila Pavlova, I understand that perhaps your God is lax on such bad behavior, but mine says it’s our job to defend our young.”

“From what? He’s not the only person with a motorcycle.”

“Everyone else knows the rules,” Viola snips sharply. “They don’t distract the entire community with their noise.”

I forget what I was doing as I watch the four rival grandmothers square off.

Despite being outnumbered, Sheila does not back down.

Her expression is one of impatience and disgust as she stares into the face of her childhood nemesis.

Their hatred started in the classroom over a boy — according to legend — and hasn’t stopped since.

“But you can disrupt our peace with your noise?” Sheila rolls her eyes and turns back to me, but not before throwing over her shoulder, “Always such a hypocrite.”

I am stunned.

I might also be a little in love with the seventy-year-old grandmother of twelve. But I am also a professional and thus, must maintain a level of professionalism I am currently struggling with while I watch Dolores’s sharply angled features ripen to a deep plum.

“I think we’re all done here,” I chirp in my best I’m deaf and blind and not a part of this conversation customer service voice.

Sheila gives me a brisk nod, takes her slip and starts for the trio guarding the door.

I might be going to hell for thinking it, but I would pay big money to see Sheila clock Dolores.

I definitely think it’s going to happen the way the three refuse to move and Sheila keeps walking until her toes bump the other woman’s.

It’s almost amusing the way Irene and Viola cast their leader uncertain glances, like they also aren’t sure what to do.

“I wish you a blessed day, Sheila,” Dolores purrs with a sickly-sweet drawl that makes my skin itch .

Sheila raises and eyebrow. “I wish you the day you deserve. Now, get out of my way unless you want to kiss my ass.”

She doesn’t even wait before shouldering her way through the pack and shoving open the door.

The bell screams with her departure and continues to hum through the dense silence she leaves in her wake. I don’t think anyone knows what to say after that. Mr. Kinley is staring at the Lady’s Tea Garden members with a mixture of shock and amusement that mirrors my own.

“Mr. Kinley?” I prompt gently.

The man, eyes still wide, shuffles over to me and starts to slide his checkbook over, but Dolores intercepts. She snatches the book off the counter and shoves it back into Mr. Kinley’s hand.

“Mark, why don’t you come back later.” It is not a question. Not even a friendly suggestion.

It’s a whole threat.

Mr. Kinley does not argue.

He takes his book and hurries from the bank like he really is worried Dolores might hex him.

Then, it’s just them and me.

Fuck.

“Good afternoon, ladies,” I attempt with my best smile .

“Leila dear, we need your help,” Long, bony fingers thread together and settle on the counter. The chunky gems clustered on each knuckle wink ominously and I almost can’t tear my eyes away. “You must speak to your brother.”

I blink and focus on the jagged edges making up her face. “Reed? Why do—?”

Obviously, it’s unnecessary to ask why. I already know where this is going.

“That ... hooligan has been parked outside your bank every day for ... month! He’s clearly dangerous. He’s casing out the place. You are in danger.”

I am not in danger.

What I am is hungry. I am also annoyed, but that has a lot to do with the former.

“I appreciate your concern, but I’m—”

“You are responsible for this establishment. If anything befalls it, it will be on your hands, especially after you were warned.”

I don’t honestly think the bank has ever been robbed. It sounds like it would be exciting. But also...

“I don’t think he would be so obvious if he were ... casing out the place,” I point out. “I think if there was a concern, Sheriff Brewer would look into the matter. But I appreciate your—”

For the third time in two minutes, she cuts me off.

“He could be selling drugs to children. Pornography ... guns! You are being short sighted.”

And you are being an idiot, but I don’t say it.

“I heard he sleeps out there,” Viola chimes in like that is the thing that will change my mind. “In the alley. Under a box.”