Page 41 of Song Bird Hearts (Green River Hearts #4)

Valerie

T he 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.”

“What happened in the swamps?” I ask, raising my brow.

Gilden grins. “Oh, Knoxy Poo just caught himself face to face with sweet ole fluffy.”

Knox glares at Gilden. “He forgets to mention Fluffy is a fourteen-foot alligator with an attitude.”

“Not my fault he didn’t like you,” Gilden laughs. “He ain’t ever chomped at me.”

Main Street has become a circus, one that the whole town, and the country beyond it, can’t seem to stop watching.

And now, the cameras are rolling for more than just the livestream.

The media who are brave enough to be out despite the Foundation having the kind of pull to take them off air are interviewing everyone.

Not all of the big ones are here, as expected, but plenty of smaller ones are.

I do spy PBS at some point and I’m almost tempted to go ask them if I can meet Elmo. I love Elmo.

I watch as Indie, who I’d met briefly when she interviewed me earlier, holds a mic out to Esther Nugguat, the owner of the Glam Ranch Salon. I have fond memories of her cutting my hair when I was a little girl.

“This town was built by the stubborn,” Esther says into Indie’s recorder, her eyes bright and hard. “You think we’re gonna let some rich bastard scare our girl? Not a chance.”

It all should feel like triumph, like we’re winning. But the air is tight despite it. Too tight. The longer this all goes on, the tenser I get, until my shoulders ache from it.

John steps out of the coffee shop beside me, his sheriff’s star pinned proudly to his chest. It’s shiny, like he’d only just polished it this morning. His gaze scans the streets when he walks out, like he’s looking for snipers. Hell, he probably is.

“You okay?” he asks, not even looking at me.

“Not even close,” I answer honestly.

He chuckles. “Good. Means you still got your head on straight.”

I shake my head. “You’re too calm for someone about to face down a conspiracy and the danger that comes with it.”

“Steele taught me two things,” he replies, finally meeting my eyes and smiling. “Trust your gut. And never bet against a Decatur.”

I laugh, but my smile is still tight. Everyone is moving, prepping, and planning. Inside, my nerves are coiled like snakes, preparing for it all to go wrong.

And like my instincts conjure it, the ease of preparation shatters.

The sound of a pop echoes in the air, louder than a firecracker. Someone screams, and my ears start to ring as chaos explodes. My handmade mug explodes on the table where it sits to the left of me. I don’t even have time to react to it.

Someone grabs me just before there’s another pop, and another. Time blurs as I’m yanked backwards, almost too slowly.

And then John is in front of me, tackling me down behind his truck just as the windshield shatters.

“Shit! John!” I scream, fumbling over him.

I may not understand what’s happening, but I know that I should have been hit by a bullet.

That’s been close. Too close. And I don’t feel anything other than an ache from where John had barreled into me and a bit of a scrap from hitting the concrete. John’s hand had even cradled my head.

My hands trail over John’s shoulders and back, searching to ease my panic. When my fingers come away sticky and red, I gasp, yanking at his shirt as blood blooms like a flower on his pristine sheriff uniform.

“I’m fine,” he grunts. “Just my shoulder. You alright?”

“I. . .yeah.” My hands are shaking. “How?”

The deputy that appears in front of us, standing up despite the danger, gives me pause despite my panic over John’s injury. He’s pale, stricken, as he takes us all while we crouch down for safety.

“What are you doin’, Deputy?” John snarls. “Get your ass behind cover!”

“I’m sorry,” he says, his hands twisting together. “I’m sorry. They offered a lot of money and Mom’s been fighting to keep her place over in Boulder afloat. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t think it would be this bad. I?—”

“Deputy Martin,” John snarls. “Are you sayin’ you let those assholes into this town?”

More pops, bullets pinging into the storefronts around us.

“I—I—I didn’t know what to do,” the man wails.

“Get his ass down!” Gilden snarls. “He’s gon’ get shot!”

“Deputy—” But John doesn’t get to finish his words. Deputy Martin slams backward into the Ugly Mugs storefront after another pop, before he slides down it, leaving a long red streak behind. I gasp and cover my mouth, horrified.

Knox crawls toward him and grabs his leg, dragging him behind cover. “He ain’t gonna last long without a doctor.” He looks at Gilden. “Take care of the shooter.”

“With pleasure.”

I grab at his arm. “Don’t get shot.”

He presses a hard kiss to my lips. “Don’t worry, cher . They can’t shoot what they can’t hit.”

And then, he dances—literally dances—out into the storm of bullets.

I watch open mouthed as he moves like a ballerina, leaping and twisting, and the bullets ping across the concrete around him, never hitting him.

Admittedly, his dance moves feel legit, like he’s been classically trained at some point, but I’m no expert.

“What. . .the fuck?” I say, staring after him as he takes note of the direction of the bullets and starts to move into position.

“First time I saw it, I was weirded out, too,” Knox admits. “But no one expects him to leap around like a damned ballerina. He’s right. Never gets shot. It’s fuckin’ wild.”

Wild is an understatement.

He takes aim and pulls the trigger mid leap. Someone screams. The gunshots stop. I’ve never been more blown away in my life.

Gilden comes rushing back. “Everyone, get movin’. We’ve got wounded. Search for anyone else who’s hurt.”

There isn’t time to ask about his dancing, not with panic setting in, so I drop it for now. Holy shit, I don’t forget it though.

“Come on, John,” I say, wrapping my arm under his good one and helping him to his feet. “I can’t have you bleedin’ out on me.”

“I ain’t bleedin’. I’m just detoxin’ is all,” he teases.

I can’t help but laugh, tears springing to my eyes at the sight of the blood soaking his shirt. “Dammit, John. You didn’t have to?—”

“Sure, I did,” he winces as I help him into his truck. “Someone’s gotta keep you alive.”

The adrenaline buzzes hard and cold in my veins. All around us, Steele roars to life as they band together and help those who need it. One of our own had let the enemy in, but the finale is just around the corner.

And me?

I’m done hiding.

No matter how many times they try and shoot me.

No matter how many times they try to steal my voice.