Holler stands slow. “Bethany plays loud. This is too quiet and too weird. Creepy shit.”
Lottie looks at him. Something passes between them. She swallows and turns back to me. “Say it,” I whisper.
“Pearly Gates don’t like girls from Official drifting,” she says finally. “And they sure as hell don’t like girls like you drifting toward the Kings.”
The air feels too thin. “Like me?”
“Virgins?” Lottie says like it’s a question.
I roll my eyes. “Not me. There was that one time or two at summer camp. I just turned eighteen.”
Holler laughs like that doesn’t count.
Lottie rolls her eyes and jokes, “So not extra virgin. Lightly fucked.”
He says, “Innocent enough.”
“For what?” I ask, looking between them.
Holler answers, “It ain’t a fact yet, but we think that cult’s trafficking girls. We used to think they just wanted to ruin us. Pin sins on us that would stick. Or that they were really running girls who wouldn’t join them clear out of town. But things around here are starting to stink.”
“Yeah, like dead bodies. Girls are turning up dead, Brit,” Lottie says, flooring me.
“They wouldn’t,” I start, and my voice cracks because I know what I’m saying is a prayer.
“They already have,” Becki’s voice cuts in from behind us.
I jump. She must’ve followed Lottie. Becki steps closer, staring at the note on the pavement like she’s seen it before. “Three girls in the last year,” she says. “All of ’em thinking they were stepping out from under daddy’s thumb. All of ’em warned first. All gone. One dead. One as far as I know.”
My stomach drops to my knees. “Warned?” I whisper.
Becki nods once. “Always a warning.”
Silence falls heavy.
Holler straightens. “You ain’t staying alone tonight.”
“I’m fine,” I protest automatically.
Lottie whirls on me. “You’re not fine.” Her eyes are glassy, angry. “You think this is about who Oaks takes upstairs? You think this is about what folks are saying at the diner? That’s the bait. That’s the story they want you chewing on while somebody else does the real work and blames the Kings and their wives.”
“This is about territory,” Holler says quietly. “And somebody marking you and it ain’t Oaks.”
Marking. Like livestock. Like prey. I wrap my arms around myself without meaning to.
“I didn’t ask for this,” I whisper.
“No,” Becki says softer. “But you got noticed.”
Lottie squeezes my shoulder. “You call him?”
The question hangs there. We all know who she means. Oaks.
I feel my jaw clenching up. “No.”
Holler’s eyes narrow. “Might be time.”
I shake my head. “He’s busy.”
