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“Didn’t your father want you to go into politics with him?” Kendric asks me at one point.
We’re backstage in the assembly hall of the local community center, where kids from the Everton kindergarten have put together a show for a fundraiser. They’re doing Peter and the Wolf, and I can’t take my eyes off these wonderful, beautiful little children with wide eyes and funky costumes as they waddle onto the stage to say their ill-remembered lines.
“He did, yeah,” I mumble and take another sip of my iced tea.
Sky told the fundraiser organizers that we’d appreciate some discretion while watching the play. Given that Kendric paid for most of the costumes and the stage props, the organizers were more than happy to oblige. Backstage, we sit in the dark, wholly unseen and at peace, enjoying the show while Kendric admires the fruits of his labor.
“Why didn’t you?” he asks me, briefly uninterested in the bassoon number. “He would’ve opened so many doors for you.”
“I don’t have the stomach for it,” I reply bluntly. “Besides, I like designing stuff, jewelry mostly.” Why aren’t the words coming out of my mouth the way I want them to? I sound like I’m having a stroke. Then again, I blame Kendric. It’s the effect of his proximity. It’s getting stronger and harder to resist, and I’m effing drunk on his spicy cologne again. “Politics is not my thing.”
“You could’ve been an investigative reporter, like your mom,” Raylan says, leaning in.
The mere mention of her sends shivers down my spine. “Not my thing either.”
“You like to hide your head in the sand, huh?” Kendric asks, his gaze once again glued to mine. “Pretend all is good in Wonderland while you look for a way out.”
“I guess you’ve got me all figured out, don’t you, Kendric?”
A smile tests his lips, and I realize he absolutely and perversely enjoys pushing my buttons, especially in circumstances where he knows I can’t react the way I normally would. They’re lucky I don’t storm onto the stage and reveal myself. That would bring the cops over in the blink of an eye. I’d be free and safe again.
I could do it. I should do it.
But there’s a part of me that desperately wants to know more about these men, to understand why they do what they do, why so many people in Everton love and support them, yet few speak out in their favor.
According to Spike, the Steel Knights have always had their boots on both sides of the law, but it was always with good reason. The ends justify the means, he’d say. But by that logic, anyone could get away with anything, right? It doesn’t make it morally sound. Yet, having seen so much of their supposedly illicit activities, I’m genuinely starting to believe that they’re telling the truth.
That there is more to the story.
What terrifies me the most is the part that my father plays in this. I’m here for a reason. He’s the villain of their tale, and I’m worried they’re justified in their actions, after all. And it makes me feel stupid and afraid. Stupid for having ignored the red flags over the years because he’s my dad, and afraid because I still don’t know where or how this will end.
What will happen to my father if the Steel Knights get what they want with my kidnapping? And where will it leave me?
I shift the focus back to Kendric for a while. “Why did you help the community center?”
Sky holds back a laugh when one of the kids trips on stage, and the others huddle around, just as clumsy in their clunky costumes, to help him up. In the meantime, the play director mouths fragments of the lines from the edge of the stage to help her cute little ducklings along while parents and supporting Everton folks sit and watch the hilarious debacle, proud to have donated to their fundraiser.
“They want to build a wing for a daycare center,” Kendric whispers. “So, working moms can bring their kids here instead of struggling with paying babysitters, leaving them on their own or with shady, untrustworthy relatives.”
“No, no. That’s not what I’m asking,” I correct. “Why are you helping them?”
Kendric takes a deep breath and leans forward. Only now do I catch a glimpse of the scars on his upper back, partially visible just above his shirt collar. A pang tugs at my stomach as I wonder how far down they reach. I know he was in the Marines, that he served with Raylan and Sky at one point, and that’s how they met and became friends.
But why the scars?
I know they each had their share of violent encounters with death and that they survived some truly terrifying moments, but that’s about it. Spike has also let slip that the three men share everything in their lives, including their women. It’s been on my mind for a while now. My imagination likes to run loose, featuring me as a potential protagonist.
“I grew up in an abusive family,” Kendric finally says. “My dad liked to smack me around a bit. My mom drank a lot. I spent most of my time at the community center in my hometown. So, I guess I know what it’s like for the kids who come here for guidance, for safety, for counseling. I understand how important the center is, and the daycare would certainly change a lot of lives; they’ve already got staff for it. They just don’t have the space, and they didn’t qualify for government grants.”
“That makes sense,” I reply. “Single, working moms would know their children are safe while they’re working their shifts.”
“Exactly, and they are less likely to end up in abusive relationships simply because the guys they hook up with offer some sort of financial security,” he says. “My mother would’ve fared better if she’d had that option when I was growing up.”
“You think she would’ve left your dad?” I ask, somewhat incredulously.
Kendric’s eyes catch mine before they drop to my lips. “She almost did. A couple of times. But the man had a steady job at the mill. She couldn’t find any work that paid enough. She had no choice.”
“Which is why you went straight into the military as soon as you turned eighteen, right?”
