Chapter Text
A distant thud of fists pounding against the barn doors shattered the silence in the room like gunfire. It echoed through the old wood and tin like war drums, unnecessarily loud, insistent, and angry. A moment later came the voices. Barking over each other and spitting curses in the dark.
Smoke and Stack stiffened, their afterglow of forbidden pleasure snatched away in an instant. The clock on the far wall struck one, and just like that, their time was up.
Smoke didn’t need to hear a name to know who it was. It didn’t take a genius. Sera had broken her curfew and hadn’t just wandered to the north field… she’d stayed. Long past her bedtime and long enough for hell to come looking. Now, hell was banging on his front door like he owed it a debt.
“I don’t give a fuck if you some preacher!” one of their men yelled from outside, voice rough with the promise of violence. “Back the fuck up ‘fore I shoot your holy ass!”
Smoke exhaled through his nose, the sound half-sigh and half-snarl. He dragged a hand over his face, irritation knotting in his gut like a lit fuse. Crossing the room in a few hard strides, he grabbed his shoulder holsters from where they hung over a crooked chair. He didn’t bother with a shirt and didn’t even think about straightening the waistband of his slacks. He wouldn’t be able to fuck his frustrations out tonight, so killing would have to do. His chest still glistened faintly with sweat, muscles taut as he buckled into the leather straps.
Behind him, Stack was already moving with a dangerous glint in his eyes that was too eager and too wild. “Let me handle it tonight,” he offered, voice dark with glee. “Smoke, lemme put a bullet in that bitch.” He was grinning as he slung on his holsters and reached for his twin pistols, hands twitching with bloodlust.
Smoke paused and turned back towards his bed. Sera laid curled beneath his blankets, her breathing soft and face slack in the heavy sleep of a woman thoroughly pleasured. She looked so peaceful there like she was finally where she belonged.
He sucked his teeth before rolling his jaw. Still savoring the taste of her on his tongue. “No,” his voice was rough and clipped. “Follow my lead. I’ll deal with it.”
Outside, the night was thick with humidity and moonlight veiled behind slow-moving clouds. The buzz of cicadas blended with the low thrum of jazz drifting out from the main floor of the juke, where a few of their off duty men were lounging around drunk and unaware of the storm gathering just beyond the barn walls.
But out in the field covered with darkness, the party had died.
Pastor Samuel stood just outside the main entrance, his arms rigid at his sides and his fist balled in righteous fury. His white collar was crooked with sweat-damp against the base of his throat, and his eyes that were usually full of fire and brimstone sermons, were now sharp with vengeance. Around him loitered a cluster of men, six in total, none of them looked familiar to Smoke or Stack.
They were a sloppy bunch. Hired muscle used by cheap and desperate clients. The guns slung over their shoulders looked too loose, their boots were untied, and their mouths flapped as they laughed and traded threats in hushed, excited tones. One held a rusted crowbar. Another gripped a sawed-off shotgun like he’d never fired it before. But they were there for one reason: get the preacher’s daughter back, no matter what.
Smoke stepped out first, bare-chested and stone-faced, his pistols tucked snug under each arm. The twin holsters clung to him like a second skin, and his presence alone was enough to make a few of the thugs take a cautious step back. Stack followed close behind, his eyes dancing with anticipation and his fingers twitching near his triggers like a man itching for an excuse.
The night quieted for a second.
Pastor Samuel took one defiant step forward, his voice raised and ragged. “I know she in there!” He jabbed a finger toward the structure behind the twins. “I know what you devils done did to her.”
Smoke tilted his head slightly, expression deadpan. “She ain’t a little girl no more, preacher,” he said evenly. “She walked here on her own. Stayed on her own… And she damn sure moaned on her own.”
Stack bubbled over with a laugh, but Smoke didn’t break eye contact.
Samuel’s face flushed with red fury. “That’s my daughter!” he bellowed, veins bulging in his neck. “And I ain’t leavin’ without her!”
Smoke stepped down from the porch, boots crunching on gravel beneath him. “Then I hope you brought a casket with you, nigga.”
The men behind Samuel stirred, unsure if they were brave enough—or stupid enough—to test the legends they’d only heard in whispers. Stack watched them closely, one hand hovering over his left pistol, the other scratching his jaw like he was already planning where the first bullet would go.
Pastor Samuel held his ground, breathing hard. “You don’t know what kind of war you startin’,” he hissed.
Smoke’s expression remained calm, but his voice was laced with threat. “You came to my field. My sanctuary. And cause all this ruckus out here like my woman ain’t sleepin’ peaceful inside. You sure you wanna keep pushin’ this?”
“Don’t matter if I die tonight,” the preacher spat. “But I ain’t lettin’ her soul rot in the hands of two godless bastards!”
For a long beat, no one moved. The air hung heavy. Somewhere behind them, the music inside the barn shifted to a slower blues number, like the world had decided to slow down and watch.
Then Stack grinned. “If it’s a soul you’re worried about, preacher…” he said, stepping forward next to his twin. “Might as well send yours on ahead first. Let her know you on the way.”
The sound of pistols clicking into place behind the twins echoed like thunder and Smoke raised a hand, halting his men before all hell broke loose. He looked at Samuel, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Last chance. Turn around. Go home. Preach ya’ sermon in the morning like none of this ever happened. You try to take her, and I swear on my mama’s grave…” Smoke’s eyes narrowed to slits, “ain’t nobody walkin’ out this field but me, my brother, and our woman.”
The preacher’s hand hovered near his side, close to his pocket where he’d tucked a small revolver. But even with faith in his belly and anger seeping into his bones, he hesitated. He hadn’t come prepared for this but his pride was too fragile to walk away. The moment the last echo of Smoke’s warning faded into the night, Samuel made his move. He gave a sharp and angry nod to the six men standing behind him. They didn’t move with precision or discipline, but with jittery and eager energy of men trying to prove they were worth the coin they’d been handed.
One by one, they raised their weapons and aimed them at Smoke and Stack. The guards that stood silently in the background raised their weapons again in retaliation, but Smoke raised his hand once more signaling for them to stand down. Him and his brother didn’t need any help tonight. They would handle this on their own without breaking a sweat.
Barrels held by amateurs glinted under the low moonlight. Smoke’s eyes flicked across the group, his jaw ticking. Slowly, methodically, he drew his right pistol. “I don’t take kindly to threats,” he said, his voice ice-cold beneath the surface. “Especially not from children wearin’ grown-man boots.” Before anyone could speak, before even a finger twitched on a trigger—Smoke acted.
Pop
The first man’s head snapped back violently. A burst of red mist erupted behind him as he collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.
Pop
The second man barely managed to gasp before the bullet punched through his right eye and sent him spinning into the dirt.
Pop
The third, a younger kid, maybe nineteen, too slow to duck, took a round straight through the forehead and dropped with a dull thud against the barn wall.
Stack cackled loudly like a deranged savage and drew both of his pistols as if he was a showman taking the stage. “I was hoping y’all’d pull something,” he said, almost breathless with joy. “Been gettin’ soft waitin’ on folks to grow a damn spine.”
He lifted his arms, and three more shots rang out in perfect rhythm.
One
Two
Three
The remaining thugs hit the ground in grotesque harmony. Their bodies folding in on themselves and weapons clattering uselessly beside them.
Blood spilled across the ground like wine from an overturned altar. And just like that, the field was silent again. All that remained standing was Pastor Samuel with his white shirt now splattered in the blood of the men he’d brought to do his dirty work. He opened his mouth to speak then immediately closed it. He hadn’t reached for the pistol hidden beneath his coat. Not because he didn’t want to… but because he knew he wouldn’t win.
Smoke’s gun was still raised and aimed directly at his chest. The preacher was breathing hard, his face flushed with humiliation and disbelief.
“You… you’re monsters,” he spat. “She’s my daughter. My blood.”
“No,” Smoke kept his voice low and deliberate. “She’s ours now.”
Stack stepped forward, still grinning, though his expression darkened as he looked the preacher up and down. “And let’s be real, old man, you don’t give a damn ‘bout that girl’s heart or her safety. You just mad she layin’ with us ‘cause it make you look bad.”
Samuel grinded his teeth together. “She was raised in the light. And now you got her layin’ in sin with filth… with criminals! She’s ruining everything I built! My name, my pulpit, my legacy!”
“There it is,” Smoke sneered. He didn’t lower his gun. Instead, he stepped forward, closing the distance between them until the muzzle of his pistol pressed lightly against the buttons of Samuel’s bloodstained vest.
“You ain’t here for her,” he said, eyes full of disgust. “You’re here ‘cause you afraid of losin’ control. You ain’t never seen her happy unless she was silent and small. And now that she’s makin’ choices without askin’ permission you think that’s a reflection on you. Think her fall from grace gonna shake ya little congregation.”
“She’s mine!” Samuel shouted, voice breaking with rage. “She’s all I have!”
“Nah,” Smoke replied. “She was all you controlled. That ain’t the same.”
Samuel’s fingers twitched by his coat. Stack noticed, but said nothing; he only undid the safety on his left pistol and raised a single brow.
“Reach for it,” Smoke taunted softly. “You got five seconds fore’ I stop talkin’ and tell Sera how her daddy died when she wake up.”
The preacher stood frozen, seething and staring down at the barrel as if he could will it away with faith alone. But even he wasn’t that delusional. He slowly pulled his hand away from his side.
Smoke let out a breath, then tilted his head slightly toward the woods. “Go the fuck home. Take what pride you got left, walk away, and I’ll let her come home tomorrow morning. Hair brushed. Dress pressed… and no marks. You can lie to your flock ‘bout where she was. You can preach about lost lambs and redemption and wolves in sheep’s clothing.”
He stepped back, lowering his gun just slightly. “But know this, if you ever come out here again threatenin’ us, it’ll be the last time I let you walk away from me? You won’t be leavin’. Not even in pieces.”
Stack nodded, cracking his knuckles. “We’ll be sendin’ your bones back to the Lord ourselves.”
Samuel’s lips curled into a bitter snarl. He looked past them, toward the barn converted juke joint, toward the back window where a single lamp glowed faintly behind the curtain. He didn’t say Sera’s name. Didn’t even ask to see her, he just turned and began walking. He left the dead where they lay. Left his gun. Left everything but the echo of his anger and shame in the air. Smoke and Stack stood motionless until the darkness swallowed him whole.
The music was still playing inside the juke joint when they stepped back in, moaning blues curled through the air like cigar smoke, sultry and oblivious to the blood drying outside. Laughter and clinking glasses masked the violence that had just unfolded on the edge of the property. In this place, pleasure always found a way to drown out pain.
But Smoke didn’t hear the music anymore. Didn’t see a pack of his men sprawled out and enjoying the night. His mind was still on the preacher, on the final look in his eyes before he disappeared into the tree line.
Stack walked quietly beside Smoke. When they reached the back hallway where the light faded and the sound dimmed, Stack grabbed Smoke by the shoulder. Not hard or rough, but with purpose. Without a word, he pushed him into the nearest private room, slammed the door behind them, and leaned his back against it. The lamp overhead flickered once before settling into a dim yellow glow, casting warm light over the sweat still drying on Smoke’s chest and the blood speckled across his slacks.
Smoke turned to him slowly, his agitation was clear as day painted on his face.
Stack bit down on his inner cheek while his fists curled and uncurled like he was fighting himself. “What the fuck was that?” he asked at last, voice raw with frustration. “We just gon’ let that muthafucka walk, AGAIN?”
Smoke didn’t answer right away. Instead he drifted further into the room letting the silence stretch. There was a worn leather chair in the corner. He sat down in it, leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and exhaled like the weight of the night had finally settled onto his shoulders.
Stack was pacing now. The clacking of his shoes echoed on the wooden floor. He dragged a hand through his sweat-damp curls. He would need to use double the pomade for his and Smoke's hair in the morning.
“You had a clean shot,” he nagged. “Coulda ended it. Coulda ended him. He deserved it. And you know it!”
“I know,” Smoke said quietly.
Stack stopped pacing and looked at his brother with a confused expression. “So why you ain’t do it?”
Smoke went silent again and stared at the floor for a long moment, then looked up at his other half. His eyes weren’t cold this time. They weren’t sharp or commanding. They looked… exhausted.
“Because I don’t want her to hate me,” he grumbled.
Stack tilted his head to the side and scrunched his face. “Huh?”
Smoke swallowed and took a deep breath. “You remember when I shot our old man?”
Stack blinked, caught off guard by the sudden turn, but he didn’t speak.
“You was only eighteen,” Smoke’s voice became distant as he recalled the harsh memories from the past. “Little thing. Always got your mouth runnin’… ‘cept when he came home mad.”
The room felt colder suddenly, like a ghost had just walked in.
“I got tired of seeing it,” Smoke continued, fingers steepled between his knees. “The way he used to drag you through the house. Beat you with whatever he could grab. Belt, cord, liquor bottle, didn’t matter. And you… you never screamed.”
Stack swallowed a lump in his throat but he didn't interrupt.
Smoke’s voice cracked slightly, but he held steady. “That night… when I came into the kitchen. You was on the floor. Barely breathin’. Blood runnin’ from your mouth. I thought you was dead. And he—” Smoke paused, eyes fighting back tears. “He was about to go for the fire poker.”
Stack’s lips parted, but he still didn’t speak.
“So I shot him,” Smoke whispered. “Didn’t think. Just did it.”
He looked up at Stack again, and for the first time in years, his eyes were wet. “One bullet to the head. Just like I did to them flunkies tonight.”
Stack’s expression wavered, something between pain and regret flickering in his features.
“But you ain’t talk to me after that. Not for three damn years.” Smoke’s voice grew heavier. Not with anger or resentment… just… hollow with emotion. “You needed to be saved. And I did that for ya’. But you weren’t ready to be saved, were you?”
Stack’s mouth twitched like he wanted to deny it. But he couldn’t.
“Every time you walked past me,” Smoke continued, voice softer now, like a man peeling off old scabs on an unhealed wound, “you looked at me like I took something from you. Like I did something wrong. And maybe I did. Maybe I was selfish. Maybe I ain’t let you choose.”
He looked down again. Another tear slipped out, carving a line through the wrinkles on his cheek before falling to the floor.
“I can’t do that to her,” he whispered. “Not with her. Not when she still see him as a father. Not when she still believe he’s worth savin’.” Smoke looked up again. “You hated me, Elias. For years. You hated me for what I did, even though I did it for you. Even though you my own flesh an blood.”
Stack’s breath hitched and his fists gradually unclenched.
“I’d rather let that bastard walk out of here a hundred times,” Smoke said, “than see her look at me the way you used to. Like I’m some monster that snatched away what little family she got left.”
Silence settled between them. Long and heavy.
Stack’s chest rose and fell, his brow furrowed, but then his eyes softened. That mask he always wears—the reckless one, the devil-may-care grin—was gone.
“I ain’t hate you,” he said at last, voice hoarse. “I hated… how helpless I felt. That you had to save me. That I couldn’t do it myself.”
Smoke nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah... I know.”
Stack looked away, then scrubbed a hand down his face. “You shoulda told me that back then.”
“You wouldn’t’ve listened.”
Another beat of silence.
Then Stack crossed the room and sat on the arm of Smoke’s chair. Not looking at him, but close. “I still think we should’ve put him down tonight.”
“We will,” Smoke said, wiping the remaining wetness from his face. “When she ready. When she looks at me and says, do it. Then I’ll end him. But not a second before.”
Stack nodded. “We really changin’ our ways foe’ a preacher’s daughter?”
Smoke chuckled dryly. “And all it took was a smile… We fucked...”
Stack stared at the wall for a moment, then tilted his head slightly. “You think she’ll forgive you, once it’s done?”
Smoke’s eyes were far away now. “I don’t know. But if she doesn’t, I’ll take it. I’ll carry it. Like I did with you.”
For the first time in years, Stack leaned against his brother—shoulder to shoulder.
No jokes. No sarcastic remarks. Just silence and shared scars. And the faint music of the juke joint still playing in the distance, as if the world hadn’t just been cracked open by old wounds and blood debts waiting to be settled.
Warmth wrapped around Sera first. Sunlight seeped in through gauzy curtains in soft golden ribbons but the warmth she felt wrapped in didn’t come from the sun. The warmth she felt, curled against her bare skin like a slow kiss. It was the kind that smelled like comfort food and clean linen sheets.
Sera stirred beneath the blanket, shifting her legs with a sleepy groan. Her body was still buzzing. Not in a way that hurt but in that delicious way that made her want to sink deeper under the covers and pretend she had no responsibilities, father, or world outside this bed. Her thighs trembled faintly when the memories from last night crept back in. The way her body was worshipped, ravished, and taken apart until the world shattered behind her eyes. Her breath caught in her throat.
Her eyes snapped open and she found herself staring at the ceiling of a room that wasn’t hers. It had paneled wood, a golden light, a glass of water on the nightstand… and her naked body tangled in unfamiliar sheets.
Oh no.
A quiet gasp escaped her lips as she sat up fast clutching the blanket to her chest in panic. Her heart pounded as she looked down. She was still completely bare with nothing on. Not even her underthings. The pulsing between her legs only confirmed what her heart already knew. She had been licked last night… and she had liked it… actually… she loved it.
Before her thoughts could spiral further, the door creaked open.
“Rise and shine, my perfect angel,” came that familiar drawl. Stack entered the room with a tray balanced carefully in one hand and a peach between his teeth with the blossom tucked behind his ear like he had time to stop and flirt with nature before bringing her breakfast. His sleeves were rolled up, suspenders snug across his broad chest, and a smirk plastered on his lips.
“I—Mr. Stack!” she yelped, hiding deeper beneath the blanket. “You can’t just come in here!”
“I already tasted that sweet treat tween’ them legs,” he grinned around the peach, setting the tray on the nightstand with exaggerated gentleness. “Kinda feel like we beyond all that modesty now, sweetheart.”
She made a strangled sound and buried her face in her knees. “It’s not ladylike to be indecent ‘front of a man I ain’t married to!” she whined, voice muffled against the blanket.
“We ain’t married yet but you are our woman,” he chimed, peeling the cloth off the tray. “I know you starvin’, little dove. I brought food. Grits, biscuits, bacon, and a lil’ fresh peach jelly from Miz Clementine’s house up the road.”
He scooped up a bite of butter-laced grits and brought it to her lips. “Go on now,” he coaxed, voice gentler than she expected. “Need to get some food back in that system.”
She looked at him through curious eyes, lips still tucked in a pout. But her stomach growled like a traitor. With a reluctant sigh, she leaned forward and obediently opened her mouth.
Stack grinned as he fed her, careful not to spill a drop. “There she go,” he murmured. “Told ya’ we’d take care of you.”
Before she could respond, the door opened again.
Smoke stepped in, freshly dressed in slacks and a light blue button-down shirt rolled up to his forearms. His hair was combed back into place like Sera didn’t pull every strand last night. He was sharp. Quiet. And something about him filled the room without a word being said. Sera’s heart did backflips in her chest.
“You awake,” he stated, closing the door behind him and ignoring the look of desire Sera was giving him. “How you feelin’?”
She looked down, cheeks burning. “Tingly…”
Stack let out a low chuckle and licked his lips like he could still taste her on them. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Smoke gave him a warning look, then returned his eyes to her. “You passed out last night. Been asleep since. We stayed close. Just in case.”
Sera curled further under the blanket, face hot. “I… I don’t remember everythin’. A-After the second time… it… it’s kind of a blur…”
“That’s alright,” Smoke said gently, moving closer to the bed but keeping his distance. “You don’t need to remember everything. You just need to know you were safe. And you still are.”
Her eyes flicked up to meet his. “My… daddy... I didn’t go home last night. He’s probably—”
“We spoke to him,” Smoke cut in smoothly, voice calm, almost light. “Last night. He came by.”
Sera’s eyes widened with disbelief. “He came here?”
Stack raised a knowing eyebrow and leaned back against the wall, casually biting into his peach. Smoke gave a small nod. “He was upset. Loud. Said some things that ain’t worth repeating. But we had ourselves a… civil talk.”
He stepped to the window, pulling the curtain aside just enough for a sliver of sunlight to fall across the floor. He spoke warmly like a man trying to wrap the truth in sugar. “We let him know you were alright. That you were restin’ and that you’d be home soon. Once you felt ready.”
“And he just… left?” she asked cautiously.
Smoke looked back at her. Ready to end this conversation and stop her probing questions before he revealed the truth. “He understood the message.”
Stack gave a quiet snort but didn’t contradict him.
“You don’t have to worry about him knockin’ down doors or sendin’ anyone to come get ya,” Smoke continued. “He’s… contemplatin’ some things. Like how he gon’ explain your absence to all those old church ladies without admittin’ he came stompin’ through our land in the middle of the night lookin’ for his daughter.”
Sera blinked, absorbing that slowly. “So… I can go home?”
“If that’s what you want,” Smoke cleared his throat and spoke in a gentle tone. “Ain’t nobody gonna stop you.” He knelt beside the bed then, close enough that she could see faint scratches above his eyebrow and near his scalp. “Look at me, baby.”
She did.
“I’d never keep you somewhere you didn’t wanna be,” he said, eyes boring into hers. “But I will fight for you. Even if it means tellin’ the devil himself to back the hell off.”
Something in her chest squeezed tight. She reached forward without thinking and brushed her thumb against the light scratches. “You didn’t get that from my daddy… did you?”
Smoke smiled faintly. “You the only person who’s been able to mark my body in the last 3 years.”
That revelation was too much for Sera to grasp and she looked down at her lap. “I’m sorry my Daddy came here.”
“You don’t owe us an apology,” he said. “You didn’t send him. He came ‘cause he couldn’t stand the idea of his daughter makin’ her own choices.”
“I think he more upset ‘bout who I made them with,” she whispered.
Stack walked over to the bed now and leaned over her shoulder. “Then he gon’ spend the rest of his time on earth full of disappointment.”
Sera laughed—soft and sudden. Smoke brushed a stray ginger curl from her cheek and studied her quietly. “You want to rest a little more?” he asked.
She took a moment and contemplated her options. “I want to eat,” she said at last, voice still small. “Then maybe… stay a little while longer.”
Smoke nodded and Stack reached for the tray of food. Raising the fork again with a crooked grin. “Open wide, little dove.”
And for now, this was enough. Enough to make her forget, if only for a moment the weight of her father’s disapproval and the heaviness of ‘wickedness’ she’d been raised to fear. Enough to silence the questions clawing at the edges of her mind. Questions about purity, shame, and whether her body belonged to God, to herself, or now to them… This was enough to make her feel like something precious instead of something broken.