Chapter Text
The Devil’s Tongue hummed with anticipation. You could feel the air around them bracing itself as if the bones of the barn-turned-juke was holding its breath waiting for nightfall to crack its knuckles and get to work.
Sera stood at the center of it all, her bare shoulders glowing under the haze of late light that filtered through the windows. Rich satin clung to her frame like the sun was chasing her curves. She’d fixed her hair the way Smoke liked, swept up but loose, curls soft and coiled against her temples. Her eyes roamed every inch of the converted barn in awe. The lanterns strung from high beams, the scuffed floors scrubbed raw, and the sharp smell of kerosene mixed with pine oil and sawdust filled her lungs.
And then the door creaked. It wasn’t loud, just a confident shift of weight and wood. Enough to announce a new presence without begging for attention. Stack stepped inside, and the room exhaled. He was dressed sharp enough to carve his own name into the night sky: deep black three-piece suit, crisp white shirt beneath, with blood-red accents so rich they looked painted on. He had ruby satin trim on his lapels, a red silk square tucked into his breast pocket like it was holding a dangerous secret, and the chain of his pocket watch gleamed against the fabric as if the gold was dipped in fire.
He looked freshly shaven, his dark brown skin smooth and moisturized under the light, and his hair was neatly molded into place but still stubborn in the way only southern curls could be. Even the way he walked carried a new tune. He seemed relaxed, but with a locked-in energy like a black panther just waking up from a long nap with something on his mind. Hehehehehe
Sera blinked up at him, caught off guard by the transformation. “You look…” she started, unsure how to finish the sentence.
Stack grinned, showing off that signature golden tooth while letting his eyes greedily take in Sera’s appearance. “Yeah?” he chuckled, spreading his arms slightly. “Look like I been born again?”
Smoke, already in his own suit, navy black with cobalt detailing sharp enough to slice air, snorted loudly and kept polishing one of the bar’s crystal decanters. His eyes slid toward his brother with knowing amusement.
Sera, still unsteady from everything that unfolded earlier, stepped forward with that same guileless sincerity that made the twins grit their teeth for entirely different reasons. Her eyes tilted up at Stack, head tilting ever so slightly to the side. “Are you still… pent up?” she asked, voice quiet and brow furrowed with concern.
Smoke choked. Actually choked. And he tried to hide it behind a cough, but the edge of his mouth curled up like a smirk that couldn’t help but to stretch its legs. He quickly turned towards the bar, letting his shoulders shake once in silent laughter.
Stack’s jaw went slack and he slowly cut his eyes toward his brother, slow as molasses sliding down glass. “Y’know,” he grumbled, “you coulda warned her ‘bout askin’ a man somethin’ like that in public.”
Smoke, still chuckling, walked over to his brother and patted his shoulder once. “Thought you liked that honest mouth.”
Stack arched a brow. “Yeah, well, it ain’t the mouth that’s the problem. It’s the questions.”
Then, Smoke leaned in closer, and the teasing dropped just a notch. His voice did a 180 and turned serious enough to stick. “You finally understand now?” he quizzed. “What I meant, ‘bout movin’ at her pace? Not yours.”
Stack didn’t answer right away. But his mouth pressed into a thin line, and his hand flexed once at his side. “I get it,” he said. “Don’t mean it’s easy.”
Smoke clapped his shoulder again. “Ain’t meant to be. Don’t slip up again.”
Before the air could thicken too much, the front door creaked open again, this time lighter, like it had caught the breeze. A lanky figure ambled through with easy steps, carrying music on his back like it weighed less than feathers.
He wore a dusty brown vest over a cream shirt, suspenders slung low and boots worn at the heel. His guitar, old but polished to a shine, sat slung across his back like it was stitched to his spine. His eyes, a curious hickory that seemed to shift between honey and rust, took in the room with a half-smile already plastered on his face.
“Well I’ll be damned,” Sammie said, voice smooth like whiskey left too long in a good barrel. “Look at this place. Y’all finally did it.”
“’Course we did, cousin,” Stack replied, grinning. “You ever known us not to?”
“I remember a certain shack y’all swore was gonna be a speakeasy in Baton Rouge. Ended up bein’ a chicken coop.”
Smoke pointed a finger, mock stern. “That coop made a lotta damn money.”
Sammie laughed and stepped inside, eyes catching on Sera, he paused. Long enough to notice, but not long enough to disrespect. “Well now,” he said, tipping his head slightly. “You must be the preacher girl whole town been whisperin’ about.”
Sera blinked, startled by his attention. “Whisperin’?”
“Yes, ma'am," Sammie grinned, unslinging his guitar and resting it gently against the edge of the stage, “ain’t a single mile between here and Clarksdale that don’t know the devil got two tongues and they both kiss the same girl.”
Sera flushed a deep rose. Stack glared. Smoke cleared his throat.
Sammie chuckled and held up his hands. “Don’t worry. I’m just a voice with a six-string. Wouldn’t touch a flame that hot even if you begged me to play.”
Stack squinted his eyes at his little cousin, “Yeah… Keep it that way, little nigga.”
Sammie just grinned wider and moved to tune his guitar, plucking a few lazy notes that curled through the air like smoke rings.
As the sun dipped lower and lanterns began to flicker awake, The Devil’s Tongue opened like a mouth that hadn’t eaten in days; hungry and eager, slick with sound and sweat. By sundown, the north field buzzed with bodies, the promise of music and mischief pulled in sinners within a 100 mile radius like flies to honey. Cars and wagons lined the dirt road all the way to the tree line. Candles glowed in old Mason jars, casting warm halos across the porch. The sweet sting of corn liquor swirled with the scent of fried catfish, cherry tobacco, and perfumed women.
Inside the barn, the floorboards creaked under the weight of dancing feet. Laughter rang off the rafters. Blues wove through the room like the ancestors were present and enjoying the show. And up on the makeshift stage, Sammie sat on a tall stool, guitar in his lap, humming low as his fingers danced along the frets. His voice was velvet soaked in sinful salvation, drawing the room in closer with every breath.
Stack and Smoke stood near the far end of the room with their eyes cutting across the crowd like watchmen in a den of wolves. They didn’t speak much and they didn’t need to. They moved like mirrored shadows, trading glances, checking corners, making sure the wrong kind of heat stayed out of their establishment. And between them, radiant and untouched by the sweat and noise, stood Sera.
The satin dress shimmered under lantern light like it was lit from within. Her skin glowed a deep, golden brown, kissed by the warm press of summer night. She stood with her back straight, hands neatly clasped in front of her, and mouth slightly ajar as if she was still unsure how to breathe around this kind of attention. And the attention she had. Men eyed her from across the room. Women spoke in hushed tones about her. Even Sammie had to look twice mid-verse before his gaze respectfully returned to his guitar.
Sera had never seen a room like this before. The juke joint pulsed like a living organism. Women twirled in dresses that hugged their hips like hands. Men tipped back their flasks and howled at the sound of Sammie’s guitar like he’d caught their grief in a chord and wrung it dry.
An hour passed before Sera realized she was still standing in the same spot and her men were nowhere to be found. Smoke and Stack had told her to stay between them, but their absence, the beat of the blues, the taste of heat and freedom and tobacco-thick air, loosened something in her. Her heels carried her further into the heart of it all before she realized she was drifting through dancers, past tables lined with liquor glasses and dice, to a corridor she hadn’t noticed before.
The music thinned there. Just the low hum of it now, like a distant river. Sera turned a corner and noticed one door was slightly ajar, cracked just enough for the light to spill out. It was warm and saffron, like a fire smothered under a pillow.
She paused and listened.
“—up ‘til now, I figured y’all just enjoyed collectin’ hearts to break,” came Sammie’s voice. “But word’s gettin’ ‘round. Some folks say y’all ain’t just protective. Say y’all sharin’ her.”
Sera felt her blood run cold and her fingers gripped the wall beside her. Her heart thudded like a warning bell against her chest.
Inside the room, Stack gave a low chuckle. “You always this nosey, cousin?”
“I just sing the stories people too afraid to say out loud,” Sammie replied. “That girl got every man in here watchin’ her like a spark near dry wheat. I figured it best to ask the devils themselves before I write the wrong verse.”
When a long silent pause happened, Sera tried to lean in closer to hear. Then Smoke’s voice came, with a no nonsense biting edge. “Don’t ask ‘bout how we please our woman. Or how she’s shared. That ain’t for no bluesman’s ballad.”
Sammie let out a soft chuckle to diffuse Smoke’s growing agitation. “Didn’t mean no harm, big cousin.”
“You breathe wrong ‘round her and you’ll learn first hand the rumors they say ‘bout us ain’t just whispered tales in the dark,” Smoke added, calm and deadly.
Stack’s voice broke the silence with something more tired. “Ain’t like we planned it.”
Sammie laughed once more. “You two don’t plan nothin’… you just burn it all down and call it fate.”
There was the scrape of glass on wood. A cork popped. A slow pour. Then footsteps — slow and heavy — moving toward the door. Sera panicked and stepped back way too fast causing the old floorboards to creak under her weight. She felt her heart drop to her stomach and her mouth went cotton dry.
Inside, Smoke’s voice cracked like a whip. “Whoever’s out there,” he growled, “you best show yourself ‘fore I put a bullet through the wall and ask questions later.”
Sera swallowed a lump in her throat and her voice came out small but clear. “It’s just me…”
The door swung open with a sharp creak. Smoke filled the doorway like a creature of the night. It didn’t take long for him to ruin the outfit Stack picked out for him. His jacket was missing, his sleeves were rolled up, vest open, and his eyes were like lit coal. Behind him, Stack leaned against a crate, cup of whiskey in hand. Sammie sat cross-legged on a stool, guitar propped on his knee, eyebrows arched in faint amusement.
Sera stood there, wide-eyed, caught between apology and curiosity. “I ain’t mean to spy,” she said quickly. “I was just walkin’… lookin’ for y’all… I didn’t know y’all were in here.”
Smoke studied her. Then stepped back and opened the door wider. He didn’t say a word, just tilted his head. A silent command masked as an invitation. Sera stepped inside, her heels clicked quietly under the softer glow of the room’s lamplight. Her eyes flicked between the three men like she’d wandered into something she shouldn’t’ve seen but couldn’t unsee now. The air in the back room felt thicker than outside, even with the windows cracked. It smelled like wood smoke, sweat, money, and heat. Sera perched herself quietly on an overturned crate near the corner, just out the way but close enough to watch them—all three of them, her men and the one with the guitar.
Smoke returned to his spot and leaned over a table, sorting through stacks of bills and coins with a meticulousness that spoke to the weight of what they’d built in a short amount of time.
“You countin’ it twice for good luck or ‘cause you don’t trust my math?” Stack asked, not even turning his head.
“I trust you to shoot straight, not to count right,” Smoke muttered.
Sera’s lips twitched before she caught herself.
Sammie, still smiling and enjoying the company of his older cousins, leaned back on his stool. “All that money gonna get heavy once y’all on that train to Chicago.”
The words hit like a dropped bottle. Stack froze mid-sip and Smoke’s hands stilled on the cash.
Sera blinked, brows drawing together trying to comprehend what she just heard. “Huh? What train?”
Sammie looked up, guitar slipping a little off his thigh. “Shit—I wasn’t… I ain’t mean to—”
“You talk too fuckin’ much when you drink,” Smoke cut in, voice sharp as a blade.
Stack grunted and downed the rest of his drink in one gulp. “It was s’posed to wait until after.”
Sera straightened a little on the crate, confusion growing behind her eyes. “Y’all leavin’?”
Smoke looked at her now, and something in him softened, but only a little. “No,” he said plainly. Then, slower, “Not… without you.”
Sera’s gaze darted between them. “What job in Chicago?”
Smoke dragged a hand across his jaw and came to crouch in front of her. Even lowered, he still seemed larger than life. “Got approached a couple weeks ago,” he said. “A man up north heard ‘bout us. Wants help with some cleanin’.”
Sera’s head tilted, mouth parting. “What kinda cleanin’?”
“Messy kind,” Stack answered from behind her. “Blood under the floorboards. Ghosts in the walls. That sorta thing.”
Smoke threw him a look, then reached out and took one of Sera’s hands in both of his. His touch was rough but careful. “What Stack’s tryin’ to say is… it’s dangerous work. Men go missin’. People get hurt. It ain’t pretty. But it pays. Pays enough for a new life.”
Sera’s eyes searched his face, her voice small like her heart was on the verge of breaking. “And you were just gonna go?”
“We was never just gonna go,” Smoke said, firmer now, reassuring her. “Ain’t nothin’ we’d do without you knowin’ first.”
Stack added, “We told him we’d think about it. Told him we had someone we needed to talk to before anythin’ got set.”
“Someone?” Sera echoed, voice barely above a whisper.
“You,” Smoke said before placing gentle kisses on the palm of Sera’s hand. “Ain’t goin’ nowhere without you, my love. If we leave this town, you comin’ too.”
Sera looked down at her hand caught in his, her lips parting like she wanted to speak, but no words came.
“You’d like Chicago,” he said softly, like a promise. “Big city. Lights everywhere. Folks that look like us livin’ large… music that don’t eva’ stop. We could keep you in silk and gold… show you how big this world is beyond these fields.”
He leaned in close, so close she could feel the heat of his breath against her temple. “We’d keep you safe. You hear me? Always.”
Sera’s throat worked as she swallowed hard. “And if I said no?”
Smoke met her eyes. “Then we stay. Easy as that.”
Stack, now beside her, shrugged. “Ain’t nothin’ up there more important than you.”
The room fell quiet again, the only sound was the buzz of the light overhead and Sammie’s fingers nervously plucking at the strings of his guitar. Sera stared at them both, caught between fear and awe, the heat of their words branding her deeper than anything she’d known before.
Sera didn’t answer the twins right away. She nodded slowly that night, eyes too full of uncertainty and lips too quiet, but no real answer had passed her mouth. Just silence. That sweet, honeyed silence they let stretch between them like it meant something.
Smoke and Stack never asked again and they didn’t have to. Instead, they began stitching a new world around her. One soft thread at a time until she was too comfortable and dazed to even notice the shackle being locked.
They called it space. A week to think… But this wasn’t space… It was seduction dressed in routine.
8:00 AM – Her moans were the first sound of morning.
Stack always woke her before the sun had fully kissed the windowpane. Not with words but with his mouth. Hot and unrelenting between her thighs, like Sunday worship. He had a cruel tongue and an unquenchable thirst, licking into her until her thighs trembled and her chest rose in frantic prayer. He murmured her name like scripture as she shattered against his lips.
9:00 AM – Breakfast came on a tray kissed with sunlight.
Stack would sit on the edge of the bed, bare-chested and smug, balancing a plate of sliced peaches, warm biscuits, and bacon crisped just to her liking. He fed her with fingers sticky from syrup, his thumb swiping across her mouth just so he could suck it clean. “You taste better,” he’d whisper. “But this’ll do for now.”
10:00 AM – She bathed like a queen carved from sugar.
Stack filled the tub with warm water steeped in orange peel and eucalyptus. He rolled up his sleeves and knelt beside her, hands mapping her body with slow strokes of a sponge. He shampooed her curls with tenderness, lips brushing her ear as he murmured about the first time he saw her. “You looked like trouble. That good kind. The kind worth dyin’ for.”
11:00 AM – She wandered the field barefoot and faraway.
Wearing nothing but a thin cotton summer dress and the scent of two men, she’d meander through the wildflowers with bees dancing around her and cicadas screaming like old ghosts. The steeple of her childhood church loomed in the distance, sharp and judgmental but she never went near. The preacher’s daughter was gone. Something softer and more wicked had bloomed in her place.
4:00 PM – Sleep took her like a second… third lover.
The linen sheets clung to her damp skin, and her body carried the fullness of morning indulgences. She always dozed off with her fingers curled beneath her cheek and the faint taste of Stack still lingering on her tongue.
6:00 PM – Smoke arrived like dusk. Dark, heated and I nevitable.
He never asked. Just pulled her to him and kissed her hard enough to steal the air from her lungs. His hands were rough, but his voice tender, against her neck. “I missed my mouthful,” he’d growl, before claiming her like she was something owned. He gave her no time to think. He only allowed her to wither, gasp, and unravel on his tongue and fingers like thread being pulled from the hem.
7:00 PM – Dinner came dressed in intimacy.
Smoke brought it all himself. Tender oxtails, buttered rice, roasted vegetables, all served while she sat in bed, covered in nothing but the sheet he’d just peeled off her. He never said grace. His fingers grazed her throat with each bite. “Good girl,” he’d murmur. “Eat every bite. You’ll need the strength for tomorrow.”
8:00 PM – He bathed her, but it never stayed innocent.
Soap slid over her skin in slow strokes. His palm cupped the back of her neck while the other traced her spine. The water steamed around them, but his breath was hotter. “All this softness… and it’s mine,” he’d whisper, pressing a kiss just below her ear as she melted into his hands.
9:00 PM – The argument always came.
Smoke, already shirtless. Stack, half-dressed and pacing. Their voices low but sharp.
“She fell asleep in your bed last night.”
“‘Cause you wore her out. She needs peace. That’s what I give her.”
“Bullshit. She wants to be touched, not cradled.”
“You think she ain’t gettin’ both?”
And in the middle of it all Sera would simply giggle. Stretching between them with her arms wide, like she was plucking stars from the ceiling. They always relented. They always climbed in, one on either side. And she always slept tucked between them, her back to one, her legs tangled with the other, her heart caught somewhere in between.
When Sunday rolled around again, the sky outside Smoke’s bedroom was still bruised with dawn. A lazy peach light spilled through the shutters, striping the wooden floors in gold and mystery. The air was thick with the scent of eucalyptus soap, old smoke, and the lingering ghost of Stack’s mouth between her thighs.
Sera sat cross-legged on the cool floorboards, her body wrapped loosely in one of Smoke’s white linen shirts, sleeves too long, hem brushing her knees. Her long ginger curls were wild and untamed, cascading around her face like fire spun from honey. With her tongue pressed to the corner of her lip, she hummed softly and twisted sections of her hair into a new updo. Something elegant and high, with soft tendrils falling along her neck. She worked slowly, arms raised, bobby pins clamped between her teeth, lost in the lull of her own rhythm.
Then she heard the door crack open. She blinked at the mirror propped on the wall across from her, watching through the reflection as both Smoke and Stack stepped inside. Brows scrunching, she stilled, hands mid-knot in her curls. “Y’all came back early today?” she asked, cautious amusement in her tone. “Ain’t this the hour y’all usually disappear to do… whatever it is y’all do when you ain’t in bed?”
Stack didn’t answer. His jaw tightened just enough to be noticed. Smoke didn’t answer either, not with words. He walked towards Sera like a man on a mission with his eyes fixed on her as if she was a rare gemstone that didn’t belong to this world. Before she could move, he bent down and swept her up in one smooth motion, bobby pins tumbling from her lap like scattered thoughts. Sera gave a small gasp, her legs curling automatically against his chest, one hand still clutching a half-finished lock of hair.
“Smoke—what—?”
He didn’t respond. Just carried her over and collapsed onto the mattress with a low grunt, pulling her down with him until her body was draped across his chest like silk in a summer storm. One of his arms anchored around her waist, the other slid beneath her knees, cradling her with quiet finality.
Then he spoke. “We need to talk, love.” His voice was soft. Too soft. “We need to know if you want to go to Chicago.”
Sera blinked. Everything in her paused. Her breath. Her heartbeat. The curl of her fingers in his shirt.
Stack shifted near the door, finally stepping into the light. His arms were folded tight across his chest, jaw tense beneath two days’ worth of stubble. He looked like a man holding back a war.
Smoke pressed his lips to her temple, voice thick with something weightier than usual. “We’ve been patient. Let you rest. Let you feel what life with us could be like when it’s quiet. When it’s sweet. But that man up north, he’s done waiting.”
Sera swallowed.
Smoke’s voice dropped lower, like thunder just before it breaks. “He wants us. Needs us. But we ain’t given him an answer yet, ‘cause you the only reason we’d say no.”
Stack took a step closer, his usual playfulness was nowhere to be found. “You say the word and we stay. Burn this town down or drink ourselves into the dirt, makes no difference long as you by our side.”
“But if you say yes,” Smoke continued, curling a strand of her ginger hair around his finger, “we take you with us. New city. New rules. You’ll never have to look back.”
“Ever,” Stack added.
Sera looked between them. Smoke beneath her. Stack in front of her. The two men who’d unraveled her one day at a time. Who fed her, bathed her, ruined her. Her updo was half-finished. Her thighs still trembled faintly from Stack’s mouth this morning. And her heart… her heart was galloping toward something unknown.
“…Chicago?” she finally whispered, like she was trying the word on her tongue.
Smoke’s hand tightened on her waist. Stack’s eyes didn’t blink. “It’s yours if you want it,” he said. “But if you want it… we go tomorrow.”
Tomorrow.
The mirror on the wall caught all three of them in one still frame. And somewhere beneath her heart, the preacher’s daughter felt something old die and something wilder begin to take its place.
Sera sat on the fence with her answer. She was caught between the girl who once folded hymnals in the second pew and the woman who now woke up between two protectors who kissed her spine and called her theirs. She could still remember the sound of her father’s sermons and how he promised fire and brimstone to women who strayed too far. She had grown up obedient, a whispered prayer in her throat and her legs pressed shut like secrets.
But that girl was gone. Gone with the first taste of Stack’s mouth, with the first time Smoke had kissed her like he was starving and she was the last drop of water in Mississippi.
She was no longer just Sera. She was Seraphim, the SmokeStack twins’ woman and she felt the weight and wildness of that title like a crown dipped in whiskey and deliverance. She wore it proudly now. Wore it with every silk nightgown they tore off her. Every bruise left on her inner thighs. Every slow, aching stretch of time spent beneath their hands.
The answer—yes—was sitting on the edge of her tongue. She could feel it pressing against her lips as she shifted on top of Smoke’s lap, her bare thighs splayed warm across his hips. He hadn’t let her go, his arms cradling her like she was made of something more precious than flesh. Her fingers, absentminded and slow, toyed with the buttons of his shirt running along the soft cotton tucked neatly into the waistband of his slacks. She wasn’t looking at his face, only the way the light caught the collarbone peeking from his open collar, the way her nails caught on the thread of a loose stitch near his fourth button.
“I…” she started, voice barely above a whisper, “I wanna say yes.”
Smoke stilled beneath her. Stack didn’t breathe next to her.
“But…” she continued, eyes flickering down to her own fingers, “my daddy… he still hasn’t written me back.”
The words hung in the air like wet laundry on a clothesline, too heavy to dry.
Sera pressed her lips together, then added quickly, “Maybe I should go back home one more time. Just to check. Maybe he left a letter under my pillow or—”
Smoke’s body went rigid. Tension gripped his spine like a vice, and his jaw clenched so tight she could feel it pulse beneath her hands. But even in his restraint, his fingers slid across her skin rubbing gentle, slow circles into the delicate meat of her thighs. It was a motion meant to soothe. Meant to comfort. But Sera wasn’t sure if he was trying to calm her… Or himself.
She lifted her eyes and caught the way Smoke’s burning gaze flicked toward his brother, sharp as a razor but silent. There was a whole conversation happening between them without a word spoken. That eerie twin language Sera could never decipher.
Stack stepped forward slowly, his boots creaking against the floorboards. His voice was deep and easy when it finally came, but there was something lethal curled behind the edges. “I’ll go have a talk with him, sunshine,” he said, kneeling in front of her now, eye-level with where she sat draped across Smoke like temptation. His large hand came up to cradle her ankle, his thumb dragging slowly across the skin. “And I’ll make sure he writes you back.”
Sera blinked. Her heart thumped. “Elias…” she said slowly, uncertain now. Her voice trembled like the tail end of a note plucked on a frayed guitar string, but her hands never stopped their idle work. She sat perched on Smoke’s lap like something soft and well-kept, still toying absently with the buttons on his shirt. Her fingertips traced the fourth one again looping around the loose thread like it held the answers she didn’t know how to ask for.
Her lashes lowered. Her voice, when it came again, was quiet. Distant. Too even. “…I already saw what y’all did to him.”
Stack, halfway through the doorframe, stopped cold.
“I saw it all,” she murmured, eyes fixed on that damn button. “I just didn’t say nothin’.”
The silence thickened. The kind of silence that crawls.
She swallowed, voice growing fainter like she was speaking from underwater. “That day… when he raised his hand at me… and you grabbed him… dragged him out back like a sack of potatoes…”
Her lips parted, then pressed together again before she exhaled. “Smoke… you told me to go upstairs. Pack my things. You kissed me like it was just another Sunday.” Her voice cracked a little. “But I didn’t just go pack.”
She shifted in his lap slightly, her fingers now trailing to the next button, still not looking up. Her curls brushed against her cheeks, half-finished and forgotten.
“I watched from my bedroom window,” she said. “Y’all didn’t know I was watchin’. I saw y’all take him behind the house. I saw Stack slice him across the chest. Saw the way he screamed like a pig. I saw when you punched him, Smoke. Right in the mouth. You knocked all his front teeth out and kept goin’ ‘til his face became unrecognizable.”
Smoke’s jaw clenched so hard beneath her she could feel it ripple through his chest.
She didn’t flinch. Her voice was still eerily soft. Detached. “And now he’s tucked away in the old smokehouse. Ain’t he?”
No one spoke.
“I see the way y’all carry in food when you think I’m nappin’. The way you both come back from the west field smellin’ like blood and ash.”
Her voice dipped, breathy and solemn. “And… I know he ain’t dead.”
Finally, she looked up. Her amber eyes weren’t teary—they were calm, glassy. Like a lake right before it freezes. “Why didn’t you kill him?”
Smoke didn’t answer. Stack took one step back into the room, slow, like a man stepping into a church he didn’t believe in.
“Why’ve y’all been sugar coatin’ it?” she asked, her brows knitting. “All week you’ve been lettin’ me think I’m floatin’. Spoilin’ me like I’m delicate. Like I ain’t seen things. Like I don’t know what your hands are capable of.” She tugged the button free from its loop. Then the next. “I ain’t scared of the truth,” she mumbled. “Not no more.”
Smoke’s arms stayed around her, locked like steel, but she could feel the way his breath stalled in his chest.
Sera pressed her palm flat to his chest now, over his heart, like she was searching for something solid in the tremble of their silence. “I can’t go to Chicago,” she said finally, “not if y’all gon’ keep pretendin’ I’m blind.”
The room held its breath. Outside, a crow cawed once, sharp and lonesome.
Sera blinked slowly. “I ain’t that preacher’s daughter no more. And I ain’t no porcelain thing you gotta handle gentle.”
Her fingers trailed one last time down the buttons of Smoke’s shirt, voice dropping to a hush. “I’m yours. And I need to know what that really means.”
The weight of Sera’s words hung thick in the air, pressing down on the room like a stormfront, humid and trembling. Smoke stared at her, his woman, his salvation, his undoing, while her fingers rested against his chest, gentle as dew, but her voice carried the force of something righteous.
She wasn’t trembling now, he was, and he shifted beneath her. His hands slid to her waist and gripped her just tight enough to remind her who she belonged to. Then, with a slow exhale, he adjusted her higher onto his lap, knees bracketing his hips. He sat up straight against the headboard, spine rigid, his pecan colored eyes locked onto hers like they were the only thing keeping him rooted to earth.
He looked at her fully now. Not like a preacher’s daughter. Not like something that needed protecting. But like a woman carved from fire and knowing.
Sera met his gaze, her curls tumbling wild around her face, still damp with humidity and truth. Her hands settled on his shoulders now, her back straight, her eyes glowed with something fierce and holy.
“I need you to tell me,” she demanded, her voice was like a blade wrapped in velvet. “All of it. No more half-truths. No more gentle lies.”
Smoke didn’t move. Neither did Stack, who lingered near the doorframe with his jaw set and arms folded, tension pulsing off him in waves.
Sera’s breath hitched slightly, but she didn’t waver. “I need to know what kinda job y’all plan on takin’ in Chicago,” she said, her voice firmer now… still a hint of shaking… but strong like wind through the pines. “I need to know what I’m sendin’ prayers up for. What kind of danger waitin’ on the other side of that train ride.”
She swallowed, her fingers curling against Smoke’s shoulders. “I need to know what to ask God to protect you from every time y’all leave my side.”
Smoke blinked once, slowly, as if her words had cut somewhere deep he didn’t know existed. His jaw flexed, and his hands slid up her back, warm and grounding.
Sera searched his face, eyes possessive and defiant at the same time. “If I’m ridin’ with devils… then I got to know how far down we goin’.”
Stack’s voice came from behind her then, low and dark as midnight thunder. “It ain’t good work, sunshine. You sure you wanna hear it?”
She didn’t turn. She kept her eyes on Smoke. “I already heard my daddy scream,” she said softly. “Already seen his blood. You think I ain’t strong enough to handle the truth?”
Smoke inhaled slowly.
Then, finally, he nodded.
“We were hired by a man who owns more city blocks than the mayor himself,” he began, voice hoarse. “He deals in debts, secrets, and bodies. Folks disappear up there like ghosts in the wind. Our job is to make problems disappear. Clean up what others too scared to touch. Sometimes that mean collectin’ what’s owed. Sometimes it mean takin’ someone’s last breath.”
Sera’s lips parted, but she didn’t interrupt.
“Stack’s the blade,” Smoke said. “I’m the fire. And together, we’re the kind of storm you only hear about in warnings.”
He cupped her cheek now, thumb stroking the line of her jaw. “There’s not a single normal day ahead of us, baby. But we’ll be watchin’ each other’s backs. And yours.”
Stack stepped closer again, his voice softer now. “We’d never bring you unless we knew we could keep you safe. Never.”
Sera nodded once. Then again. And when she finally spoke, her voice was lingering with conviction. “Then I’ll know what to pray for.” She leaned forward, pressing her forehead to Smoke’s. “Not for your souls,” she giggled. “I know better than that.”
Stack exhaled, something breaking loose behind his eyes.
“I’ll pray for your aim and that y’all return to me every night.”