Deadly Devotion (Soulscape #4)

Chapter 6

Frank and the Sheriff had just removed the old mattress and were replacing it with the new one when Frank heard the shouts from downstairs. Oh, fuck! He ran from the room, panic surging up through his chest and into his head. The heavy thump of Hawkins' cowboy boots followed him along the upstairs hallway and down the staircase.

The instant Frank spotted Randall Scott on the porch, moving at Alec as if he meant to hit him, his panic exploded, and he rushed out the door, coming between the two men. "Hey!" he thrust out a hand, warding Randall off. "What're you doing? Don't yell at him. Don't ever yell at him."

Randall loomed toward Frank, eyes burning with fury. "You better muzzle your little faggot boyfriend! Or I swear to God-"

Hawkins came through the door in a hurry, shoving Randall toward the porch steps. "Off the porch—now!" the Sheriff gripped Randall's arm and practically dragged him down the steps and shoved him against the Bronco. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Randall?"

"What the hell are you doing?" the man snapped back. "Gettin' all chummy with the queers? What the fuck?"

The sheriff ignored the questions and posed another of his own. "What are you doing over here?"

"I came to talk to you," Randall said tightly. "Dean called and told me how you were defending these faggots—even against the pastor. What the fuck is wrong with you? They're fucking heathens."

Hawkins stared at him, unfazed. "They're citizens in our community now. And I really don't think you have room to stand here and call them heathens when every word that comes out of your mouth is steeped in hate."

Nearly shaking with rage, Randall lowered his voice, but Frank still caught his words. "Dean told me what that little faggot said about me. You know God damn well I don't fucking abuse my family. You know what that could fucking do to my life if people started believing bullshit rumors like that."

"Nothing else will be said," Hawkins assured, then held up a stiff finger. "But...I had better not find out that there is any truth to it. Or I will have your ass in jail so fucking fast your head will spin."

Randall stared at him incredulously. "Are you fucking serious? I'm your brother! You actually believe that little faggot over me? Is that it? You should be running them the fuck out of town—not kissing their asses! Maybe that little bastard was right about what you and his faggot boyfriend were doing upstairs."

What they were doing upstairs? Frank turned slowly and looked at Alec with a raised eyebrow. Alec met his stare, a hint of a smile shadowing his lips.

"You need to go home and cool down," Hawkins said. "And stay off these folks' property. You both just mind your own business and live your own lives...and there will be peace in the valley."

The other man stared at Hawkins cynically. "You know, Dennis, I always found it strange that you were so accepting of all these queers stinking up the world." He leaned closer. "If I find out you're taking it in the ass, I will fucking forget that we're brothers and what respect I had for you and this badge..." he thumped Hawkins' badge. "...will fucking vanish."

Hawkins released a stiff breath. "So what you're displaying here now...is what you call respect?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Go home, Randall. And the next time you encounter your new neighbors, I expect you to treat them with civility."

Randall scowled. "I don't have to play nice with the likes of them."

The Sheriff sighed with quiet exasperation. "In my county—you do. Or pay the consequences, just like everyone else."