Heated. Niobia Bryant

you’re behind on your property taxes, you have no income coming in right now, and you have a wife who is spending way too much money.”

      The rattling increased until the liquid inside the bottle sloshed against the side.

      Bianca touched his back. “Things are out of control because you have lost control, Daddy,” she told him softly, fighting the tears because now was not the time.

      Hank closed his eyes as his grip on the decanter tightened. “You don’t understand, Bianca,” he told her, his voice tortured.

      She released a heavy breath as she licked her suddenly dry lips. “You’re right, Daddy, I don’t.”

      His shoulder shook with his tears and Bianca felt like her very soul was on fire. It was never easy to see your parents cry.

      “I promise you I will fix this, but I need my Daddy. I need you to be the man you were before Mama died. It’s either that liquor or me and this ranch. The choice is yours.”

      Bianca turned and walked away from him. When she heard him lift the decanter she went weak with sadness and she hugged herself as her tears flowed freely. “Oh, Daddy, why?” she cried, turning to him.

      Hank flung the decanter into the barren fireplace with more gusto than she seen in her father in a long time.

      Relief flooded her body in waves and she rushed to him, burying her face deep against his chest as his arms surrounded her with bearlike strength.

      “This ain’t gone be easy, Bunny,” he admitted, his chin atop her head.

      “I remember a wise man saying that victory never comes easy,” she told him, leaning back to smile up at him.

      Hank grunted. “A wise man, huh?”

      Bianca shrugged. “I’m biased, sue me.”

      And Hank laughed deep and rich and full in his chest.

      “You ready to get to work?” Bianca asked, moving out of his grasp.

      Hank released a heavy breath as he moved back to his seat. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

      “Why do you think Kahron Strong is behind the sabotage?” she asked, as she took the seat behind the desk.

      “That bastard,” Hank said without missing a beat.

      A snapshot of her naughty dream flashed and Bianca literally shook her head to rid it.

      “About a month after he came sniffing around asking to buy my land those damn shenanigans started,” Hank roared, leaning forward to slam his massive fist down on the desk. “He had the audacity to tell me I could either sell it to him outright or he’d get it one way or another eventually.”

      Bianca’s anger began to stir. Yes, Kahron Strong made her panties moist, but she truly didn’t know the man from a can of paint. How badly did he want the King land?

      “Did you tell the police?” Bianca asked.

      Hank snorted in obvious derision. “Said there’s no proof.”

      “Well, first thing Monday I’m going to pay the property taxes and settle some of these bills,” Bianca said, hating the disappointment she felt that Kahron Strong might very well be her enemy.

      “Bunny, you can’t—”

      Bianca nodded as she tallied the bills on a calculator. “I can and I will.”

      “Bunny—”

      Bianca held up her hand as she pierced him with her eyes. “Daddy, trust me, right now you got bigger fish to fry then worrying about how I spend my money.”

      Hank look at her with curiosity. “The booze, huh?”

      Bianca nodded. “Oh definitely that and you have to tell Trishon there’s a freeze on all outgoing funds effective immediately.”

      Hank’s face fell and he looked like telling his wife that bit of news was far harder then giving up the liquor.

      Trishon parked her vehicle outside the Belks department store in Walterboro. She went sashaying into one of the few stores in the small town where you could buy designer clothing.

      She really wasn’t looking for anything in particular. She just needed to get out of the house. With Hank and his precious Bianca holed up in his study, she felt a little… left out.

      She would never admit it to a living soul, but Bianca intimidated her with her smarts and her money. Trishon hadn’t met too many women that made her doubt herself, especially since the day she snagged Hank King. Once she became Mrs. King she finally got the respect she always felt she deserved. Money had a way of getting respect in a small southern town.

      When people saw her they saw a wealthy man’s wife, not the picky head little girl who grew up in a 14 X 60 metal trailer that didn’t have running water or nearly enough space to accommodate the six children who lived their with their mother, grandmother, and aunt—all of whom were considered “slow” by the townspeople and the state.

      Many a night they had nothing but dreams of food for dinner. When they did have food it was hardly a feast with stuff like fried salt pork and dry rice. Once they ate just the pot liquor that was left from collard greens they had the week before.

      She always knew she wanted—and was going to have—better.

      The only thing Trishon thought she had going for her was the way men liked to be in her company and tell her she was pretty and buy her nice things. So, she learned from a young age how to get what she wanted with what she had.

      Most times she hated the feel of the men’s hands and the sounds of their grunting as they pumped away between her cold thighs, but sometimes—every once in a while—a man’s hands would warm her, soothe her, and make her feel wanted for the first time in a long time.

      It didn’t matter if they didn’t have the decency to buy a nice hotel room to fill her with their desire. They would park deep in the woods in their cars and whisper heated words of her beauty in the back seat. Only to ignore her in the light of day.

      But that was behind her now.

      “How are you today, Mrs. King?”

      Trishon looked up surprised by the saleswoman’s voice behind her. She smiled, pushing away her memories. “I’m fine, just fine,” she said.

      Yes, she was Mrs. Hank King, and the days of hunger, shame, poverty, and pity were long behind her.