#sinners oc

Elias, on the other hand, him and I had a complicated relationship. When I found out that Smoke left a piece of himself in me, there was no way I could tell him, not after what he’d just been through. So I went to the closest thing to him, Stack. And although what we had is never to be considered romantic, there was something there — Familial, even. He knew it, Mary knew it, and for that very reason I was never allowed within an 100 foot radius of the twins until the day they left, not if I wanted to feel welcome.

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📍 Train Station || 12:00pm

The feelings from all those years ago bubble up inside me and form a twist in my gut when I see that all-too-recognizable burgundy top hat. My feet move before my mind can stop them, and in no time I’m approaching my old friend.

Stack flashes a gold toothed smile. “I’ll be damned.”

I return the nicety, pulling him in for a warm hug.

“Word spreads fast,” I nod. “Y’all still got the same appeal you had all them years ago.”

“You don’t have to tell me that, darling. I know it.” His cocky smile takes me back, the only thing differentiating him from his brother being his energy.

“Do I even want to know why you came back?”

“You heard it as good as I did." He gestures toward little Preacher Boy and the old man. “We’re opening a Juke Joint tonight, right there down at the old mill.”

“Y’all never could stay still. Chicago wasn’t change enough for you?”

He shrugs. “Figured we should deal with a devil we know. Besides, we miss the tricking.”

“Mmm,” I hum. “Well if Miss Pearline back there is singing, I might just pay this Joint a visit.”

Stack looks past me and at the polka dottted woman walking away from Preacher Boy. 

“Shit, if that’s what it takes for you to come, it’s done.”

Always so charming.

He ogles me, his eyes scanning up and down my exposed arms.

“What’s this?” Stack rubs his fingers over the dark ink lining my skin — Art ranging from numbers to symbols to simple symmetric images. 

“You know I’m an artist, boy.” I pull my arm back, scoffing. “Figured I’d get a few permanent ones to remember a few things.”

“And you talking about we couldn’t stay still. I’ll be visiting to get a look at those paintings of yours one of these days.” Stack’s grin begins to fade as he looks over my shoulder. 

Preacher Boy walks up and nears his cousin. “This white woman’s been staring at you—“

“Yea, I see her…”

He shoos Sammie away and tries to walk me off, but I’m already well aware of what shark is in the water — I can hear her heels clicking behind me.

“Now is this Smoke? Or is that Stack?”

I turn my head. “Hi, Mary.”

No response. Only a rough shoulder check as she stands in front of me and nears Stack.

He looks over her head and at me. “I’ll holler at you, Rue—“

Mary interrupts. “No, you’re not talking to fucking Rue right now. You’re talking to me.”

Stack huffs, looking back down at the woman dressed in pink. I give him a ‘have fun dealing with that’ look before turning and catching my train. 

Of all the women wrapped around the twins’ fingers, Mary has got to be the most spiteful of them all. For no good reason, though. Contrary to her belief, I never once slept with Stack, never even thought of it. But as far as she knows, I kissed him all the way to where the sun don’t shine, and then some.

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📍 Juke Joint || 10:00pm

This old mill has lit up under the construction of the twins. People hoot and holler as Pearline ignites the stage, turning into the musical beast I knew she would the minute she started singing. Having no dance partner, I simply clap along, moving my body to the beat alone. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the same damn burgundy hat that I saw only hours ago.

I can feel Annie’s eyes burning holes into my skull as I sit at the bar, Stack walking up to me.

“Now who the hell did y’all rob to afford this place? Ain’t this being sold from the Klan?” I shout across the bar, my voice being drowned out by Pearline’s Pale, Pale Moon.

Stack shakes his head. “Not Klan, just crackers. You know we got money, girl. Don’t do that.”

“Yea, well blood money don’t count. So how much you got now?”

He pulls his pockets inside out, amusing me.

I chuckle, placing my money on the bar. “Y’all have blackberry bourbon smash?”

“I don’t know if I can do that for you…” 

His fake frown quickly turns into a grin as he takes the money, relaying my order to Grace.

“Fancy motherfuckers,” I mumble.

“What was that?” Stack eggs me on.

My eyes scan the bar, but all I can focus on is that hateful scowl on Annie’s face.

“I said all these women hate me.” 

Stack scoffs. “Only those particular women.”

That’s more than enough for me I think.

He leans in, his lips grazing my ear.

“You know none of these girls got shit on you, Rue. They ain’t half as strong either.”

A small smile grows on my face, matching Stacks. He goes to hand me back my cash, but I slide it back to him.

“I don’t need it,” I front.

“Yea? Well me neither. So you gon’ fucking take it.”

I roll my eyes, pocketing the change and standing with my drink. I’ve barely made it away from the bar when cigarette smoke cascades from over my head. Instinctively looking up, I finally see him. 

Smoke stares down at me from the balcony with that hard expression he always wears. It’s so strange, seeing that rock solid glare. When we first met in a dingy bar on the side of a dirt Mississippi road, he hung his head low and seemed to always have glossy eyes. I didn’t believe him when he told me he was Smoke. When he fucked me that night, and many a nights after that, it was slowly — With passion, and often tears followed the act. But now his eyes are as dry as a dessert and they pierce a hole through mine. 

He takes another blow of his cigarette before turning his back to me, retreating into a room. I have no choice but to follow him, even if it’s just to get yelled at to go away as he did the last time we met. I take my time, downing my glass of bourbon as I walk up the stairs. I can’t pinpoint exactly why, but my heart thumps in my chest just before I open the door, all of the thoughts of what we could’ve had rushing back to my mind like they did eight years ago.

I enter the dimly lit room, closing the door behind me and leaning on it.

“Hi, Smoke,” I say lowly, unable to read his face.

“Why you here, Rue?” he grumbles, a roughness to his voice. “I’m already stressed the fuck out with this opening shit. Stack ain’t helping.”

“I don’t want no trouble. Just came for the music.”

“You being here is plenty trouble enough.” He scans my body the same as his brother, blowing his cigarette again. “You can’t find music no place else?”

“You want me to leave?” I ask honestly.

“Yea, I want you to leave. You think those women down there want you to leave too or are we acting stupid tonight?”

“They never even tried to like me, Smoke,” I sigh, my legs bringing me closer to him. I place my hand on his bicep, like I did all those years ago. “They got no idea what we had.”

He puts his hand on mine, pulling it off. “That was a moment of weakness, Rue. Whatever you think we had is gone now." 

I blink to avoid tears from forming. My first ever love, my first ever relationship being chalked up to a moment of weakness chips away at my heart. If it’s what he has to tell himself to dig out of the deep guilt he feels, so be it. But he won’t sit in front of me and act like what we had wasn’t real — Like it isn’t still there.

“So you're saying if the Juke was going good and Annie wasn't watching you like a hawk that you wouldn't entertain me? Wouldn’t consider us?"

Smoke shakes his head. “No, I really wouldn’t.” His brows furrow as he looks at me, seeming to remember a detail that he had previously forgotten. “And your cheating ass can take your business elsewhere.”

I can’t act surprised, not anymore. We allowed him to believe my infidelity as truth, Stack and I. Letting him think I went after his brother was easier than letting him know what Stack was really helping me do…At least it was in the moment. But as he stands in front of me now, I want nothing more than to ease his pain, calm his anger, and tell him the truth — Even if solely to stop him from loathing me so greatly.

“I didn’t cheat on you, Smoke.”

“Bullshit,” he stops me. 

“No, listen.” I step toward him. “I respected what you and Annie had, Smoke. I really did. And I understood that the loss of your baby caused you to make decisions that you might regret, even if that decision was being with me. So when you told me to leave you alone, I did. But I didn’t know if that still stood when I found out that we had a baby…”

The words feel odd coming out of my mouth. I tried so hard at the time to disconnect myself from it, calling the baby a thing inside my stomach rather than what it was: Mine and Smoke’s child.

His brows have smoothened out now and he’s actively listening, his eyes flashing from my face to my stomach and back to my face.

I continue. “I didn’t visit Stack all those nights to get at him. Smoke, I never wanted anybody but you. But God put it on my heart to give you and Annie peace, so we went at it alone. No one knew. He paid a few women to make the drink without telling them who it was for. It only took a few hours for the bleeding to start…”

My voice trails out. I’m unable to finish as flashbacks to that night replay in my head. My mama held me tighter that night than she ever had before…I hated Smoke that night more than I ever had before.

Tears line his eyes now.

He chokes on his words, his voice now much lower. “Don’t you lie to me, Rue…” 

“I wouldn’t lie, baby,” I assure him.

I hold my arm out for him, revealing the tiny footprint tattooed on my wrist, a small E underneath it. 

“We couldn’t be sure, but I had a feeling it was a boy. Ezra, I was thinking. Stack hated the name but…” I shrug. 

Smoke runs his thumb over the tattoo, holding my hand in his. He attempts to discreetly wipe his tears, but I see them all the same. Looking up at him, his face can only be compared to the face he made when we spoke about his late baby, which wasn’t often at all. A mix of anger, sorrow, and fear. 

Perhaps he’s considering what could have been, just like I used to — Just like I still do. I used to curse God for putting me in such a position. A second chance for Smoke to be a father, but at the worst of times. I’d have dreams of talking to a clone of myself, telling her that she owed it to Smoke to tell him about the baby. It’s only now that I really see the consequences of my decision.

Smoke looks at me, and then at the door. It’s as if a switch has flipped and he’s forced all of those emotions to turn into one…anger. He reaches for the door, but I lean against it.

“Smoke, it’s already done,” I tell him, holding my hand against his chest. “I just couldn’t take you hating me no more.”

“Move out the way, Rue,” he says, not hearing a word I say.

“I don’t want to cause a scene. Please.”

“You think I give a fuck about causing a scene? Move out of the fucking way.”

“Smoke, it hurts enough as it is—“

“You’ve got one more time, woman.”

“There’s nothing we can do now!”

He wraps a hand around my arm, yanking me just enough to pull me away from the door and swinging it open. I run out behind him, but he’s already looking down the overlook.

“STACK!” he shouts down, the name echoing through the building. 

Everybody looks up, including Mary and Annie. Stack stares up at us, blowing smoke through his nose, before turning back to the crowd. He tells them to resume, nudging Sammie to keep playing. After a moment of silence and a few stray whispers, the music begins again and Pearline starts her singing. Mary holds Stack close, asking him not to go — But as always, the twins do what they want when they want. As Stack rounds the corner, I retreat back into the room, unprepared for what reaction he might have.

He’s barely entered before Smoke pins him against the wall, his forearm over Stack’s chest.

“The fuck?”

“Is it true?” Smoke demands, maintaning his cig in his pinning hand.

I close the door, shouting over the music. “Smoke, stop!”

He ignores me, continuing to press his brother. “Un-uh, I asked you a question, nigga. Did you know she had my baby?”

Stack’s eyes shoot from Smoke to me. I can only nod, giving him permission to tell the full truth as I just did. Stack relaxes, putting his hands up.

“I only did it to protect you, mane.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

“You gon’ let me go so I can explain?” 

Smoke lingers before reluctantly letting his brother go with a shove. He puts a hand in his pocket, staring Stack down.

He gestures his cig at his brother. “Talk.” 

Stack smoothens his suit, lighting one of his own. “You know I don’t like that shit, Smoke—”

“Talk.”

He sighs, putting on a smile once more as he tries to explain calmly. 

“When y’all two broke shit off we didn't know we were even going to Chicago, Smoke. Shit, I still thought you and Annie were gonna get married and buy you a house. Rue said you told her to stay away to make that happen, so I helped her stay away. Now we both know she’d never forgive you if you had a baby with another woman.”

“But my baby is none of your fucking business.”

“I was trying to give you a life, nigga,” Stack urges. “Annie is where that life was at. Fuck I look like throwing Rue back at you when you didn’t want her?”

“My baby, Stack.”

Guilt boils inside of me. I never allowed myself to entertain the idea of keeping the baby. There was no way I’d bring him into this world without a father, and Smoke had Annie, so I thought I had no choice. But seeing him blink back his tears now makes me second guess every moment that the baby was inside of me.

Stack thinks carefully about his next words, his smile having faded as he sees how serious his brother is taking this.

“I’m sorry, man,” he shrugs, his tone softer now. “I did what I thought was safest for all y'all, you hear me?” 

Smoke is about to speak when a hard knock pounds the door. 

“Stack?” Mary’s familiar voice rings out from the other side.

“Now I gotta get back to the Joint.”

I hold my head low. “Bye, Stack.”

He heads toward the door, but not before turning to his brother one more time.

“We good?”

Smoke looks from me to Stack, giving him a small nod.

“Get out of here ‘fore I say no.”

Stack only smiles, swinging the door open. I stand beside him, greeting Mary.

“Oh my— Not this trifling bitch again, Stack.” She rolls her eyes.

“Come on. Lay off, Mary.”

“I think you owe her a goddamn apology,” Smoke intervenes, standing behind me.

I mumble, “it’s fine, Smoke.”

Mary scoffs. “For the fuck what?”

“For how you been treating her all these years.”

“How I’ve been treating her? You’re the one who fucked her for a month before running back to Annie.”

“You best watch your mouth, Mary.” He blows smoke toward her. “It’s not too late to pay one of them bitches downstairs to drag your ass out.”

“I’d like to see you try, Smoke—“

“Alright,” Stack interrupts. “Let’s go.” 

He pushes Mary away before closing the door behind him. I assume my previous position, leaning against the door — a much thicker tension in the air now.

“If you hate me even more after this, I understand.” I break the silence. “I don’t blame you. I just couldn’t let the truth belong to me and him alone anymore.”

Smoke stares at his feet, deep in thought. It’s become increasingly harder to tell what this man is thinking. He drops his cigarette, stepping on it.

“Now why would you do that on these new floors-“

His lips are on mine before I can finish, his hungry hands pulling up my dress. It’s automatic, the way my arm wraps around his neck, my hand nearing his crotch. He begins kissing down my neck, but I pull away. He stares at me, eyes wide.

“This isn’t a moment of weakness, is it?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “I don’t need a moment of weakness to do what I’m about to do to you.”

I smile, bringing his lips to mine once more. 

"Drink your liquor. Listen to the music. Keep your hands where they belong."

One of the men laughed bitterly.

"You got a lot to say for a colored girl."

Willow tilted her head slightly. "And yet somehow I'm still making more sense than all of you combined." A few snorts of laughter escaped nearby tables.

The drunk man's face darkened.

"You think you're funny?"

"No," Willow replied evenly. "But I do think you're embarrassing yourselves."

The man's chair scraped loudly against the floor as he stood.

The room tensed. For the first time all night, Willow felt a flicker of fear but not enough to back down. But she knew this could end badly. The man stepped toward her, towering over her.

"Maybe somebody needs to teach you some manners."

Before Willow could respond, another voice cut through the room.

"That's enough."

The authority in those two words was immediate.

Everyone turned and saw that Capone had risen from his seat. Gone was the relaxed man enjoying a drink. What stood there now was the man whose name carried weight throughout Chicago. The drunk man's confidence vanished almost instantly. Capone adjusted his jacket and took a slow step forward.

"You came into a place trying to enjoy itself and decided to act like fools." His voice remained calm, which somehow made it more intimidating. "Now you're harassing women and threatening employees."

The man swallowed as Capone's eyes narrowed.

"You're ruining my evening." A long silence followed then Capone smiled...It wasn't a friendly smile. "If I were you, I'd leave before I decide to charge admission for this beating."

The men didn't need to be told twice. Within moments they were backing toward the door, muttering curses under their breath before disappearing into the night. The entire club seemed to breathe again and then applause broke out from several tables.

Willow looked toward Capone.

"Thank you."

Capone waved the gratitude away.

"Nah. You handled yourself just fine." His eyes studied her for a moment then he smiled.

"Tell me something, sweetheart. Ever thought about working somewhere bigger?"

Willow frowned at that.

"What do you mean?"

Capone gestured toward the room around them.

"I've got a new Black and Tan club opening soon. Bigger crowds. Better pay. Better opportunities."

Willow stared at him.

Chicago's most infamous man was offering her a job. Seeing her hesitation, Capone chuckled.

"You can sing. You can work a room. And judging by tonight, you've got enough backbone to survive this city."

For the first time in a long while, Willow felt something she hadn't felt since leaving Mississippi.

Hope. And that maybe Chicago wasn't done with her yet. Willow began working for Capone not long after that night, and to his credit, everything he had promised turned out to be true.

The club was bigger, busier, and far more successful than the one she had left behind. From the outside, however, it didn't look nearly as impressive as people imagined. The building itself was a long, low brick structure that had once served as a commercial automobile garage. Most people walking down 35th Street would never guess what was hidden behind its walls. The only hint of luxury was the massive illuminated marquee stretching out over the sidewalk, glowing against the Chicago night like a beacon.

At the entrance stood a pair of polished mahogany double doors that looked expensive enough to belong in a mansion rather than a nightclub. On either side were enormous Black bouncers dressed in custom-tailored tuxedos, checking names and invitations with the kind of seriousness usually reserved for banks and government buildings.

Willow found comfort in that as the men at the door didn't let trouble stroll in off the street. Anyone who crossed those doors either belonged there or had business with Capone himself, and very few people were foolish enough to cause problems once they were inside.

The interior was what truly stole her breath. Every wall was covered with vibrant Art Deco murals painted in rich golds, deep blues, and warm terracotta tones. Stylized jazz musicians played brass instruments frozen in paint while dancers with flowing feathers seemed to move beneath crescent moons and glittering city skylines. Even after years of working there, Willow still found herself admiring them during quiet moments.

The air was perpetually thick with cigar and cigarette smoke, creating a bluish haze beneath the warm glow of brass chandeliers hanging overhead. Amber-shaded table lamps cast pools of golden light across crowded tables filled with businessmen, musicians, politicians, gamblers, and socialites.

People from every walk of life gathered there. Some came for the liquor, others came for the gambling. While many came for the music. That was where Willow belonged.

The bandstand dominated the room, elevated above the crowd like a throne. Night after night she stood beneath the lights and sang until her throat ached. The blues flowed through her veins as naturally as breathing. She sang about heartbreak, loss, hope, survival, and every hardship life had thrown her way.

People listened and for the first time in her life, Willow felt seen. The money certainly didn't hurt either.

She made more in a month than she had once made in nearly a year. After so many years of scraping by, she was finally able to breathe. She paid her landlord months in advance and still had money left over. The old man nearly fell over when she handed him the stack of bills.

Willow could tell exactly what he thought and he assumed she was selling herself. A lot of people did. But she wasn't though she was selling her voice. She was selling long nights, sore feet, aching muscles, and every ounce of passion she poured into that stage. Every dollar she earned came from hard work.

Years passed like that. Then one evening everything changed.

"Ya hear?" Betty asked while they wiped down the bar after closing. "Capone's opening himself another place."

Willow looked up from the glasses she was drying.

"Seriously?" she asked. "Well, he's always got something going on."

She wasn't upset by the news. In truth, she liked Capone more than she probably should. He had given her an opportunity when nobody else would. Whatever people said about him—and they said plenty—he had always treated her fairly.

Betty leaned closer.

"Apparently he's stepping back from this place."

That caught Willow's attention.

"He is?"

"That's what everyone's saying."

Willow frowned.

"Who's taking over?"

Betty grinned. "Some new fellows. They call themselves the Smokestack Twins."

Willow paused.

"The Smokestack Twins?"

"That's what I heard."

The name sounded ridiculous. She imagined a pair of soot-covered factory workers with rough hands and dirty faces. Nothing particularly intimidating or impressive about that Which was why she nearly choked on her drink the following evening when she saw them walk through the front doors.

The room seemed to notice them immediately. As conversations dipped while heads turned. Even the musicians on stage appeared distracted for a moment. The twins looked nothing like Willow had imagined. They moved with the effortless confidence of men accustomed to being watched. Expensive suits hugged broad shoulders. Their polished shoes gleamed beneath the chandeliers. They looked dangerous in the way sharp knives looked dangerous—elegant, controlled, and fully aware of the damage they could do.

The similarities between them were obvious, but not identical. One wore his confidence openly, smiling as he surveyed the room like he already owned it. The other was quieter, his sharp eyes taking in every detail while speaking very little. And honestly neither man looked old enough to command the kind of respect they immediately received.

Yet people moved out of their path without being asked. That alone told Willow everything she needed to know. The Smokestack Twins weren't simply replacing Capone. They were becoming something powerful in their own right.

Willow did her best to avoid the Smokestack twins.

Not because she was afraid of them. Lord knew she'd dealt with dangerous men her entire life. She'd grown up around men who carried trouble in their pockets and violence in their eyes. The twins weren't anything new in that regard.

No, she avoided them because she knew better.

Men like that always came with complications.

The problem was that avoiding them became a whole lot harder when they owned the place she worked.

What made matters worse was that the brothers had somehow figured out she was from Clarksdale. Ever since then, they seemed determined to drag her into conversation whenever they crossed paths. They spoke with the same Mississippi drawl she grew up hearing, and every time one of them opened their mouth, she felt a little piece of home she wasn't sure she wanted to remember.

Tonight, however, it seemed her luck had finally run out.

Willow arrived early, as she always did. The club wasn't open yet, leaving the building unusually quiet. The cooks were laughing about something in the kitchen while waitresses prepared tables for the evening rush.

She had dressed for the stage. A silky black dress hugged her figure before flowing down to her calves. Around her shoulders rested a feathered black boa that swayed whenever she moved. Under the warm lights of the club, she looked every bit the star her customers believed her to be.

She had barely made it halfway across the floor when the door to the VIP room opened and Stack stepped out. The moment he saw her, his face split into a grin that revealed a flash of gold.

"Well now," he drawled. "Look what finally wandered in."

Willow immediately sighed. Of course. Stack chuckled at her reaction.

"See now, Every time me or my brother walk into a room, you start actin' like a cat lookin' at bathwater."

Willow rolled her eyes and continued walking. "Evenin', Mr. Moore." The formality only seemed to amuse him more.

"Mr. Moore?" he repeated. "Girl, you make me sound eighty years old."

She ignored him but unfortunately, Stack wasn't the type of man who accepted being ignored. A moment later he stepped in front of her path.

"Where you runnin' off to?"

"I ain't runnin' nowhere."

"Mhm." His grin widened. "Could've fooled me."

Willow folded her arms and let out a sigh

"What do you want?"

"Conversation."

"Well, you picked the wrong woman."

Stack placed a hand over his chest as though she had wounded him.

"Damn, Willow. That's cold."

"You'll survive."

"I reckon I will."

The amusement in his voice only irritated her more. Which only made her more irritated when Stack leaned slightly closer.

"Me and Smoke been wonderin' what we did to make you dislike us so much."

Willow laughed. A short, humorless laugh.

"You think too highly of yourselves. I don't dislike y'all. I just don't see no reason to know y'all."

"Now that's a lie."

"It ain't."

Stack pointed at her as she quickly went quiet.

"You avoid us."

"I got work to do."

"You leave every room we enter."

"Coincidence."

"You won't even look at us half the time."

Willow stared directly into his eyes. "There. I'm lookin'. Happy now?" For a second Stack looked genuinely surprised before bursting out laughing.

"Lord have mercy."

Before Willow could respond, another voice entered the conversation.

"You botherin' that woman again?"

She turned to find the other twin approaching from across the club and saw Smoke. Unlike his brother, Smoke carried himself with a quieter confidence. He wasn't smiling, but there was amusement in his eyes as he looked between them. Stack immediately pointed toward Willow.

"She mean."

Willow barked out a laugh before she could stop herself. as Smoke shook his head.

"You probably deserved it."

"See?" Stack complained. "This why I can't stand y'all."

"Because we tell the truth?"

Willow could feel herself relaxing despite every effort not to.

The brothers were dangerous men. Everyone knew that. Yet watching them bicker back and forth felt less like talking to gangsters and more like watching two stubborn cousins argue at a family cookout.

Smoke looked toward her.

"You from Clarksdale, ain't you?" There it was again, that question. Willow sighed as she really didn't like talking about it.

"Yeah."

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Knew it."

"How?"

"Way you talk."

Stack nodded.

"And that attitude."

Willow narrowed her eyes.

"What that's supposed to mean?"

"It means ain't nobody got an attitude quite like somebody from Mississippi."

For the first time all evening, Willow found herself smiling. Just a little.

Stack immediately pointed at her.

"There it is!"

"What?"

"That smile."

She instantly wiped it away.

"Don't start."

"Oh, I'm absolutely startin'." Willow groaned and pushed past him. "I got work to do."

Stack called after her obviously feeling himself

"That's the longest conversation you ever had with me!"

Without turning around, Willow lifted a hand and waved him off.

Behind her she could hear both brothers laughing. And despite herself, she felt the corners of her mouth tug upward again.

The next few weeks settled into a rhythm Willow wasn't entirely prepared for. The Smokestack twins were everywhere. Not in the way bosses usually were, hidden away in offices counting money and barking orders. Smoke and Stack were constantly moving through the club. Some nights they worked the floor. Other nights they sat with musicians discussing bookings, handled deliveries, spoke with security, or fixed problems before they became disasters.

It surprised Willow.

Most men with money liked being seen with it. The twins seemed more interested in making sure the place actually ran. That didn't stop Stack from becoming a nuisance as every single night he found a new reason to bother her.

"Willow."

She didn't look up from polishing glasses.

"What?"

"You smile today?"

"Go away."

"That's a no."

"Stack..."

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Go bother somebody else."

His grin flashed. "No." Then he'd laugh and disappear before she could threaten him properly.

The man was exhausting. But Smoke was different, he rarely sought her out the way his brother did. Most of their interactions happened naturally. A passing comment while she cleaned tables. A brief conversation after her set ended. A few words exchanged while the club settled into the quiet hours before closing.

At first, Willow hadn't thought much of it. Then she realized she knew things about him, just little things. But the dangerous thing about little things was how easily they added up.

She learned both brothers had served overseas during the war. The information surprised her. One evening she found Smoke repairing a loose railing near the stage.

"You know how to do that?"

Smoke glanced up from his work.

"Know how to use a hammer?"

"No."

"I know how to fix things."

Willow folded her arms as she watched.

"Where'd you learn?"

"Army."

She blinked. "You was in the Army?"

Smoke nodded.

"Me and Stack both."

That had opened an entirely different conversation. Willow found herself sitting on the edge of the stage while he worked.

"How come y'all never mention that?"

Smoke shrugged.

"Ain't much to talk about."

"You fought overseas."

"Yeah."

"And that's all you got to say?"

"What you want me to say?"

Willow stared at him. The man really was impossible sometimes. Over time she learned that was simply who he was because Smoke spoke when he had something worth saying. Everything else stayed inside. Stack, on the other hand, would happily fill any silence within a fifty-mile radius. It was through dozens of small conversations that she learned more about them.

They were from Mississippi. Born and raised in the exact same place as her and the realization had caught her completely off guard.

"No."

Smoke nodded.

"Yeah."

"You're lying."

"I ain't."

"Clarksdale, like Delta Clarksdale?" Smokes silent nod made Willow nearly drop the tray she was carrying.

"That's...Wow I never even knew y'all were born there"

Willow couldn't stop smiling. For the next fifteen minutes they talked about places neither of them had thought about in years. Roads, Churches, Stores, Food, The way summer heat sat heavy over the fields. The smell after a thunderstorm. For the first time since leaving Mississippi, Willow spoke to someone who understood exactly what she meant without needing explanations.

It felt strangely comforting. Dangerously comforting.

After that, conversations became easier. More natural. Some nights Smoke would sit near the stage after closing while musicians packed up their instruments and Willow would join him for a few minutes before heading home.

A few minutes became fifteen. Then thirty. One night she found him sitting alone with a cup of coffee.

"Coffee this late?"

Smoke glanced up.

"It ain't that late."

"It is for normal people."

"You work in a nightclub."

"Exactly. I know what late looks like."