Chapter 26: Home Sweet Hell

February 5, 1994, 10:30 PM

The hunt for Armando Leon, the Dallas kingpin behind Lubbock’s underbelly, had ended with his capture weeks back in a bloody raid I’d led, lockin’ his ass behind bars for good—but even with him caged, the shadow of his empire still darkened every move I made as sheriff. With Chief Daniels down for corruption, Kevin cuffed for fencin’ stolen goods from the casino heist, and Rico locked up for Laura Simmons’ brutal assault, I’d chipped away at Leon’s network before takin’ him down in that brutal clash, bullets flyin’ and blood soakin’ the warehouse floor as we dragged him out in chains. Yet each bust confirmed his reach lingered, with judges, councilmen, and half the damn town still tied to his dirty money through loyal lieutenants and hidden players who’d stepped up in his absence. Ricky “Sticky Fingers” Malone’s arrest recently for a burglary linked to the remnants of Leon’s ops gave me a new lead, but he hadn’t flipped yet, and every day I didn’t break him risked those leftover goons comin’ after me—or worse, to the ranch where Martin, my son, and our twisted family hid in secret, where my baby girl Libra and the other little ones—Gemini, Aries, Taurus, Pisces, and Aquarius—rested in innocence. Laura’s justice was still incomplete, her assault a scar on my conscience even with Leon caught, as his network’s tendrils kept her case from closin’ fully, and the dread of failin’ her again, of failin’ Martin and our babies, gnawed at me sharper than a blade. Could I dismantle what was left of Leon’s machine before it came for us, or was I just stackin’ sins until they buried everyone I cared about?

Back at home that night, the ranch was eerily quiet; little Peter was off at Zoe’s parents, enjoyin’ the innocence of grandparents’ love, which left us with a whole playground of depravity—a sick escape I craved after another gruelin’ day of dead ends on the trail of Leon’s remainin’ network. The nurses, Clara, Margaret, and Evelyn, had taken care of the babies in the hidden nursery we’d built in the stable, feedin’ and changin’ them with practiced hands, their professionalism now a thin veil over the dark hunger I’d seen grow in their eyes since they’d crossed into our world. Once the little ones were content, tucked away in their pastel cribs—Libra, Gemini, Aries, Taurus, Pisces, and Aquarius safe in their slumber—the nurses handed them back to us briefly for bondin’, their gazes now betrayin’ a mix of anticipation and complicity as they retreated to their annex, no longer shocked by our darkness but eager to join it.

There we were in the livin’ room, me, Lilly, Alex, Jessica, and Zoe, all stripped bare, our bodies on display under the soft glow of candlelight, ripe with desire and the weight of our secrets. We knelt on the floor, hands and knees, asses high in the air, each of us holdin’ our baby close, their tiny mouths latched onto our swollen, milk-heavy tits, the soft sounds of sucklin’ a perverse lullaby in the quiet ranch house. The air was thick with the scent of sex and maternal warmth, a twisted blend that fueled the hunger in us all, my pussy already drippin’ down my thighs as I cradled Libra, her green eyes—mine—peerin’ up as she fed, milk tricklin’ down my chest from her eager lips. “We’ve got Malone, but he ain’t talkin’ yet,” I growled, voice low and rough with stakes, “Leon’s locked up, but his fuckin’ leftovers are still out there, and if they trace us here, to Libra, to all of ‘em...” My words caught, fear for my daughter, for Martin, slicin’ through the lust, a rare crack in my armor as I pictured Leon’s old crew stormin’ this haven, shatterin’ the fragile peace of Gemini, Aries, Taurus, Pisces, and Aquarius too.

Zoe, kneelin’ beside me, her own baby Gemini at her breast, nodded, eyes glintin’ with shared heat but shadowed by dread. “We’ll break Malone, Teresa. Get to whoever’s runnin’ Leon’s shit now before they get to us. But ... these little ones, Peter, Martin—what if we’ve fucked their world already? I think about runnin’, ya know, before it’s too late for Gemini and the rest.” Her confession hit hard, mirrorin’ my own terror for Libra, her hand brushin’ mine on the hardwood floor—a fleetin’ lifeline in our shared filth.