by Nicole Snow
“But I could’ve ended it for Dad. He could’ve lived in peace. I made it worse.”
“How? He came back that soon?”
“No, his goons did. We kept the gate locked, but that didn’t stop them. We had to board up our windows the last few months we lived there...we never knew when they’d come to throw things at them or fire a few shots just to shake us up. I expected them to break in, come after me, but they made it a game. Clay kept backing off to drive us insane.”
“You were under siege,” Ridge growls, more to himself than me.
But the white-hot anger I see clouding his gorgeous features is entirely mine.
“Even the neighbors called the police a few times...but the police acted like it was our fault. Didn’t do anything to stop it, especially when Dad always tried to downplay things. I think I knew then, even before his cough took a turn for the worse, that we had to leave.”
If I’d just killed Clay that night, so many things might’ve been different.
And I wish I had, even if I can’t say with any confidence whether it would’ve turned out better or worse.
At least the psycho, the scum, the would-be kidnapper who doused me in my own mom’s ashes would be in hell, where he belongs.
“There’s another way, darlin’. Don’t think he’s gotten off the hook,” Ridge tells me, his voice as cool as the calm before a storm.
I peel back, my eyes shifting back and forth, studying his face which catches the shadows in the room like gunmetal.
“That plan I mentioned before...we’re awfully close to finalized. Leave ending Clay Grendal and his machine to me.”
Oh, the things I want to say, to protest, to beg him not to do when this isn’t his fight.
Not even when he’s staked a clear, unmoving claim to it.
But one more look at his face tells me I’d have more success talking a mountain into moving than pulling Ridge Barnet back from the brink of all-out war.
20
No Calm Before Storms (Ridge)
The fury boiling inside me flares to a level I haven’t felt since I poisoned Linus Hammond.
Hammond was a selfish, murdering piece of shit, but Clay Grendal?
A warped little pissant who deserves to die.
If I knew where he was right now...I might not wait for Faulk and the guys.
I glance up the stairway where I left Grace in her room to rest.
She blames herself for everything.
I’m not sure I convinced her otherwise.
Everything that’s happened isn’t her fault. It’s not Nelson’s either, despite his mistakes.
Grendal, the inquisitor fuck who’s tortured them a hundred different ways, is the only one responsible.
We’ve waited weeks for him to make his move. Yet no one’s contacted Bebe with new threats. No one sketchy has shown up, riling up the townspeople.
There’s nothing.
I’m sick of this waiting game.
Storming into my office, I close the door. Rather than emailing Faulkner, I call him.
“Ridge, what’s the word?” he answers.
“This motherfucker needs to go down. Right now. We’re not wasting more time on the logistics.”
“I agree. The more I’ve dug into him, the dirtier he is, but here’s the problem: he doesn’t get his hands dirty. The man hires everything out to his army of goons. However, I think we’ve found his lab. Turns out, the Old Town Boys directly manufacture some of their drugs. It’s a smaller pharma company based in downtown Milwaukee, not too far from the railyards. They make several run-of-the-mill prescription fillers during the day and illegal substances by night. Get this—the company claims research grants every year from the city and the State of Wisconsin. Grendal himself even sits on the board.”
“Piece of shit,” I snarl into the phone. “So he’s a boring suit to the rest of the world, making money off every angle.”
“Sure does, and he sells plenty of street drugs, too.” Faulk clears his throat, dialing back the hint of Oklahoma twang in his voice. “Grendal’s uncle has his hand in tons of federal drug cases, making sure his own investments keep safe.”
“The entire family is pure scum.”
Stating the obvious doesn’t make me feel better.
“They’re embedded in the local drug scene in Milwaukee, Madison, even as far as Chicago...the designer drugs they manufacture are top of their class, sad to say. The kind rich kids and famous people order up for wild raves. It keeps the specialty nightclubs in business, too, slinging shit on their end under the table. They’ve been on the radar for years, no doubt, but Grendal doesn’t slip up, and if his uncle and the local authorities they’ve compromised don’t shut leakers up, they disappear mighty fast.”
Fuck.
Growing up in Hollywood, I know plenty about flashy nightclubs and decadent parties, where the drugs come easier than young bodies chasing fun.
I’d been invited to plenty.
I’d participated in none.
Not when I knew the reputation behind that shit.
“We have to take him down,” I say, wondering if I’m truly ready to lay out the ace in my hole, no thanks to Tobin.
“Then we have to get him off his home turf,” Faulk says, the same thing we’d decided weeks ago. Too bad it’s been moving at a tortoise’s pace. “Make no mistake, he has plenty of hands on deck. Grendal has runners, mules, mercs, and cleaners. Every last one of them are expendable. Same with his street soldiers. They know if they mess up, they’re dead men walking. Grendal has so many layers protecting him, it’d take a real twist of fate to drag his ass out here, I reckon. We have to find his Achilles’ heel.”
I know what he’s getting at.
Grace.
The one thing he’s been after this whole time.
Obviously, I can’t put her in harm’s way just to flush his demon-ass out. Can’t and won’t.
“We’ll figure it out. I have a damn good idea how it ends,” I snarl. “Let me get my hands on him.”
“Even if you could...he won’t be alone. That’s what I’m trying to assess. We get Clay out here, he’ll be coming with a swarm of hired thugs. Sure, we’ll have our own backup, but—”
“Faulk,” I cut him off. “Listen. There’s a strategy I want to run by you, but it also involves something I need to come clean about to you and the guys. Can you meet me at the Bobcat tonight after Grady closes up? I’ll call Drake in, too.”
“I’ll be there. Have to remind you, though, Nelson and Grace are a key part of this any way you slice it,” he tells me, sharpness in his voice.
“I told you before, after the way her old man was involved...Nelson Sellers can’t get wrapped up in a bust. Not directly. They might send him to jail.”
“Full exoneration is on the table, Ridge,” Faulk throws out, not a hint of surprise in his voice.
I’m floored.
I also hate to ask my next question.
“You talked to the FBI about busting the Grendal machine, didn’t you?” I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Faulk, what do you have in mind?”
Grady flips the sign to CLOSED and hangs it on the Purple Bobcat’s purple-tinted glass door, turning the lock.
I wait for him to join us before I say a word, folding my hands together on the bartop. Sweat beads on my brow.
I’ve barely said a word to Faulk and Drake since they showed up.
I don’t have a clue how this will go down, admitting I poisoned a man, and I’m fully open to illegal shit again in a worst-case scenario.
Grady tops off everyone’s beers, filling his own glass from a tap of some pitch-black ale infused with coffee, then hunkers down behind the bar, scratching his dark beard.
“I’m ready. What’s this all about? Faulk said you had something on your mind?” he asks.
“I...fuck it, guys. Here goes.” My eyes flit over them, lingering an extra second on Drake’s Dallas PD badge, gleaming gold in the light. He’s still in unifor
m. “I’ve told you guys what happened to my mom. Some of you may have gone looking deeper, wondering what’s really up with me. Can’t blame you if you did.”
“You’ve only left your ass hanging out with the boring Hollywood stuff, Barnet. Not to mention way too many leaked pictures of your junk online—I hope they’re all fake. Believe me, I’ve checked into you and seen some things I wish I hadn’t.” Faulk looks at me over his glass, taking a long pull off his amber beer. “Fella’s gotta do something to keep his record hunting sharp, though.”
“This about that Hammond guy again?” Drake asks, looking up from swirling his beer, a can of some North Dakota local brew. “You told me it was over after you busted his nose, I thought? Aren’t we talking about the new threat?”
“Yes...and no.” I pause, this heavy blackness in my heart making me too sick to sip my beer. “Basically, I fucking killed him.” I pause. “You heard me.” I pause again, inhaling sorely needed breath. “No, I wasn’t the guy who pulled the trigger, and I didn’t know him. But I met Linus Hammond in a bar one night. I slipped this stuff in his drink and made him a vegetable. Tobin tried to stop me, and he’s the only one who knows. I didn’t listen.”
It’s a true record scratch freeze-frame moment.
Everybody’s glasses stop where they are.
All eyes are on me, saying the same thing. Holy shit.
I swallow loudly, wishing I had some water.
“Well...that’s...fuck,” Grady grunts, pounding back his beer in one bearish gulp. “You had your reasons. He murdered your ma. Can’t say I wouldn’t do the same in your shoes.”
His glass comes down hard on the countertop like a gavel.
Verdict served.
I hope.
Faulk and Drake look his way. At least Drake hasn’t slapped me in handcuffs yet, I guess, but I’m not sure it’s a good sign.
“You went looking for justice,” Faulk says, shifting in his seat, his eyes softening to darker forest green, looking somewhere far off. “You’ll never catch me saying it on record, but...sometimes it’s the cleaner, neater option than an FBI case file. I’m guessing you were short on evidence, proving what that fucker did?”
I nod slowly. “If I’d had anything solid, I would’ve hired every law firm I could to nail his dick to the wall. What I did was the only way. Truth be told, I meant to kill him, but the dose I gave him was off, or something didn’t mix right with the wine...whatever the case, it wasn’t meant to be.”
My gaze shifts to Drake, who’s glaring, gripping his beer. His sharp blue eyes are like trying to decipher a glacier.
“Man, you’re lucky you didn’t fuck your own ass,” he says finally, sliding a hand through his dark-blond hair. “But if you think I’m gonna sit here cussing you out for going outside the law...I did the same thing for Bella. For Winnie. For Jonah Reed. Just because I’ve got a badge now doesn’t mean I don’t remember what it was like without one when trouble came calling.”
“So you won’t tell Sheriff Wallace?” I smile, tilting my head.
“Never,” he growls, sucking down his beer angrily. “Bigger question: what do you need? Since you mentioned poison, don’t tell me you’re thinking about going that route again? Doesn’t work when you’re up against a crew of brawlers with guns.”
“It shouldn’t come to that,” I say. “What we need is something big to draw them in. Bust their asses. Lure Clay and his boys here with cargo that’d make him a slam-dunk case for the cops, the FBI, the DEA.”
“You’ve got the muscle,” Grady rumbles, his big hands clenched together in front of him. “I’ve still got the right guns and a good eye to cover you.”
“Trouble is, the man’s not stupid. We’ll need more than raw force.” Faulk leans back in his chair, stroking his chin dusted in a sandy five o’clock shadow. “Clay Grendal is experienced, highly intelligent, and dangerous. And if you’re thinking about placing an order for his goods to set him up, think again. If it comes from you or Tobin or some hired proxy out of left field, you’ll never make him do squat.”
“I know,” I tell them, taking a slug of my beer, the cool glass sharpening my focus. “Luckily, there’s one more person I think I can count on to have my back. She’s not here to talk details, but I think she’ll be persuaded to help.”
“Just tell us what you need,” Drake whispers, his eyes glowing with an excited fury I’m sure he thought was behind him.
With friends like these, this might just work.
An hour later, my last nerve wants to snap.
“Just do it, Bebe,” I say. “Please. How many times do I have to—”
“You’re crazy!” she snaps. “No way, buster. What you’re asking could ruin your career forever—could even damage mine. Have you lost it out there in the sticks? Has North Dakota and more oil pumps than people just scrambled your brain? Ridge, what you’re asking isn’t just illegal, it’s...”
I hold the phone away from my ear as she rattles on about my terrible, unreasonable request for another minute.
Let her vent.
Because it’s true. I’m putting her between a rock and a hard place.
If word gets out that she’s soliciting designer drugs for my engagement party, it could blow back on her a dozen ugly ways.
I don’t care what happens to me, but I have some sympathy for her.
Bebe was there when I needed her, but dammit, I need her more now.
I want Grendal to hear about my phony needs.
I want to play his greed.
Make him fly into such a snarling roid rage he tries delivering those drugs himself.
“Find someone who will,” I tell her. “I need this party, and it has to go off without a hitch.”
She’s silent for so long I wonder if she hung up, except for the fact that I can hear the music in the background. Classical. It’s always playing in her office.
“On one condition,” she finally says.
My muscles tighten even more. If she starts in on a woman—Grace—not being worth it again, I’ll lose it.
“What?” I ask, bracing for whatever bullet comes out of her mouth next.
“Three more movies,” she says firmly. “Start with the Western—the good one—the script I sent over last week.”
I hadn’t even opened her package. Hadn’t planned on it.
The air in my lungs burns hot as I heave it out.
“All right. Fuck. I’ll do it. Help me with this, and I’ll make you a rich woman. Richer, I mean.” I click off and drop the phone on my desk, hoping Faulk knows what he’s doing.
Hell, I hope I know what I’m doing.
I just keep digging myself deeper, and even if I line up a small army to help, there’s no guarantee any of this works.
But does it matter in the end? Does it make me think for a hot second about pulling back?
No.
The next couple weeks are heaven and hell.
Spring arrives in full force, banishing the last of the snow and beginning to paint the sprawling acreage around my place green. We take Rosie and Stern out for rides together.
They give me a special peace I’ve never enjoyed.
And the sex we have in the barn, in the bedrooms, bathrooms, and anywhere else we can be sure of not getting caught?
Fucking mind-boggling.
It never gets old. She’s so enticing, so eager.
Every glance as she transitions into lighter clothes with the changing weather destroys what little resistance and focus I’ve got during the day.
If Grace Sellers even hints at being naked, I’m hard, instantly ready to go.
Like right now.
I’m hard just thinking of her in the bedroom, where she’s busy trying on dresses for the big party this weekend. Bebe had half a dozen different knockout outfits sent to the house from the best designers in L.A., along with shoes that made her squeal and a whole mess of other packages.
Grace insisted she’s never looked at, let alone worn a thre
e-thousand-dollar dress.
Exactly why I had Bebe send half a dozen more.
“Knock, knock,” I say, opening the door to her room.
She turns around, looks over her shoulder, and shakes her head, sending wisps of pretty blonde hair everywhere.
I hold my breath as my dick throbs without mercy.
Goddamn. Somebody stop me.
She’s wearing all black, a floor-length dress with a slit up one side. The V neckline plunges almost to her belly button, and the reflection in the mirror behind her shows the back of the dress has the same deep V-cut right down to her waist.
“Darlin’, you look—”
“Sad? Um, yeah. I don’t have the boobs to wear something like this,” she says, fidgeting with her hands. “Every time I lift my arms...my nipples get exposed.”
I push the door shut, lean against it, and snap the lock in place.
“Better show me. For science or whatever the fuck.”
She smirks and her cheeks light up in fuckable red.
Slowly, though, she humors me, lifting her arm over her head. One sweet peak of her right tit is barely visible, a half circle of dark areola, just a hint of the nipple painting my balls blue.
My inner caveman wants to fling her against the bed and see how much punishment the entire frame can take.
“See?” she asks, looking down and tugging on the black material, covering up her tit. “I couldn’t go out in public wearing this.”
I’m so fucking hard I can barely walk. Crossing the room, I grasp her wrists, lifting her arms up.
“Didn’t get a good enough look,” I growl. “Show me again.”
“Oh, Ridge, you’re just...oh. You’re serious, huh?”
Damn right.
I help lift her arms, exposing the nipple again, loving how her soft blue eyes heat with something wicked.
Releasing her wrists, I act like I’m going to stretch the material over her tit, but instead, I flip it aside, fully exposing her, then the other one, and thumb at both nipples.
