by Nicole Snow
“No. That was a mistake. We didn’t think you’d come to your senses so easily.” Grendal doesn’t wait as I pass out the cups, and then begin filling their glasses, saving one for me.
I give Grace a look. “Ladies last. This is a man’s drink, baby.”
Fuck, do I hate saying those words.
But the raw look of disgust she gives me—which I’m praying is still her playing along—makes the wolf and a few of his pack mates smile.
“To new friends and old acquaintances,” he says, lifting his cup, waiting.
I look down at the gold liquid swirling in my glass. None of the goons move, they’re all waiting.
Waiting for me.
Nothing’s gone according to plan today.
Slowly, I look at Grace. She doesn’t have a clue what’s happening, but she’s watching me with huge glassy eyes, pleading against what I’m about to do.
That’s the problem, though.
If it means saving her, keeping her safe, giving her back a life...I’d do a hell of a lot worse than drink poison.
“Bottoms up,” I say, throwing my shot back in one go.
Shit.
No sooner than I swallow, they tip their own cups, greedily sucking down the expensive booze.
Supposedly, the stuff is fast-acting. I loaded a smaller dose than what I gave Linus Hammond that night, knowing we just need to bring these fucks to their knees, not kill them outright.
It didn’t hit Hammond for several hours after he’d left the bar, though, so Tobin combined it with another chemical. It should hit the bloodstream faster.
Clay Grendal and his crew only have minutes.
And so do I.
What worries me is if it doesn’t hit them simultaneously. If several men see the others dropping...we’ll be in for a world of hurt.
I need a diversion.
After pouring them another shot and setting the bottle down, I glance around. The horses are backed up in their stalls, nervously, like they can feel the tension.
The only thing moving around is Cornelius. He’d walked back inside the barn a minute ago, but now he’s strutting around my feet in careless circles.
Damn this bird and his terrible timing.
Unless...
I take a messy step forward, pretending I’m a lightweight, totally unable to hold my liquor. Cornelius squawks and leaps in front of me.
Grendal laughs, and so do his men, slinging back their second shots.
They’re cringing a second later when the rooster belts out an earsplitting call, telling my idiot feet to watch where they’re going.
I make a show of almost tripping over him again and glare at Grace, telling her not to move.
They’re roaring at my stupidity now, and I’m picking a fight with my own angry cock—words I never imagined in this context. Or any, really.
It’s even more ridiculous that it’s working.
I’m herding the chicken away from them, step by pissed off, screeching step.
Now, I just have to let Faulk know.
“Get over here already, you goddamned bird!” I shout, stumbling around like a buffoon, hitting the ground as I run him out of the barn, arms out to catch him.
Several of the goons follow, standing over me thrashing around in the dirt while Corny lets off a final warning screech. He’s several inches away, circling me like an angry wrestler.
“I’ll give you till the count of three!” I roar, flinging my fists in his direction, then pulling them back.
Corny flaps his wings furiously, stabbing the air with his beak.
Grendal follows a minute later, the scotch bottle in hand, fully glued to the shitshow circus act I’m putting on.
“One.” I swing my arms at Cornelius just as I see a silhouette peeking around the corner of the storage shed.
Faulkner.
“Two!” I swoop my arms again, scooping up Cornelius this time, trying like hell not to get scratched to bloody pieces.
“I’ll make it up to you later. Do your worst, buddy,” I whisper to the rooster before shouting, “Three!”
I don’t even have to toss him, just turn him around.
Cornelius goes flying at Grendal like a bat out of hell, screaming so loud they’re holding their ears.
Or is it something more than damaged hearing they’re worried about?
I get my answer a few seconds later when three of the men go down, dropping their guns, clutching their stomachs in agony.
“Grace!” I scream, but she’s already taking cover, rushing to the other side of the barn.
Just in time.
Cornelius brings down hell, landing on Grendal’s head with his spurs extended. The crime boss bellows like a bear covered in bees, at the full mercy of Corny’s feet and a beak that won’t quit.
Suddenly, I can hear my own heartbeat in my ears.
Time slows down and my vision fogs up.
I hear the FBI guys charging in, shouts, screams, grunts, and gunshots. They overwhelm the crippled, falling force of goons easily, but Grendal is still on his feet, fighting back somehow.
He’s mine.
I don’t know how I fight through the fog in my brain, and something that feels like a hot knife jabbing me in the gut, but I do.
My first strike is a kick to his right hand, knocking away the gun he’s struggling to pull.
My second is a hard right punch to his throat, followed by a left-hook to the nose.
My final blow takes him down, a knee to the nads so hard it drives his balls into his stomach and hopefully gives him helium voice for life.
Normally, I wouldn’t fight dirty, but this isn’t a man I’m dealing with.
This is a fucking snake.
The full load of poison hits him then.
He rolls into a tangled ball, groaning like a sixth-grade bully who just got whipped on the playground. Faulk’s men swarm us. Cornelius stands on the side of Grendal’s head, jabbing him in the forehead with lightning-like needle-pecks.
“Surprise, Candy Man. Not all acting happens in Hollywood.” I pick up his gun and point the barrel at his nose. “I’d love to blow your brains out right now for what you’ve done to Grace and her family, but you aren’t worth the bullet. Get used to how your little balls feel right now. In prison, you’ll be living with men who swing nuts far bigger than any you’ll ever have. I hope you rot.”
Grendal rasps like the dead and goes limp.
As if he knows he’s the victor, Cornelius throws his head back and lets out an ear-piercing crow. Then he hops off the bastard’s head, leaving a nice warm puddle of white bird crap in the demon’s hair.
I wish I could laugh, celebrate, but everything goes fuzzy.
Like my eyes just won’t focus right.
I’m not even sure whose huge arms are pulling me back, a rough familiar voice yelling in my ear. “Ridge? You gotta let it out, man, you hear me? Ridge!”
I look up and see Grace in the barn. She’s still plenty terrified, confused, but I know she’s alive.
She’s safe.
Damn, I did it.
There’s barely a second to smile before the full force of Grady’s hands plow into my gut. He knows what’s wrong with me. By the second thrust of his knuckles under my ribs, right into my gag reflex, I’m dropping out of his arms, barfing.
It hurts like hell.
I get as much of the venom out as I can, too screwed up to even pay attention to the commotion as the Old Town Boys are quickly cuffed and led away.
Faulk makes his way over and drops to my side, helping Grady lift me up, and then I’m staring at Drake’s Dallas Police badge, struggling to stand on my own two feet.
I can’t do it without them.
“Ridge? You still with us, buddy?” Drake’s voice drawls in my ear.
I wish I could answer.
Hell, I can’t even speak. My lips won’t move.
“Call Abrams!” Faulk belts out. “It has to be that crap in his system, tell her it’s...
”
Right now, I’m not going to say I regret my friends scrambling to save my life.
But damn, if this is how it ends, I wish I’d kissed Grace just a little longer the last time.
I wish I’d told her I wanted to marry her for real.
The last thing I hear is Cornelius crowing like a gladiator, and then everything goes black.
23
No Faking It (Grace)
I’ve lived in fear for so long that I can’t fully believe what I’m seeing as I watch them load Clay and his men, handcuffed, into guarded ambulances.
Half of them are on stretchers. They’ll be kept under the gun with a huge FBI and police presence until whatever they’ve been tainted with works itself out of their systems. Then they’ll be sent straight to jail.
A hundred questions scramble my brain.
I still don’t know where the SWAT team came from. I hadn’t seen them before, but the moment Ridge let Cornelius fly, they appeared like ants bursting out of a rotten log.
They literally swarmed the entire place, taking down Clay’s men in one swift, well-coordinated swoop.
The only one who staggered away was Jackknife Pete. Someone attacked him from behind. The bullet hit the red truck, taking out the back window.
I know what happened now—Dad, who’d been tied up in the back of that truck, managed to get free and somehow still had his gun—but at the time...my eyes were one hundred percent glued to Ridge.
The way he took out Clay in seconds.
The way he said those horrible things so intensely. It was hard not to believe them, even though I knew deep down he was lying to save me.
The way he smiled just before he went crashing down with the goons, stricken by what was in that bottle.
At least the bird crap in Clay’s manicured hair is hilarious and totally fitting.
But the rest is no laughing matter.
I look over and see Dad hugging Jackie Owens like a war just ended.
Maybe it has, but mine isn’t over. Not until I see Ridge and hear Dr. Abrams say he’ll be fine.
She insisted she’d know in roughly half an hour whether or not he needs an ambulance and the hospital. But it’s going on an hour now.
She’s still up there in his room, working, watching his vitals, making sure he’s stable. “It’s like a terrible case of food poisoning,” she’d hinted.
God, I hope so.
Faulkner walks up the steps to the porch where we’re gathered, his emerald-green eyes bright and guarded.
“Great work today, everybody. If I know Ridge, he’ll be happy as hell when he wakes up,” Faulk says, scrubbing a hand through his cropped hair. “And that was some damn good acting you did with him, Grace. Still can’t believe how it ended with the chicken. It kept their attention, that’s for sure.”
If only we’d planned that far ahead.
“What now?” Dad says, turning back to Faulkner and another blue-eyed man with dark-blond hair and wild ink on his arms. I recognize Drake in his police uniform. “If you boys need me to come down to the station now, it’s only fair.”
“That won’t be necessary. They’ll be booked into the county jail as soon as they’ve got that crap out of their systems.” Faulk’s thin smile grows. “That’s the best part. The trial should be in North Dakota, where Grendal’s uncle doesn’t have the same pull he does back in Wisconsin. And he won’t have much for long.”
Drake nods slowly, glancing at the vehicles. “Sheriff’s already back at the station, working on how to hit them at home. This is just the beginning. The Old Town Boys will be as good as gone in less than a week.”
“Hard to believe. Look, I know I flew off the handle earlier,” Dad says, wringing his hands.
“You took ten years off my life worrying about you!” Jackie chimes in, laying a hand on his shoulder.
“Sorry for the scare. I couldn’t chance one more person getting hurt from this crap, so I took action. I knew Ridge had backup. But after what happened to Tobin, things got messy. I thought I’d do what I could to help lure Clay out here. Get it over with. It was high time.” He draws in a deep breath. “And if that means I’ve gotta face the music, so be it.”
“While I ain’t with the Feds officially anymore and can’t promise anything, several guys who are still on active duty promised me an exoneration for your cooperation, Mr. Sellers. Believe me, you’ll get it. There’ll be plenty of time tomorrow for a full statement,” Faulk says, glancing between Dad and me. “Plus, we need somebody to keep Ridge company. I know Tobin’s out of commission, too, a damn shame...”
I’m not sure why he went quiet until I turn around.
Dr. Abrams steps out on the porch, her face grim.
My chest tightens.
I can’t even breathe, afraid to speak the question searing the air.
“He’ll be fine,” she says, pausing so we can exhale our relief. “A little shaky overnight, certainly, and he’ll need that IV drip for a few more hours, however—”
No more words.
I don’t have the patience, the time, or the restraint.
I nearly bowl over the good doctor, launching myself at her in a big fat bear hug. And as soon as she’s regained her balance, I’m gone, sprinting through the house, upstairs, straight to the half-open door of his room, which I fling against the wall.
“Shit, darlin’, where’s the fire?” Ridge blinks at me, his eyes gentle blue stars, sexier than ever and lazily half lidded. I’m not sure if it’s the bad stuff wearing off or something else Abrams gave him.
I don’t care.
Not as I jump on the bed, throw my arms around his neck, and bury my mouth against his.
We definitely break a few new records in speed kissing.
It’s hard remembering I have to pull back and let him rest.
He needs space to breathe.
Jesus, if it wasn’t for the IV in his arm, I think I’d be straddling him this instant with far fewer clothes.
“Holy hell. Ridge, I can’t believe you...that we...”
“Slow down, sweetheart. We did it, didn’t we?” He gives me a slow look.
I nod so fast I think my head might fall off, and keep nodding as I say, “You were amazing! They’re all busted. Faulkner said they’re off to the hospital and then straight to jail. I suppose somebody should check on Cornelius, but...God. What was in that drink?”
Even through the haze of sickness, his gaze drops. His huge body lets out a low melancholy sigh, and then I feel his big, thick hand folding around mine.
“I hope you won’t hate me for this, Grace...”
“Hate you?” I blink at him.
“There’s one more thing I have to come clean about. And it can’t leave this room. Tobin and the boys who helped us today—Grady, Faulk, Drake—they’re the only ones who know. I only told my friends recently so they’d know exactly how to help us.”
“Ridge.” His name falls out of me and I grab his hand. “Tell me. Anything.”
“That fuck who killed my mother, Linus Hammond...he’s the reason I knew how to think on my feet and save your life.”
One Week Later
I’m still reeling.
Witnessing firsthand everything this gorgeous man did for me was a shock.
Finding out he was afraid I’d run off after learning he’d poisoned a monster who could compete with Clay Grendal for Satan’s finest?
After he told me, I buried my face in his chest and cried.
It’s a heavy thing when a man trusts you with his secrets, his life, his all.
And after everything I’ve done, everything Dad went through, right or wrong...I’m in no position to judge him for taking justice into his own hands.
If he hadn’t done it again, if he hadn’t conquered his own trauma with Hammond long enough to face down Clay, I wouldn’t be standing here in this fabulous dress worthy of a fairy tale.
He’s only ever asked for one thing—for me to live—and tonight, I won’t let
him down.
I glance at Ridge, shaking my head. “You’re sure about this? The party—”
Nodding, he grins. “Hell yeah, it’s still on. Bebe wrangled most of our guests into coming back after the meltdown last week. We have a whole town full of people waiting to hobnob with the rich and famous. I can’t let Dallas down or the folks from back home. The show must go on.”
I roll my eyes, laughing.
He sounds like Dad, who insisted they get on with it after days of being down at the station, racking his brain for every detail about the Old Town Boys. It’s amazing how my father was reborn, and legally, he’s almost home free.
“Um, about that. Even with the focus on you being Mr. Bigshot Hero Man, don’t you think people will remember the real reason we invited them out here?”
I can’t bring myself to say the E-word.
It has to end, this acting, our sham engagement.
“And? So what if they do?” Ridge asks, mischief sparking in his eyes as he adjusts his tie in the mirror.
I’m so lost.
There’s no reason to continue the charade, besides this party, which the entire town is looking forward to. It’s a social obligation for him, I get it.
The air feels shaky as it enters my lungs.
“Maybe you’re right. The engagement stuff won’t be earth-shattering for most people when they’re sharing the same room with superstars.” I smile, fixing a few loose strands of hair with my fingers.
What’s one more evening out? I’ve been pretend engaged to Ridge for weeks now.
And even if most of the town knows what happened out here last week, they probably haven’t pieced together the pretend part of our relationship.
I shouldn’t worry.
But it just feels different now.
Heck, I feel different, and so does our beautiful little sham.
I have no earthly clue what happens next. Dad and I are free to go anywhere, without looking over our shoulders. With the big bust in Milwaukee a couple days ago, and former Congressman Grendal in custody, the network has to be close to done like Dad insists.
We’re free to chart our own course, free to go anytime.
But that’s just the problem—I don’t want to go anywhere.
