by Ivy Fox
Just as he forewarned, Colt has me wailing out his name as hot greedy spurts of cum are sprayed on my ass cheeks. We’re both gasping for air by the time he’s done with me. He holds me close from behind since I can barely keep myself upright from the impact of this last orgasm.
“Happy birthday, Em,” he whispers huskily before placing a tender kiss on my bare shoulder.
And even though he just made me cum three times, it’s this little, gentle kiss that I’ll remember most from this night.
Chapter 5
Colt
My seething gaze bores into Sheriff Travis’s furrowed brow, demonstrating how the unconvinced expression he’s got stitched onto the center of his forehead doesn’t impress me in the least.
Does he really believe he can unnerve Lincoln or me with that stupid ass scowl he’s got going on?
He should know better than to think he can intimidate a Richfield. We were brought up with scrutinizing and disapproving glowers all our lives, and an outsider thinking he can unnerve us in any way is just plain laughable, if not borderline pathetic.
“What I can’t understand is why you didn’t report the gun missing,” he continues with his rant of how Lincoln not reporting his father’s gun missing on the night that he and Aunt Sierra were murdered has raised a number of red flags in his investigation.
“As I told you before, sheriff, my father had a vast collection of guns. Even relics going as far back as the Civil War. It was a hobby of his, and one I didn’t partake in as I have no tolerance for such things. I respect our second amendment rights, but keeping such a large armory goes against my very nature. Until you made me aware of it, I couldn’t possibly tell you if a gun was missing from our home or not,” Lincoln repeats calmly.
My cousin comfortably leans back into the living room couch, looking right as rain, while Sheriff Travis looks like he’s sitting on a throne of rusty nails by the way he keeps shifting about. I keep rooted to my spot, preferring to stand against the grand piano, leering down at the man before us. While Lincoln acts as if we are just having a casual conversation with the sheriff, I know better.
This is an interrogation.
“Hmm. You must agree that it’s odd that you didn’t report it after the fact, though.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, sheriff, but unfortunately, there was no way for me to know that it had been stolen from our property since nothing else was taken.”
“Hmm,” Sheriff Travis mumbles again, and I make a note of having his pretty little wife Betty Lee hum out the same tune while I’m nine inches deep in her throat, just so the fucker knows how aggravating the sound is. “Yes, that’s another discrepancy that I’m still trying to wrap my head around. If your mother and father were killed in a robbery gone wrong, then why didn’t the thieves use their deaths to their advantage and take something?”
“Isn’t your job to find out?” I butt in, giving Sheriff Travis my best fuck-you smile.
“Whoever came into our home that night and took said gun must also have been the same perpetrator who killed my parents. Whether they were successful or not in robbing us blind is insignificant. Whatever their original thieving intentions were that night, they ended up committing the worst crime of all. The gun that killed my parents being in your possession is still a lead to their killer, is it not?” Lincoln interjects assertively before Sheriff Travis has time to respond to my provocation.
“Yes, yes. You’re right. It is a lead. The only one we’ve had so far, I’m afraid. As I told you earlier, ballistics proved that it was your father’s gun the assailants used on your parents that awful night. Somehow it made its way into Tucker Dixon’s possession. Now, as he was in prison when your parents were murdered, we’ve ruled him out as our shooter. Unfortunately, since Dixon also passed away unexpectedly, we can’t determine where he got the gun in the first place. But we are talking to members we know belong to his Southside gang. We believe with enough pressure, one of them will end up giving us something we can work with. Some inkling of how your father’s gun got into Tucker Dixon’s hands.”
“That’s good,” Lincoln retorts, sounding somberly optimistic, playing the part of a grieving son needing closure for his parents’ untimely death to a fault. If I could applaud my cousin for his earnest performance right now, I would. Years of acting like our shit doesn’t stink are finally paying off.
“However, I do have just one more question to ask you.”
“If it helps with your investigation in solving my parents’ murder, then please go ahead and ask.”
“Does the name John Bennett mean anything to you?”
My spine stiffens ramrod straight at the mention of the name.
Fuck.
I knew Lincoln’s bleeding heart would bite us in the ass someday, and here is the good ole fucking sheriff proving me right.
“Yes, he’s the father of a close friend of mine,” Lincoln replies without breaking a sweat.
“Stone Bennett’s father, you mean?”
“Sheriff, just get on with what you really want to ask because this shit is getting tiresome.”
“Colt—” Linc begins to warn under his breath at my outburst, but I’ve had enough of this unsolicited tête-à-tête.
“Nah, cuz. It’s Friday night, and both you and I have got shit to do. We don’t have time to watch Sheriff Travis here drag his feet. Just ask what you want and be done with it.”
He glares at me with disdain, but I got the fucker beat. No one can turn down the temperature in the room better than I can with just one look. When a shiver runs down his spine, causing him to shudder, it takes everything in me not to laugh in his face.
“As I was saying,” he begins to stammer, “I have been informed that the Richfield Foundation has taken on the responsibility of getting John Bennett out of prison. From what the District Attorney has told me, it seems you are actually going to be successful in your mission as the governor is also pressuring the DA’s office into reassessing the case.”
“Governor Peterson is a close family friend, yes, but if he’s pressuring the DA’s office in any way, then it’s only because he wants the judicial system in Asheville to work instead of throwing innocent men behind bars just to close a case. John Bennett is the perfect example of the faulty system, and my family’s foundation has always supported causes that better our community.”
“How are you so sure he’s innocent?” He arches one bushy eyebrow in contempt.
I watch Lincoln’s jaw tic, the only indication Sheriff Travis has officially pissed him off.
Oh, you’ve gone and done it now, motherfucker.
You really shouldn’t push Linc’s buttons, chief.
You never know if you’ll end up with a bullet carved into your skull because of it.
“Because, sheriff,” he starts with a menacing gaze so threatening that even I get chills. “Your department didn’t have any concrete evidence against John Bennett to even bring him in for questioning. The whole case against him was built on biased social profiling and hearsay, with no shred of proof. The circumstantial evidence to back your claim up was minimal, and as far as I’m aware, you weren’t able to prove he was even at the scene of the crime when it took place. Yet your department and the DA’s office worked tirelessly to put him away and pressured his assigned attorney into a plea deal when he maintained his innocence throughout.”
The sheriff’s scowl twitches in place as he rubs his sweaty hands on his khaki-clad knees.
“He was the only suspect we had at the time.”
“That doesn’t mean my friend’s father is guilty of any crime aside from having the misfortune of being born on the Southside.”
“Again, he was our only suspect.”
“Then you should have done a better job,” I chime in.
He snaps his head in my direction, fury in his eyes.
“Believe me. I intend to do my job much better in the future with all my cases.”
Did this fucker just threate
n us?
“May I ask why you are asking me about Stone’s father, anyway?” Lincoln interjects, more composed in an effort to break the sheriff’s and my staring match.
“As you must already know, he belonged to the same Southside gang as Tucker Dixon. I found it odd that the Richfield Foundation would go to such lengths to free a man who is a known member of the same gang that could have had a hand in killing your parents.”
“Again with this ‘I find it odd’ bullshit,” I sneer. “Is there anything you don’t find peculiar, sheriff? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like it’s extremely easy to cause your head to spin in all directions from the most insignificant drivel.”
“Colt, that’s enough,” Linc interjects, throwing me his less-than-subtle ‘shut the fuck up’ glare. “The sheriff’s question is a fair one, and I can assure you that the Richfield Foundation only wants to set right a wrong. I see no relevance between my family’s philanthropic endeavors, my parents’ case, or Tucker Dixon and his known associates.”
“But there lies the problem, Lincoln. We do,” Sheriff Travis deadpans. “Seeing such an esteemed foundation use their extensive funds to set free a man who is known to have ties with a Southside criminal organization needs to be addressed.”
“Hmm,” I hum, using the sheriff’s own verbal crutch against him. “Maybe you think our family’s money should be used for better projects. Say, to be your benefactor in the next election coming up in a few months? I have to say, sheriff, your visit today kind of feels like it’s either coercion or extortion. Lucky for you, our family is immune to both.”
“That… that was never my intention,” he stutters aghast, his whole face going deathly pale. “I’m merely trying to alert your cousin to the optics of the situation.”
“Sure you were. But you know what they say about people with good intentions. Hell is filled with them.”
My wolfish grin only slants wider as Sheriff Travis takes out his handkerchief from his blazer pocket to pad away the cold sweat that suddenly made its way to his bald forehead.
I feel the weight of my cousin’s disapproving glower, but I couldn’t pass up the chance to watch the sheriff squirm.
“We understand your concern, but I can assure you it’s completely unfounded. Again, anything I can do to help, I’m more than happy to oblige,” Lincoln says as he begins to stand up from the couch, indicating this little chit-chat has reached its end.
The sheriff gets the hint and all too eagerly gets up from his own seat.
“I appreciate that,” he mumbles.
“You should. Most people don’t like having house calls from Asheville’s finest, especially when they make victims feel like perps. In my opinion, my cousin has been very patient in talking to you. Maybe next time, our family’s lawyer should also be in attendance, seeing as the sheriff’s department doesn’t have the best track record when it comes to putting innocent men behind bars. We would hate to see history repeat itself, now wouldn’t we?”
The sheriff’s face turns from sickly green to hateful beet red, but I couldn’t give a fuck.
“Thank you for your time, Lincoln.”
“Of course,” my cousin replies politely, his arm already stretched out to show the good sheriff his way to the front door. Sheriff Travis offers him a clipped nod and gifts me a black look.
Like that shit scares me.
“See you around, sheriff. And please give my love to that gorgeous wife of yours.” I wink at the bastard just to ruffle his feathers a little further.
He doesn’t have time to say anything in return since Lincoln has already shut the door on him, but just the quick glimpse I caught of his livid face was enough to make me feel all warm inside.
“Did you really have to go there?” Linc mumbles in irritation, pulling me away from the foyer in the direction of the kitchen.
“What?” I chuckle in amusement, with a little spring to my step.
Linc, however, doesn’t find my ass funny today. He stops mid-step just so he can look me dead in the eye. Even if he didn’t have that damn grimace on his face, I could still feel his irritation roll off him in threatening waves. My cousin has the purest heart I know, but push him beyond his breaking point, and well, we all saw what could happen when he loses his temper.
“You should be done with the sheriff’s wife by now,” he reprimands on a deep exhale, turning to head to the kitchen once more, trying hard not to blow up in my face.
“What can I tell you? She’s a clinger. I can’t exactly ghost her just like that, now can I?”
Never missing a beat, Lincoln’s eyes travel throughout the kitchen, making sure no one will hear our conversation. Ever since Finn moved in with his girl, we never know what we’ll find by turning a corner. Just the other day, I caught the two of them going at it in the pool house. Finn and Stone getting caught fucking like rabbits against the kitchen counter is bound to happen eventually. Lucky for us, it doesn’t seem like today’s the day, which means Linc and I can talk freely.
Linc opens the refrigerator door, his blank stare telling me he doesn’t see a damn thing inside, too wrapped up with the muddled thoughts running through his head. He’s still brooding, and it’s starting to touch a nerve.
“Why are you so fucking upset with me right now? You were the one who told me to fuck her in the first place.”
He snaps his arctic blue eyes at me, and I feel myself freezing in place.
“I said for you to use your charm and get close to Betty Lee so you could find out what the sheriff knows. Not make her your sidepiece.”
“First of all, my charm is my dick. And secondly, not my fault you weren’t more specific.”
“This is not a joke, Colt.” He growls, slamming the refrigerator door.
“You think I don’t know that? If we played by your rules, one of us would be in jail already.”
“Not one of us. Me!” He points his index finger at his chest.
“As if I’d ever let that happen.” I scoff.
Like hell, I’d let Linc turn himself in. If he hadn’t killed Uncle Crawford that night, I would have done it for him. The way I see it, my cousin did the world a fucking favor in putting a bullet in that fucker’s head. No use in crying a river over the asshole now. He got exactly what was coming to him.
“Look, don’t worry about Betty Lee, okay? I told you, I haven’t slept with her in ages, and I don’t intend to either. She got good enough taste to keep her loyal. She gave us the heads up about the gun and her husband paying us a visit, didn’t she? So cool your jets and just breathe, Linc. We got this.” I try to assure him.
His upper lip twitches unconvinced, but we’ve got other shit to focus on.
“Did East deal with the kid? He’s not going to run his mouth, is he?” I ask him, worried that the Southside punk may be more troublesome than Easton speculated.
“I wrote him a check, but he hasn’t cashed it yet.”
“Then maybe East needs to pay Chase Dixon another visit. Make him understand that, whether he takes our money or not, he needs to keep his mouth shut.”
“Perhaps,” Linc mumbles under his breath, deep in thought.
“What are you thinking about, cuz?”
“I’m thinking that there are too many loose ends we didn’t account for.”
“We’ll deal with them as they come. We always do,” I counter comfortingly.
“Will we, Colt? I’m not so sure anymore.”
I walk up to him and squeeze his shoulder, hoping to squash the doubt and guilt he has been afflicted with for the better part of a year now.
“The sheriff has squat on us, cuz. He’s an incompetent buffoon that isn’t equipped to tie his own shoelaces, let alone figure out what went down that night.”
“He’s not the one I’m worried about.”
“Ah, right. I almost forgot about the boogeyman.” I huff out, taking a step back to lean on the counter.
I cross my arms over my chest, tilting my head to t
he side to see where my cousin’s head is at. I should have figured the sheriff was the least of his worries when it’s The Society who is the real threat to our freedom.
“You think they’re done with East?”
“I do. Which means you’re next,” he counters wisely.
“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. They’ll leave you for last, considering they probably think that you’re the one who has offended them the most,” I reply with extra sarcasm on the word offended. “How is the digging going? Were you able to confirm your prick of a father was a member?”
He shakes his head in defeat.
“I tore this place apart from top to bottom and couldn’t find one thing tying him to The Society. Checked every inch of his computer and came up empty-handed, too. Either he covered his tracks, or The Society did it for him. But he must have been involved with them somehow. It’s the only logical explanation for this backlash.”
A stretch of silence ensues as we take that thought in.
Neither one of us has discussed our suspicion that the late governor must have been a member of the ominous boys club with East or Finn. For the past few months, they’ve had their hands full with The Society intent on pulling their strings. Adding this worry onto their shoulders would be overkill. And besides, being a Richfield, Linc and I are used to keeping secrets—even from our best friends.
But it’s the only logical explanation. Not only was Uncle Crawford an only child from an esteemed Asheville family, but as governor, he had his fingers in many pots and in even more pockets. With his sadistic personality and hunger for power, he must have been the perfect member of The Spciety. Hence why they are so pissed that my cousin killed the fucker.
“What about you?” Lincoln turns to me and asks. “Has the Charlotte Library reached out to you yet, or have you made any leeway with Professor Harper? We need that book, Colt.”
“Not yet,” I mumble, less self-assured.
Now, this is the part that gets tricky for me.
Not only has the library not reached out to me yet, but after what went down between Emma and me over Halloween, I can’t just walk up to her all charming and shit and try to sweet-talk her into giving me the damn thing.
