She snatches it from me and stares in my direction while ripping it open. All eyes are on her as she reads what’s inside. I silently pray it’s an apology letter.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she hisses. “Tell me where he is.”
I shake my head, my stomach churning at the anger in her eyes. It’s more intense than it was before. “No can do, babe.”
“Goddammit, Lincoln!” she shrieks, tossing the letter onto the pub table. “Forget your stupid loyalty for one damn minute and tell me where he is.” She flicks the letter away. “He’s trying to sign over the bar to me.”
“What?” I blurt.
She jerks her head toward the letter. “Read it.”
With nearly shaking hands, I read the letter, my throat constricting as I take in every word in his handwriting. He’s signed over his cut of the bar—fifty percent—to her. I shut my eyes in pain. Not because I’ll lose my job, but because my brother is sacrificing his dream. After our grandfather’s death, he turned his back on the millionaire lifestyle we’d grown up in. As soon as he had the perfect opportunity, he quit the company. Owning a bar is all he’s ever wanted.
This bar, like Georgia, brought him happiness and peace he hadn’t had in a while.
That’s it.
This has to stop before he ruins his life.
I slam down the letter. “He’s at our grandparents’ lake house.”
“Address, please,” Georgia replies, her face unreadable.
I give her a really look.
“Directions,” she demands.
“Fine, fine.” My face falls slack. “But don’t say I’m the one who gave it to you.”
A hint of regret slivers through me before I brush it away. Archer can be pissed at me all he wants, but I’m not allowing him to fuck over his life.
Deal with your problems, Archer.
Cassidy chuckles, wearing a proud smile on her face. She’s elated that I finally caved. “There’s no way you’re getting out of this one.” She stands and slaps my arm. “Think of it as your good deed of the day.”
I fight back a smile, her comment downsizing my tension. “Listen, youngster, don’t you have some frat boy’s heart to break or Barbies to play with?”
I’m unsure if our relationship is big brother, little sister or sexual tension we play off as humor. Most of the time, I’d put my money on it being the latter, but it’s weird for me. I’ve never gone for chicks younger than me.
The problem is, we work together, and the timing sucks.
Cassidy flips me off. “Don’t you need to go find your vitamins to keep your bones strong and pick up your Viagra from the pharmacy?”
I laugh, turning my attention to Georgia. “Georgia, since you might be the new co-owner, fire her ass.”
Cassidy throws her head back. “Lincoln, dear, the chances of you being fired are much higher than mine since you’re related to the devilish heartbreaker.”
“He’s going to kick my ass for this,” I tell Georgia, rubbing my forehead in stress. “So, be happy that I like you.”
“Just tell him I went through Lincoln’s phone and gave it to you,” Cassidy comments with a give no shits, I’ll piss off my boss attitude.
Chick has balls of steel.
“I’ll text you the address,” I inform Georgia.
She replies with a pleased smile.
“You okay to drive?” Cassidy asks. “I can take you if you want?”
“She wants a front seat to the shitshow,” I add.
“Rude.” Cassidy shoots a glare in my direction. “I also want to make sure she’s cool to drive.”
“I’m fine,” Georgia replies. “They told me to wait forty-eight hours before driving, and it’s been a week. I haven’t felt dizzy at all. All I need is for you to cover my shift tonight.”
Cassidy points at her. “I got you. Good luck!”
Georgia dashes out of the bar, and I already feel bad for the wrath Archer will face if she goes to my grandparents’. I yank my phone from my pocket to give him a heads-up but then shove it back in place. I’ll let this one be a surprise.
“Are you sure you’re okay working a double?” I ask Cassidy.
She worked through lunch and the mid-dinner rush and was clocking out when Georgia arrived. I planned to pull a double to fill in for my jackass brother. Plus, I need the cash. The money is decent here, but it’s nothing like what I made before.
It’s not like I don’t have any money. Call it foul, but my mother created a bank account to transfer my funds so I didn’t lose everything.
“I have nothing better to do,” Cassidy replies.
“That makes two of us.”
Her phone chimes, and she rummages through her bag, searching for it. My eyes are on her when she reads whatever is on the screen. She stills, her face paling, and seconds later, as if someone snapped her out of a haze, she frantically shoves the rest of her shit into her bag. In the process, she drops her phone. When she ducks down to retrieve it, the bar conceals her.
“Everything okay?” I ask, standing on my tiptoes in an attempt to see her over the bar.
“Yep.” She comes back into view, blowing strands of hair from her face. “Georgia’s shift doesn’t start for, what, another ten minutes? I need to run home really quick, and then I’ll be right back.”
“Cassidy.” I circle the bar, my brow wrinkling.
“Gotta go.” She rushes out the door.
My throat constricts as my intuition tells me something’s wrong.
Chapter Six
Cassidy
Rule number one in relationships: don’t date the biggest drug dealer on campus.
In my defense, it’s not like I knew Quinton was one when we started dating. We met at a frat party and immediately clicked. He became the perfect boyfriend—polite, never made me question his character, and decent in bed. His Mercedes, his wining and dining, and the gifts were never a red flag because he came from money. His family owns Landing Holdings, a large commercial real estate and investment firm.
Turned out, all that wining and dining wasn’t on his parents’ dime. It was funded from profits from selling drugs. When his car was in the shop, he borrowed mine while I was in class. Too bad I didn’t know borrow was code for drug runs. We got pulled over on the drive to dinner—me in the driver’s seat. The cop claimed there’d been a familiar make and model in a drug hot spot.
Knowing I had nothing to hide, I wasn’t worried when they demanded to search my car.
Key word: I. I had nothing to hide.
Turned out, my boyfriend did.
And asshole had hidden it in my trunk.
I should’ve known something was wrong when Quinton told me not to pull over and make a run for it, like I’d graduated from sorority girl to Grand Theft Auto pro. I stupidly thought he was joking, and he cursed under his breath when I followed the law.
He muttered a quick, “Thank fuck,” when the officer approached my window.
That followed with an, “Oh shit,” when the other officer appeared.
As the cops searched my car, Rat Bastard stared at me straight in the face and said, “I don’t know what kind of shit you’re into, Cassidy, but not cool.” His attention slid to the officer. “Those aren’t my drugs. Can I call a friend to pick me up?”
The officer, who’d been cool with him the entire time while eyeing me skeptically, said, “Of course, man.”
Then … they did the man hug.
Yes, my drug-dealing boyfriend did a bro hug with a cop.
A cop who then instructed me to turn around before slapping handcuffs on my wrists.
I cursed at Quinton.
Screamed.
Called him countless names.
But he didn’t budge.
I sat in the back of the cop car, careful not to touch anything. The stench of rotten eggs and french fries along with the sound of AC/DC tortured me during the ride.
Quinton’s betrayal shocked me.
M
y trust in people was a reality check.
Never to be repaired.
Not only did Quinton ruin my future, but he also ruined my insight on life.
On people.
Quinton called after Kyle bailed me out.
Over and over again.
Threatening me with a creative variety of things he’d do if I even muttered his name to authorities—slit my throat with barbed wire, cut my mother’s uterus out, catch my house on fire.
You know, all normal things a man you dated should say.
I might’ve been ignorant enough to fall for the wrong guy—the bad boy—but I refuse to be stupid enough to cross him. I’ll stay in line and keep my mouth shut until he leaves me the hell alone.
It’s been a week since he graced me with a text. That changed ten minutes ago when he messaged me with a selfie of him sitting in my living room, blindsiding and scaring the shit out of me. Dude was even holding my favorite teddy bear. He’s not supposed to know where I live, where to stalk me.
It’s fall, but I’m sweating when I step out of my car. Dread accompanies each step I take toward my apartment. With shaking hands, I shove the key into the lock, only to realize it’s unlocked.
Did he pick the lock?
Kill my landlord to get one himself?
I inhale a deep breath, terrified of what I’m about to walk into. Quinton is waiting for me on the couch. His arms are sprawled out along the back, and a Rolex dangles from one wrist as if he were a king awaiting his peasants.
Or prey, in my case.
I slam the door shut and toss my bag onto the floor. “Breaking and entering is against the law. Keep committing crimes, and I’ll eventually turn your ass in.”
You see, sometimes, I’m not the wisest with my mouth. I might be smart enough not to rat on Quinton, but that doesn’t also apply to my sarcasm. He can’t have both.
He drops an arm to rub the hard line of his jaw, and his lips curve into a sinister smile. “Say you’ll turn my ass in again, and that sweet mouth of yours will be toothless.”
Well then.
Not trying to have falsies before thirty.
I shut my mouth and curl my arms around myself. “What do you want, Quinton?”
Licking his lips, he eyes me up and down, his predatory expression stronger. “You look good, babe.”
Ugh, vomit.
“And you look gross and criminal.”
Again, this damn mouth.
When he rises to his feet, my back straightens, and the hair on the back of my neck stands, but I quickly fix myself. He advances toward me, needing to only take a few steps before he’s inches away, tipping his head down to stare at me.
Don’t let the psycho know he affects you.
I hold out my palm in warning. “Don’t.”
“Why?” He smirks. “I thought you liked compliments.”
Yes, when I didn’t know you were a damn monster.
Now, you make my skin crawl.
I retreat a step, my back hitting the wall. “What do you want?”
He doesn’t move closer. “Just want to make sure we’re still on the same page.”
“Still on the same page.” I gulp.
He eases closer, slow and wolfish, and caresses my cheek, causing me to flinch. His hand is smooth, yet there’s a greasy coat over it. His breath, a deep cinnamon, hits my skin. “Good. Keep it that way.”
I swat his hand away.
A hard chuckle releases from his chest before he turns and leaves.
As soon as the door clicks behind him, I snatch my teddy, which now feels corrupted, and throw it at the door.
How did he know where I lived?
I need to buy a baseball bat, just in case.
“Everything good?”
I expected this, yet I hoped Lincoln wouldn’t ask that when I returned to the bar. He had seen me when I read Quinton’s text and witnessed the sheer panic on my face.
After Quinton left, I hurriedly locked the door and opened a meditation app my mother had been pestering me to try. Five minutes into forced reflection, my mind wasn’t shutting off, so I quit.
Meditation isn’t what’ll work for me tonight.
I need vodka, or a Xanax, or a distraction.
Working will be good for me.
Nodding, I join Lincoln behind the bar and yank a bottle of vodka from the glass shelf. “Of course.”
I snatch a shot glass, pour myself a double, and knock it back, relishing the burn as it seeps down my throat, hoping it’ll bring a dose of forgetfulness later. His eyes are pinned on me as I set the glass down and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand like a lady.
“You sure?” He wrinkles his brows, his gaze shooting from the glass and back to me.
I give him a nervous smile while I consider pouring another shot. Too bad I’m on the job and I don’t want to get fired. “Positive.”
No one will find out about Quinton’s visit.
It’ll be my and my stupid tormentor’s little secret.
Among many.
He reaches out, running his hand over my arm, as worry flashes along his features. “If you need anything, I’m here. You know that, right?”
If it were any other time, I would revel in his touch. Now, I can’t keep my mind straight because all I’m thinking about is Quinton.
I tap his wrist. “You getting soft on me, Callahan?”
“Hell no.” He snorts.
I do a sweep of the bar, noticing the growing crowd, and know soon, there won’t be much time for conversation. “Did Georgia find Archer?”
“Sure did.” He smirks. “Archer texted me, bitching about not giving him a heads-up.”
“Good girl.” I smile, a real one this time, as I think about Georgia barging in on Archer. “Tell him it’s time to rip off the Band-Aid.”
“Trust me, I did. Who knows if he’ll listen, though?”
“Make sure to keep me updated.” I pat him on the back.
He groans. “Hard pass on keeping you updated with my brother’s love life.”
I mock his groan. “Fine, I’ll be texting you for updates.”
“Too bad you don’t have my number.”
“Too bad I do.” I dance in place, Quinton temporarily dissipating from my thoughts. This is what I needed. “You’re just lucky I haven’t sent you nudes yet.” I pause and press a finger to my mouth. “Or does that make you unlucky?”
He scrubs his hand over his face, peeking at me through the spaces between his fingers. “How’d you get my number, you little stalker?”
“There’s a spreadsheet in the employee room in case we need someone to cover our shift.”
“Remind me to have Archer change that.”
“Pretty sure Archer has bigger concerns at the moment than me knowing your number.”
“Nope.” He presses his hand to his chest, feigning defensiveness. “That’s a serious violation of privacy.”
This is how it is with Lincoln.
I spend time with him, and all my frustrations fade.
I shove him at the same time I say, “Shut it. Who else will I call when I’m lonely at night?”
“Fine. Only if I’m the last resort … and you tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”
“You want to talk about what’s been on your mind tonight?” Lincoln studies me as we walk out of the bar.
I blow out a ragged breath when we reach my car. As hard as I tried to act normal while working tonight, a sudden chill would rush down my spine at times. I’d anticipate Quinton standing behind me. My throat thickened when I checked my phone, in fear I’d find another text from him.
If he knows where I live, surely, he knows where I work.
I shift from one foot to the other. “Have you ever loved someone you shouldn’t?”
I’m disgusted with myself at times.
Disgusted that I thought Quinton was a nice person.
That I allowed someone so shitty to take a piece of my heart.
&n
bsp; Lincoln’s mood changes at my mood-changing question. “I don’t know if I’ve ever loved someone I shouldn’t, but I’ve been involved with someone I shouldn’t have been.”
“Sounds scandalous.” I perk up in curiosity. “Details, please.”
He cups my chin in his hand, sending ripples of goose bumps over my skin. “I’ll give you details when you tell me what made you run out of the bar as if it were on fire.”
Our eyes meet under the streetlight.
His full of questions.
Mine filled with answers he won’t get.
I place my hand over his. “Looks like I’ll get those details another time.”
Chapter Seven
Lincoln
“Thank fuck you got your head out of your ass,” I tell Archer over the Bluetooth in my car.
The news of him and Georgia making up is the best I’ve heard all day.
Hell, all month.
I brake at a stoplight and tap my fingers along the smooth leather of the steering wheel. The feds might’ve seized the bulk of my assets, but I’m also not a complete dumbass. I got smart before they put their grimy hands on everything. Archer packed up my belongings and stored them at his place, and my grandparents purchased my Porsche, which they gifted back when I was released.
“How’d it happen?”
Jesus, I sound like Cassidy, wanting all the relationship gossip.
This is my life now—questioning my brother about his love life since mine is in the tank.
“None of your business,” he grumbles with a huff.
I chuckle. “Happy for you, bro.”
“As bad as I want to kick your ass, thanks for telling Georgia where I was; it really cemented reality into me that I needed to stop acting stupid. I’m a grown-ass man who shouldn’t run away from his problems.”
“Damn straight. I’m on my way to Mom’s. You coming home?”
“Nah, I think Georgia and I are crashing here again tonight.”
“You kids have fun.”
The light turns green, and I whip into the local coffee shop’s parking lot. I order an iced coffee for myself and some fancy shit for my mother. Just as I’m about to turn onto the intersection, a flash of blond hair catches my attention. Slowing down, I peruse the group of people picking up litter off the side of the road and pull over.
Straight Up (Twisted Fox Book 3) Page 4
