He wasn’t hard to find. I knew what he liked. Knew how he wasted his money. The horses. He sat in a plush chair with about thirty flat screens on the wall in front of him, broadcasting races from all over the country, stats and race information a ticker tape across the bottom of it all.
I dropped down in the leather chair beside him and stared blindly at one of the screens.
“I figured you’d show up.”
The man was in his late sixties, his hair long ago gone to white. His skin was overly tan and had the weathered appearance of a three-pack-a-day smoker. Even now, a cigarette rested in an ashtray on a side table by his right elbow, a glass of what I knew to be whiskey and water beside it. It was early to drink, but this was Wyoming—where people did whatever the fuck they wanted—and this was dear old Dad.
“What do you want this time?” I asked.
I’d never given him money. He’d never needed a dime from me, he had enough of it, even with his gambling habit. Instead, he always wanted me to fix a fight or take a fall in one of my own, so he could win. I never did anything he requested. Never. In retribution, he fucked with me, calling me—I’d ditched one phone number for another more times than I could count—and even sent people to my gym to make trouble. It had all worked; I’d wasted time and energy thinking about the guy, dealing with his shit.
It was hard to imagine how an asshole who lived in the middle of nowhere could ruin my life, but he had. Had. Past tense. I had Emory now, and he couldn’t touch me any longer. Not with her in it. My life was just fucking starting.
“Nothing,” he snapped.
I shook my head slightly, wishing I had a drink of my own, so I could dull the feelings this meeting brought out. My jaw clenched. “Nothing? Since when have you wanted nothing?”
My cell vibrated in my pocket. Worried it was Emory, I glanced at the screen, then, when it wasn’t her number, or Paul’s, I tucked it away.
“Don’t worry, that fight that’s coming up? Your guy’s going to lose on his own poor skills, your own fuck-all training, and then I’ll win.”
I slapped the armrests of the chair and stood. “Great.” I looked down at him, hands on hips. His eyes held no warmth, no love, nothing. He wasn’t a father. He was just some fucking loser who’d somehow spawned me. “Then leave me alone.”
“And your girlfriend, too?”
My phone vibrated again, but I ignored it. The fact that he mentioned Emory had my fists clenching. I knew how to fight with fists and was used to a verbal sparring match with my dad, but that was over inconsequential shit not Emory. I wanted to beat the fuck out of him, kill him with my bare hands—that’s how much I hated him, but this was a casino. There were cameras everywhere, and he knew it. This was his sanctuary, and he was safe here.
If we were on the ranch, he’d be dead, and no one would ever know. Hell, I’d leave him somewhere no one would ever find him. Besides the coyotes and buzzards.
But this wasn’t the ranch. This wasn’t the ring. This was a mind game. If I made Emory out to be something important, he’d pick at the very idea of her like a scab. So I shrugged it off. “No girlfriend.”
“Oh? She was a bad fuck? She looked pretty limber to me.”
My eyes narrowed, but I kept my cool. Barely. “If you want to fuck with me, fine, but let’s leave everyone else out of it.”
His cell rang. Neither of us would have noticed it in the loud casino noise if it hadn’t vibrated across the small table beside his drink.
He picked it up and glanced at the screen. I watched as his skin paled beneath the fake tan.
My cell vibrated once more but I just watched my dad. He actually looked… afraid.
“Answer your phone,” he said, without looking up from the screen on his.
I sighed, pulling mine from my pocket. “Green.”
“Gray, Quake Baker here. You met my son and grandson. Sorry for getting to you through your dad, but you wouldn’t answer your phone.”
What the fuck? Quake Baker had Dad’s number and had texted him. What the hell did the message say because it looked as if my dad just pissed himself. Besides that, how the hell did Quake know I was with my dad right now? How did he know my number? I looked around. There were people all around but too self-involved to be interested in either my father or me. It was a casino with cameras everywhere. We were two hundred miles from Brant Valley. How far was this man’s reach? Did I really want to know?
“You’ll have to tell me how the two of you are pals someday,” I said.
I heard a chuckle through the phone. “The MC’s got a big reach.”
As if that explained it all.
“What can I do for you?”
“Talked with Emory and invited both of you to the Double-B for dinner. She’s coming with friends. Told me they’re spending the day together. Nice job with the babysitters.”
I was trying to keep up. I knew of Quake and the No Holds Barred MC, knew of their dealings, and it was more than just the Early Bird Special and a slice of homemade pie. From the way my dad was reacting, he knew about them, too.
“If she’s accepted, then I’ll be there,” I replied. I didn’t want to say Emory’s name in front of my dad, so I kept it neutral. I didn’t want him to know jack shit about her.
“Good. Ask your pops if he wants to come too.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. I had no interest, ever, in eating a meal with my dad, but Quake had a reason for it. “Quake Baker wants to know if you want to join me for dinner tonight at his diner.”
Dad turned to look up at me, and he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. This was the first time—ever—I had seen him weak and vulnerable. He cleared his throat. “Tell him thanks, but I’ll be staying at the ranch.”
“He offers his regrets,” I told Quake.
“Yeah, figured. Guessing your meeting’s over, so you should be back in time to get your girl. Later.”
I tucked my phone in my pocket and settled my hands back on my hips, waiting to see if my dad was going to say anything else. He sat there, shoulders slumped, skin orange and pale all at the same time. I saw him for what he really was. An old, pathetic man. He hadn't sent a man after Emory. It wasn't his deal. All he did was taunt, to fuck with me. He didn't have the balls to do more than that. He might be a powerful businessman, might own a huge swath of the state, but he had nothing on me. Nothing. I could deal with whatever shit he tossed my way, but it seemed I had an ally all of a sudden with Quake Baker. I had no idea what the fuck he had on my dad, but I didn’t care. I didn’t care about my dad at all.
“We’re done here,” I said, my voice hard. “We’re done, period. Leave me the fuck alone and you stay away from Emory. You forget she even exists. I’d be happy to beat the shit out of you, and I’m sure Quake will be thrilled to hide your body.” I leaned forward, so he could hear me clearly over the din of the casino. “You think I care what you do? I don’t think about you at all.”
I shook my head and looked at my dad one last time. I wasn’t trying to remember, I was trying to forget.
Chapter 23
GRAY
I got caught in traffic just over the state line, some semi had jackknifed and brought the highway to a standstill, so I had to meet Emory, Christy and Paul at the diner. I’d spent the extra hour in the car thinking about Quake’s hold on my dad and the reason for the meal.
Quake himself met me by the hostess stand. He looked out of place in the restaurant, but I wasn’t going to say shit about it. I shook his hand, and he clapped me on the shoulder. “Had a good chat with your pops?”
“I didn’t realize you two were friends,” I countered. I was eager to get to Emory, so it was difficult to talk it up. But he was concerned for her, and so I owed him respect. And he had something over my dad. That made him my new buddy.
He offered a small shrug. “Friends? Fuck no. We have… an understanding. Even though he’s your pops, I doubt he’ll be a pain in the ass any longer.”
I n
arrowed my eyes and felt threatened. I wouldn’t put it past my dad to fuck with someone connected to the MC, but a guy like Quake didn’t do get involved in petty shit like this without wanting something in return.
“What do you want? I have no intention of having my fighter blow the fight or a fight three years down the road when it suits your needs. I don’t need a partner in my business.” I tried to keep my voice even. My father was an enemy… I understood. Quake was in a completely different league.
He shook his head, kept his hand on my shoulder. “The Wyoming No Holds Barred is keeping an eye on him. Whether he remains dead or alive is his choice.”
So he pissed someone off. Not a surprise. I had no idea what he’d done to have an MC mad, and I didn’t want to know.
“You’re confused,” he continued. “Emory is in love with you…therefore I reminded your father of a few things. If Emory’s happy, I’m happy.”
An MC president playing matchmaker?
“She’s… she’s not in love with me.” I could hear the surprise, the uncertainty in my voice. “We met last week.”
While I said the words, I knew them to be empty. Time didn’t seem to make a difference when it came to me and Emory. It was as if I’d known her forever, yet everything was brand new.
The older man laughed, slapped me on the back and pushed me around the corner, so I could see Emory sitting at the booth chatting with Christy and Paul. She hadn’t seen me yet.
“Keep her happy,” he said, as we both watched her. His voice was like gravel and laced with dark promise. “Or you’ll be dealing with a bunch of unhappy bikers. Wouldn’t want that, right?”
I nodded. It was all I could do because the sight of her was like the worst sucker punch I’d ever taken. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t move—not because I was afraid of Quake’s threats.
Emory was the only one who could destroy me. I couldn’t do anything but wonder why she was the least bit interested in me. When she glanced up and saw me, she tilted her head and gave me the most perfect smile. Her eyes brightened with what I hoped was pleasure and excitement, and it was all for me.
I was thankful for the second not-so-small nudge the older man gave to my shoulder, prodding me to move toward the table. She stood and met me halfway, taking my hand as she leaned in and kissed my cheek. “Hi,” she whispered. “I missed you.”
Those words, fuck, they were the best thing I’d ever heard. This woman had missed me. I wanted to think it was love that made her eyes bright, made her smile so broad. I couldn’t help the stupid grin that spread across my face, but I had to put my hands on her shoulders and get a look at her. She wore a sundress, a bright blue that was soft and flowing and hit just above the knee. On her feet were a pair of sexy high heels, and she wore makeup. Gone was the girl next door I woke up to, and in her place was, shit, a siren. She'd pulled me in all right, and I never wanted to leave. I closed my mouth and hoped to hell I wasn’t drooling.
“You look… incredible,” I whispered when I kissed her forehead.
She grinned at me, clearly pleased with the compliment. “Sit. Quake’s brought us wine.”
Wine? Quake? I was all out of surprises for one night.
I held out Emory’s chair for her then shook Paul’s hand, said hello to Christy. Took my hat off and hooked it on my chair. “I see you took care of my girl.”
Glancing at Emory, I saw her blush. I loved that I could do that to her.
“If that means being dragged to the mall for dress shopping, then yes, I took care of your girl,” Paul replied.
“Are you okay with wine or do you want water? Iced tea?” Emory remembered I’d said I didn’t drink anymore.
“Water.”
She put the bottle down then pushed her water glass toward me. “I only had the clothes I put in my bag last night. I couldn’t go out on a double date wearing shorts and a T-shirt.”
She could’ve, and I wouldn’t have minded. While she looked stunning, I liked her best when she was naked. Or in just my T-shirt knowing all that soft skin was beneath. I knew enough about women to know now was not the time to tell her that. I would later when she was naked.
“I’m a lawyer,” Paul said. “I know I have a painful, boring job, but I’d rather go through a two-day deposition than to go through that experience again. Have you ever been in the lingerie department before?”
I didn’t know if I should commiserate with Paul over that scary task or get turned on by the idea of Emory picking out something super sexy. I turned and eyed her, wishing I had x-ray vision and could see what she had on beneath the dress, but she smiled sweetly at me, giving nothing away.
I reached for the water and took a big gulp. As Christy and Paul commented about something on the menu, Emory leaned in, her voice low enough so only I could hear. “It’s pink.”
I turned my head, so our mouths were inches apart. “Pink?”
“And lacy.”
My mouth fell open when I realized what she was talking about. She grinned wickedly and picked up her own menu. Turnabout was fair play, so I put my hands in my lap, then moved my right hand until it rested on her thigh, my thumb slowly inching the hem of her dress upward.
Emory stiffened, but didn’t stop me. Well, she stopped me with her hand firmly on top of mine when I got close to feeling whether her panties were lacy or not. I never really intended to do anything in the middle of a diner, especially with an overprotective MC president around somewhere, but I wanted to see how far she’d let me. And hell, now that my fingers were caressing the tender skin of her inner thigh, I wasn’t planning on moving it. I would eat left handed. I just had to pick something from the menu that didn’t involve using a knife.
Chapter 24
EMORY
Quake, in his black boots, jeans and black T-shirt came to the table instead of the waiter. “What can I get you?”
I ordered first, which was good because I couldn’t concentrate with Gray’s hand on my thigh. I wasn’t going to remember I wanted the Chicken Pot Pie, let alone my name, in a few minutes. It settled just shy of my panties, his thumb moving slowly back and forth, as if telling me he wasn’t going any farther and that he liked that spot just fine.
I liked the spot just fine too, but it had gotten awfully hot in the restaurant, and my new pink panties were noticeably wetter than when I first arrived. Gray did nothing untoward or inappropriate the entire meal, but I couldn’t help but notice he didn’t move his hand. In fact, he ate left handed. The idea that he didn’t want to let go of my leg had me feeling… giddy. It was a real first date—a restaurant, a dress—although we did have chaperones, including Quake. If they knew about the inappropriate hand placement under the table, they didn’t let on.
It was only when after our plates were cleared and Quake pulled up a chair, spun it around and sat down in it backwards at the end of the table, did Gray move his hand. It seemed neither of us wanted the distraction for whatever the man had to say.
“I heard someone is mad at you for not giving him drugs.”
Quake was looking at me and didn’t waste time by mincing words. Everyone else glanced at me as well. Drugs? Me? “What are you talking about?”
He rubbed a hand over his beard. “You work at the free clinic?”
I nodded. “On Saturday mornings, yes.”
“You prescribe pain meds?”
“Yes.”
Gray took my hand in his, gave it a squeeze.
“You’ve cut off someone’s supply, and they aren’t happy.”
My mouth fell open as I processed his words. “God, at first I thought you were accusing me of being a drug dealer, peddling meth on the street corner to little kids.” I sighed. “I write prescriptions for pain pills all the time. It could be any number of people.”
Quake tugged on the end of his beard as if it were something he did while thinking. “This person, I’ve found out, hurts women, so they’re seen at the clinic and get pain meds. Then keeps it for himself.”
“Rumor is they want her keys to the clinic to get more.”
I glanced at Paul and Christy, who were listening carefully, confusion and surprise on their faces.
“I can’t get into the meds,” I told him. “That’s not how it works. Most meds are filled at pharmacies. Some things we have, but the clinic has this big machine that requires a password. Each person has their own access number. It’s a big pill vault and has a computer connected to it to dispense only the number of pills in the order. It’s not like it gives me a bottle of Oxy, and I can take as many as I want. As for the people who want a key, there is no key.”
“There’s one in each department at the hospital as well. It’s strictly monitored and doesn't have all medications,” Christy added. “Like Emory said, the pharmacy in the basement has the bulk of the meds.”
I nodded at Christy's words. “It keeps nurses and doctors from stealing and keeps records of what goes in and out. Harder stuff is delivered direct from the hospital pharmacy. At the clinic, there are no serious meds like morphine because we'd transfer them to the ER if they were needed.”
“Then he just wants the prescriptions, most likely the women get them filled, and he takes the meds from them,” Quake said. From his tone, he didn’t sound happy. “Either way, you’ve cut off his supply… or one of them. Did you deny drugs to anyone recently?”
I thought back over the past month or so at the clinic then remembered the woman from last weekend. Broken rib. I’d given her a script for pain pills twice before, but that was more than enough for her recuperation time. Had this man broken her rib just so he could get the pain meds for himself? What was her name? Alice something.
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