His gaze passed from her to her brother. The teenager glowered from the seat facing them. He wanted Jake’s blood pooling on the floor for touching his sister. No one said a word but Jake had a lot of practice reading people’s body language.
Old man Whitfield’s temper had swung from one end of the spectrum to the other in a split second. By paying attention to the downward sweep of his mood, it made a difference between walking out of a room and being thrown. These two were amateurs in hiding their concerns. They had a good reason to tremble. The boy twitched and squirmed until Sen snapped, “Be still.”
The woman next to Jake stiffened. So she didn’t like anyone raising their voice at her brother. Dangerous to let others know what could be used as leverage.
“So tell me, what made you believe I had something to do with your grandfather’s death?” He folded his arms and glanced at the woman next to him.
“We don’t have to tell you shit, you lying motherfucker!” Her brother moved toward Jake, but Sen slapped an arm across his chest and rammed him back into the seat.
“Damien,” she said, her tone cautionary as she shook her head. “Shh!”
“Watch your mouth and shut up,” Jake said at the same time, pointing a finger at the teenager. He remembered being that age and full of resentment at anyone telling him what to do. “Show some respect in how you talk in front of your sister.”
The teenager opened his mouth, looked at Sally-Angel, and then shut it. For the next minute or so only the sound of the radio filled the automobile as everyone tensely waited for what might happen next.
Jake turned in his seat to study her. He’d hoped the breather would give her time to mull over her decisions so far. She stared out the passenger window with her shoulders stiff and straight.
“Sally.”
When she continued to watch the passing scenery he gritted his teeth and tried for the other name. “Angel.”
She slowly faced him, hostility tightening her lips.
Not a bit amused by her insolence, Jake narrowed his eyes.
“I don’t have a lot of time to waste on this. I can turn this limo around and take you and your brother to the police.” She actually snorted? Damn, he kind of liked her spunk, but for the moment, he needed answers. “Tell me everything. Don’t make me do anything you’ll regret. There are messy ways for me to find out the truth.” When she made a move to look out the window again, he caught her jaw, felt it flexing beneath his fingers as he forced her to look at him. Oh, yeah, he took pleasure in seeing those light-colored eyes spitting fire with the need to tell him off.
But he didn’t have time for this. “Throw him out of the limo,” he said to Sen as he kept his gaze on Angel.
His brother opened the door and grabbed the back of the teenager’s shirt.
“Let me go, you slant-eyed bastard!”
“Damien!” She faced Sen with a look of unmitigated horror. “Oh, I’m so sorry. He’s upset or he’d never say that. Please close the door. Don’t hurt him.” She unbuckled her seatbelt and tried to dive over Jake’s lap. He held her back by the waist. “Damien, you apologize to him right now,” she shouted at her brother.
Lips stretched tight, Sen, whose mom had been Vietnamese, shoved the teenager’s head out the door. “That’s no way to talk to your elders, especially one holding your life in his hands,” he said.
The teenager’s arms waved in the air as he scrambled for a hold on the side of the door. His screams became partially lost in the stream of air sliding by the fast-moving car. Fighting Sen was hopeless for the teenager. The exotic looking man was the family’s collector and worked out daily. Collector was a nice word for the person who made sure others paid what was owed. It often involved broken bones and bruises, and the occasional disposal of a body.
“I’m sorry, sorry! I swear,” the teenager shouted. “I don’t know why that came out of my mouth. I never even wanted to say that before.” Tears glistened on his cheeks and snot ran from his nose like a two-year-old.
“Okay! Okay! He apologized. I’ll talk. Please don’t.” Angel held out her hands as if she could reach her brother and pull him back in.
Jake was a little disappointed she’d cracked so fast. Twice, she’d shown by controlling her brother, he controlled her. He understood how protecting a sibling was important, but self-preservation ensured they came back and fought harder.
When he and his brothers were kids, they often found their punishments worse whenever they defended each other against the old man. They realized to survive they needed to stand on their own two feet. Take what was coming and then plan vengeance as a team.
Not everyone learned that lesson growing up. Maybe that was a good thing. Otherwise, he would not have the upper hand like now. Besides, Sen would never throw out the boy, but after being shot at, they needed answers quickly. Fear was a great motivator to get someone to talk.
Angel turned to him, tears in her eyes.
Jesus H. Christ. That was the last thing he needed. He hated it when women cried. It turned his insides into mush as he did anything to make them stop. His mom only had to tear up for him to start looking around to make it better. He took in Angel’s smeared mascara and streaked face.
Was it real? She could be playing with his sympathy.
“Leave him alone,” she begged. “I’ll tell you whatever you want. I don’t understand why you’re pretending not to know, unless it’s all to prove you’re just as big of an asshole as your dad.”
He nodded toward his brother. With an effortless move, Sen tossed the teenager onto the seat and closed the door. The kid’s hands shook as he locked his seatbelt.
At the same time, Jake braced his arm over her collarbone and pressed Angel back into her seat.
“I don’t play games. If you think calling me and my brothers names will piss us off, then you’re mistaken. The old man was one of the biggest assholes in the Southeast, and I took all of my lessons from him. I’ll show you how big of one I can be if you don’t hurry up and talk.” His interested gaze drifted down to her chest. She inhaled as if attempting to make her breasts smaller.
To ensure that she understood, he leaned in and placed an arm around her shoulders. She needed to be aware of how helpless she was in the situation. For whatever reason, he’d never been so desperate to prove to a woman how much of a bastard, figuratively, he was too.
“I remember how pretty and red your skin looked, but I didn’t remember how soft,” he said in a low voice the others couldn’t hear. Using one finger, he followed the edge of her corset to the little satin bow in the center. The tip of a blunt finger slipped beneath the material and caressed her warm skin. Her breath became shaky, glittering eyes drifted halfway closed. Just as quickly her eyes popped open, glaring at him.
Interesting. He liked how responsive she was even as she fought it.
“Get your hands off my sister!” Though the teenager’s voice shook from his near fatal exit, Jake couldn’t help but respect the kid’s determination to protect his sister.
“Stay out of it,” Angel demanded, without taking her gaze from Jake’s.
“Start talking and make it quick,” he whispered. He inhaled and breathed in the light clean scent from her hair.
She swallowed and then closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. Her lovely breasts buoyed up and almost stopped his heart. He forced his gaze to her face. She lifted her chin and opened her eyes.
“We have to get married.”
CHAPTER TWO
Angel slumped into the seat while she waited for the big guy to quit laughing. She hated how he acted so amused by the horrible fact. It wasn’t the first time the male species laughed at her. Growing up, people made fun of her all the time. They laughed about her hand-me-down clothes or her rhyming name. But the last few years, when she started working for her grandfather, they realized how much of a mistake it was to treat her so. Often it had been too late. That was, after she knocked them to their knees, bleeding.
So far, the only reasons why she’d been so patient with Jake―as patient as she knew how―and not tried drastic measures to escape were because they had her brother and she needed Jake’s cooperation. They were to marry. Even she knew better than to start off a relationship by giving the groom a black eye.
Hell, she needed to tell him the truth about who shot at him. Why did she care that he thought she was lying? Maybe she wanted him a little worried about what she would do next.
When they’d pulled up to the cemetery checking on the flowers at Granddaddy Mac’s grave, there were the Whitfields in all their glory. The oldest, who constantly landed on his feet no matter the circumstances, stood over the grave glaring at all of the mourners, while she struggled to hold together the family’s businesses and take care of the only family she had left. Desire to kill Jake had crossed her mind, and just as quickly dissipated. Rather ironic that someone else wished to put a bullet into his cold heart. For certain, if she had given into that weak moment, his brothers would be coming after her, and no one lived long after that. Instead of shooting Jake, she found herself saving his life. He’d never believe it. One moment she was watching the Whitfield funeral, and the next, she spotted the sniper in the trees. Before she knew what she was doing, the rifle, normally resting in the rack inside the van, was in her hands as she eyed the sniper through the scope’s crosshairs.
Sure, she’d been angry about the requirements of Mac’s will and planned to confront Jake, but not until later in the afternoon before they read his daddy’s will.
She watched him laugh. Thin lines fanned from the corners of his eyes; the type a person received from being out in the sun too much or from laughing. He had a wonderful laugh. Full and sexy. The sound helped her relax as his gaze heated more from amusement than lust.
“Hon, I haven’t seen you since high school. You’ll have to find you another baby daddy.” He finally released her and sat back.
“No, no. I didn’t say anything about a baby. You don’t understand―”
“Hey, how old are you?” The youngest Whitfield―Ethan?―leaned over from the front, arms and hands hanging down the back of the seat, interrupting her explanation, and waited for her brother to answer.
“He’s too tall. So he has to be too old.” Sen tilted his head.
“They grow ’em big nowadays,” Ethan bit back.
“True. Look at us.” Sen nodded.
“Fourteen.” Her brother’s eyes widened.
“Thirteen,” she said at the same time as her brother. “He won’t be fourteen until October. But that has nothing―”
The other Whitfield, holding her brother in place, nodded, and butted in. “The timing is about right.”
“No way.” Jake shook his head.
She looked at Jake and then her brother.
Shaking her head, she held out her hands as she tried to stop their speculation.
“Hell, no! Damien is my brother, remember?” Her mind refused to wrap around their logic. “Just because I said we had to marry, you jump to the conclusion I’m preggers or he’s our kid?”
Everyone started talking at once. Her head ached from trying to keep up with the insults and accusations. As she was about to release a frustrated scream, a piercing whistle shut everyone down. They turned toward Jake.
“None of that matters,” he said to her. “What the jackasses don’t know is we never had sex.” He looked at his brothers. “So the kid isn’t mine,” he confirmed in a firm tone.
“You bet he’s not. That’s just scary.” She wrinkled her nose and crossed her arms beneath her breasts.
What a disaster this was becoming. He refused to listen. She was shutting her mouth. He could just find out the truth the hard way about why they had to be married.
“They’re just yanking my chain.” He shifted in his seat and pulled out a crushed pack of cigarettes. After lowering the window a little, he lit one and inhaled, closing his eyes for a few seconds. Then he looked at her from beneath heavy eyelids as he blew smoke from the corner of his mouth toward the opening. “What’s so scary about being with me?”
How could anyone look so sexy while smoking a cigarette? She sighed and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Bad boys never grew up. When his gaze dipped down, she dropped her arms. No need to draw his attention in that direction again.
“Scary?” Then she remembered what she’d said. “Well, it’s scary because I would’ve been a kid at the time I had him.” Sarcasm dripped from every word.
“The rumor was going around that you left to have a baby.” Masculine lips puckered to take another draw. The tip flared bright.
Oh my, he oozed sex and heat. Her attention refused to move away from how his lips parted to release the smoke. He looked even more dangerous doing something so bad for him.
“Mom was sick after having Damien, and she needed me at home to help out. I know when the rumors started. It was after some of the kids from school saw me holding him at the grocery store, assuming he belonged to me. You know, trailer trash equals baby.” Sure Granddaddy Mac had money, but he’d owned his first nickel and refused to help anyone including family. He firmly believed everyone had to work for it. What money he paid her dad to do odd jobs had been spent on drugs and alcohol, and when good old dad didn’t work or was in jail, they lived on welfare. Funny how little had changed. Even though she had money the last couple of years, guys still thought she slept around because she was a Tally. Idiots.
“I heard about your mom. That’s rough,” said Sen.
Angel glanced his way. His sincere expression helped ease the tension in her shoulders a little. Then she remembered hearing about his mom’s death a year before hers.
“She’d been sick a long time. I was sorry to hear about your mom, too.”
He lifted his chin in acknowledgement of her shared sympathy. Then he looked away.
She’d never heard how his mom had died. For her own, what could she say? That her mom had never been there for her, and her suicide only finished the job. She forced her gaze to the window.
“Where are you taking us?” she asked.
“We still have a lot to talk about. What with all the shooting and marrying involved. . .” The laughter in his tone warned he believed she was trying to pull a fast one on him. He pinched the fire on his cigarette and flicked both out the window. “So tell me the truth.”
“Maybe it’s simply I don’t want to be married to you,” she said, concentrating on keeping her face emotionless. How could he pretend he didn’t know about the two major parts of the codicil to Mac’s will? Marriage was nothing compared to the other requirement.
He leaned over, and she pressed her shoulders into the seat. If it was his attempt at intimidating her, it worked.
“Quit talking about marriage. That has nothing to do with you wanting to kill me. Should we open the car door again and see what answers we get from your brother?” He tugged at her hair, she jumped, and he sat back. His infuriating grin spread across his handsome face. His grin told her he liked unsettling her.
“I told him if you were dead, I wouldn’t have to marry you. Nothing more and that simple.” It was a lie, but Jake didn’t need to know. He’d eventually find out the truth. She didn’t plan on making it easy.
She dared not look at her brother. When he lost his temper, he blurted out things best kept quiet, or never voiced, or thought about for that matter. He’d already proven that. Besides, he hadn’t seen the sniper. She really needed to tell everyone the truth. Then again it would serve the Whitfields right to stew for a while. The push-pull she felt when dealing with Jake always drove her nuts. The thought of her doing anything that helped a Whitfield was almost abhorrent to her. Maybe holding back was part of her stubborn nature.
His blue eyes turned icy as he stared into hers. Then with a flicker, as if he thought of something new to torment her with, they warmed again.
He nodded. “We’re home. I don’t have time to argue now. Later, I’ll certainly get stra
ight answers. Yeah, later.” His gaze brushed over my lips. "You’re lying about this nonsense, but I don’t know why. You and I are going to have a long talk. For now, my brothers and I have a meeting to attend first. So don’t even try to leave.”
“Sure. Whatever.” Her mind wasn’t on what he’d said or how he looked at her but on the house at the end of the long drive. Built forty years earlier in the Victorian-style with numerous turrets, large windows and wraparound porch, even the roof was covered with slate instead of asphalt shingles. She’d loved the house from the first and only time she’d seen it.
Not long after the incident at the school, she’d gone with Mac to meet with Dick Whitfield. Instead of listening to the old men yammering about what they should do about their two young’uns, she’d sat quietly hoping for a glimpse of Jake. He wasn’t her type―he was a Whitfield―but as any normal girl, she enjoyed looking at him. Back then he wore his hair long. Sun-kissed brown hair, tall, with an athletic build, he played several sports, but was often kicked out because he didn’t follow instructions well. All the good girls wanted him and bad girls had him for a night or two. Maybe deep inside she’d wanted his attention. She’d been neither a good nor bad girl, just a Tally. Hated for her blood. That didn’t stop her from having a little crush on him. She did know something had changed in her after he’d taken her over his knee.
Her legs quivered as she remembered those strong arms holding her, the feel of his bare hand on her near naked backside. The memory brought a tingling between her legs.
Nothing like that was going to happen and certainly not with Jake Whitfield, no matter how attracted she was to him. Even living in the same small town, she’d seldom caught sight of him over the years, and on the rare occasion their gazes met, he never spoke to her. Maybe the families’ long standing habit of mistrusting each other remained ingrained in his subconscious, despite that they both had felt a connection on that fateful day. She liked to think he had though he hadn’t exhibit such a sentiment in all this time. Then again, their families’ lack of communication had a lot to do with their unspoken mutual desire to keep down hostilities while money continued to flow into their businesses.
Jake: A Southern Crime Family Novel Page 2
