by Susan Arden
“Son of a bitch,” Rory snarled then retaliated, swinging and connecting with two solid hits to Mike’s torso. He shoved the dipshit hard enough to see him stumble backward. The prick careened against the window of the room, losing his balance, but he wasn’t about to let Mike fake going down.
He followed Mike, grabbing the shithead by his shirt, and jerking him upright against the doorframe. “Don’t you ever threaten Sommer again. You got something to say, you come to me. Cross me, and I’ll find you. I don’t care if you leave Annona, I’ll hunt you down and make you sorry you ever looked at her.”
Rory released the asshole, wiping his hand against his jeans where the moron’s tooth had split open his knuckle.
Blood trickled from Mike’s mouth. A sinister flicker backlit his eyes as his mouth spread into a hyena grin. “Cowboy, you don’t own this town. Not you or your born-in-the-saddle family. Soon, you’ll answer to me, and then it’s gonna cost you.”
“Still talking?” Rory went after him again in a blind fury. Only this time, he didn’t stop with a few punches. He swung hard, nailing Mike in his mouth. His head snapped back, a resounding thud against the wall. Rory didn’t relent and hammered his fists into whatever part of that fucker’s body he could reach. Blow after blow not stopping or pausing when Mike managed to land a hook to his cheek or a jab to his ribs. Rory slammed him against the wall, preparing to swing again until he heard a woman’s voice directed at him.
“That’s enough, ya hear me. Leave now, or I’m calling the cops.”
He looked down the walkway and met the woman’s stare from the motel office. She held up the bat and he nodded.
“I’m just going,” Rory replied, not even close to the point where he wanted to stop thrashing this sleazebag. Reaching down, he picked up his hat and snarled into Mike’s bruised and bleeding face, “Don’t fucking make me come back here, dickwad.”
“SOMMER’S gone. Her flight left hours ago. If we’re gonna do something, now’s the time,” Rory muttered to Stephen and Matt. Coming into the kitchen, he felt keyed up and at the same time bone tired, and took a seat at the table in between his brothers. Sommer had refused to let him drive her to the airport, not after their heated discussion at the diner. All he could think about was what the fuck he was doing here in Annona while she wasn’t.
“Brandon and Miller are on their way,” Stephen replied, stealing a glance at his swollen knuckles. “You hungry or you want something cold?”
“Of course he’s hungry,” Jillian said, entering the kitchen with Chelsea in her arms. “Papa, take your baby girl.”
Rory lowered his cut hand under the table. “Hey, ladies,” he replied, shuttering his sour expression, and hiding his rage behind a smile. “Chelsea’s growing. Pretty as a flower.”
“A sweet baby girl.” Matt clapped Rory on the shoulder, winking.
“Come here, angel,” Stephen softened his voice, opening his arms. His brother’s whole face lit up when Jillian placed Chelsea in Stephen’s waiting hands.
His niece smiled up at her dad as though mesmerized. He watched Stephen lift Chelsea’s tiny hand to his mouth, pretending to nibble on her fingers, and then the baby laughed. Loud and belly-rippling—nothing short of a gurgling happy ring.
“Whoa!” Rory stared at the exchange in front of him. “When did Chelsea start laughing?”
“A little while ago.” Jillian smiled proudly, leaning over Stephen’s shoulder. “She’s a big talker. Well, to her daddy, that is.”
God. A thousand different thoughts and emotions ripped through him, but every single one centered on Sommer. She’s what I want more than anything in this world. Sommer, as his wife, and mother to his baby. Them at home, sitting around the kitchen table with his family and hers.
He refused to let anybody steal his dream. He curled his fingers into fists, thinking about another go round where he’d pound Mike into the ground.
“Miller relayed he’s got some interesting information.” Matt rose from his chair and went to the refrigerator. He came back with three beers as Jillian placed a steaming bowl on the table. A knock sounded from the front door and he heard the voices of his other brothers coming from the living room.
“Somethin’ useful, I hope,” Rory growled.
“Jill, Chels,” Brandon greeted them, taking off his hat and placing it on the counter. Miller followed him, hatless as usual, but wearing his customary wraparound sunglasses.
“Smells good. Ladies,” Miller greeted Jill, and stopped by Stephen to ruffle Chelsea’s hair. “Man, I’m starved.”
Matt returned to the fridge and snagged two more beers. “Catch,” he announced, tossing a beer to Miller, then to Brandon.
“Okay, gentlemen.” Jill placed the pan of lasagna on the table, and removed a pair of oven mitts. “There’s a cake in the icebox. Coffee is ready, just hit the button. Chelsea and I are out of here.”
“Dig in,” Stephen directed. “I’ll be right back.” He rose from his seat with his daughter.
“I can manage. The food is hot. Stay and eat.” Jill glanced up at Stephen’s face.
“Yeah, when I get our daughter settled into her car seat. Don’t argue, darlin’,” he said to his wife.
“That’s gonna be me and Mia. Soon.” Brandon raised an eyebrow and shook his head, popping open his beer. “The official countdown begins.”
“Bro, you’re almost there,” Miller retorted, tapping his beer can to Brandon’s.
Rory picked up his. “I can’t believe it. Less than a month,” he said. Brandon’s October wedding was getting closer. “Here’s to the tenth.”
“Yep. Four weeks unless something happens.” They all raised their beer cans, followed by a long sip. The cold wash of beer felt good sliding over Rory’s tongue and down his throat. Would feel a whole lot better if Sommer were sitting next to him.
“You all set?” He didn’t suspect that Brandon was anything less. He was the brother that Rory had the most contact with on a day-to-day basis and as of yesterday, things were barreling forward. He and Brandon ran the equine part of Evermore, while Stephen and Matt dealt with the cattle. Miller handled it all insofar as the finances and daily operation of the ranch.
“I’m ready for my honeymoon.” Brandon snorted, serving himself lasagna and then passing the spatula to Rory. “If my in-laws refuse to settle the fuck down, we might up and head for Vegas.”
“Still?” Matt laughed. “You’ll appreciate it all the more once the preacher says kiss the bride.”
Miller sat by quietly, sipping his beer. Never a good sign. “And you?” Rory asked Miller, “What’s the news?”
“Best wait until Stephen returns. That okay?”
He exhaled. “You know it is.”
They all served themselves from the food Jill had prepared: lasagna, green beans, salad, garlic bread. By all rights, he should have been starved, but the knots in his stomach curtailed his hunger. All he wanted to do was suck down enough beer to make the hammering in his head bearable, then he’d like to find Mike. Teach him a lesson about coming to Annona and causing havoc for Sommer’s family and everyone else the prick had poisoned.
Stephen returned and took his seat, serving himself without saying a word. Miller didn’t begin talking, and the silence perpetuated, growing louder, if not deafening. Rory stabbed the lasagna on his plate with his fork, lifting the bite to his mouth, and chewed robotically, tasting nothing. Again, he speared his food, and mechanically went through the motions of eating but his jaw was so tight he could hardly chew. To swallow a bite, he used his beer to wash down the food, and when that was gone, he drank sip after sip of water.
When he couldn’t eat another bite, he pushed up out of his seat, taking his plate to the sink. He mashed the button on the coffee machine, turning to observe his brothers, who just all happened to be staring back at him.
“Miller, talk to me or I’m going to lose it.” His voice came out hoarse, he was that on edge
as rage and anger surged through his veins, sinking into the pit of his stomach.
His brother nodded but something unsettling passed through Miller’s eyes. Confirmed as not his imagination by the heavy sigh Miller released when he picked up his napkin, and wiped his mouth. “Rory, I don’t have great news. But, there are options.”
“What the shit?” he snarled in response. His pulse rocketed, and it felt like his thundering heart cut off his oxygen supply.
Miller got up as well and brought his plate over to the sink, before he went to the refrigerator. Reaching inside and grabbing a beer, Miller asked, “Who wants another?”
“Make that another round,” Stephen answered for everyone.
“Miller, now isn’t the time to draw this out. What did you uncover?” Rory asked, watching his brother.
“This isn’t about getting mad or getting even. This is about how to deal with a mess.” Miller held a beer in his direction.
“Naw. I’m good.” Rory shook his head, unwilling to overindulge. He needed his wits about him to effectively deal with Miller’s news.
He stood next to the coffee pot, grinding his molars, and vainly sought to syphon a short supply of patience from his personal well, that at the moment, had run dry. When the coffee pot beeped, he poured himself a cup and returned to the table.
Miller removed a folded piece of paper from his pocket and slid it across the table to him. “This has been checked and double-checked.”
Rory opened the paper and read the few lines rapidly, then stopped. Stared. He reread it again and murmured, “Sommer believes it’s her father’s debt.”
Miller shook his head. “It’s her stepmother who has got the problem. And it’s big.”
“This states a hundred thousand dollars and change.” He tapped his finger over the sum written on the page.
“Probably higher, actually. With interest accruing each day,” Miller returned. “It’s not pretty.”
“Fucking damn,” he snarled harshly.
“Let me have a look,” Matt said.
“Go ahead.” Rory pushed the paper away from him like it was on fire.
“Holy hell,” Matt muttered. “This is a load of cash.”
Stephen reached for the paper and placed it between him and Brandon. Both his brothers exchanged looks of disbelief before facing him. “This shit isn’t going away anytime soon,” Stephen said. “Miller, what’s the plan?”
Plan? Hell, there better be a ballbuster one, Rory thought. All he could focus on was Sommer’s golden eyes the night she’d left his trailer in a flurry. The memory of her pain-filled gaze struck him deep. Rory’s blood went from running cold to lava flowing in his veins. He had to find a way to help her without losing it. He’d haul-ass, return to that sleazy motel, and fuck up that loser. He wanted to rip out Mike’s throat. Top of my going-to-get-the-shit-kicked-out-of-them list!
“Carlo is connected to a few people of interest,” Miller said slowly. “One of those is Deputy Clayton Bell.”
“People of interest. What in the world does that mean?” Rory clenched his jaw, disliking the sound of that phrase.
Miller spread out his hands in front of him on the table. “Look I’m going to lay it all out there. This is some serious stuff. Bell disappeared and according to his wife, hasn’t been home for days. He didn’t report for duty and his cell phone has had zero activity. Same for credit cards. No bank action as well.”
Stephen got up from the table, but Rory didn’t keep track of him as he headed toward the doorway. As his own rage rocketed, his hands shook in his attempt to swallow what felt like a boulder clogging his throat. “Bell can rot in hell for all I care. I’m only interested in keeping Sommer safe.”
“As we all are,” Miller replied. “I’ve pulled in a few favors. An acquaintance of mine in the Marshall’s office gave me a heads up. Apparently, they’ve worked out a deal. Not the best one, but it’ll turn out better than doing nothing, if the Kincaids agree.”
“With who?” Rory demanded, not understanding his brother’s vague details. “What about Sommer?
“She’ll be safe,” Miller answered.
Stephen returned with a bottle of Jack and a stack of glasses. Miller nodded and said, “Better pour all the way around.”
“Define safe.” Rory picked up the piece of paper that Brandon held out, staring so hard at the dollar amount that his eyes crossed.
“WITSEC,” Miller replied. “Frank and Gloria Kincaid, along with the kids, will enter the protective custody.”
“Do you mean a witness protection program? Where does that leave Sommer?” Rory thundered, his anger getting the better of him before he could reel in his emotions and sequester his unbridled rage—freed and on a rampage now that a few of his worst fears were materializing.
Matt squeezed his shoulder. “Get hold of yourself.”
Meeting his brother’s eyes, he gritted out, “I’m in control.”
Total lie. He wasn’t anywhere near controlled as a razing fire stormed through him. More like, out of his fucking mind. He grappled to gather his self-control while seeing red. Lots and lots of red! He blew out a breath, and fought to contain his temper and the urge to pulverize Mike in a round where he wouldn’t stop after a few hits. He held his voice in check and asked. “You can’t be serious?”
“Hard to believe this is happening.” Brandon sighed. “Miller, we all know no one just enters that program.”
“We’ve got our own branch in Texas, and there are some distinct rules in place. Unlike California, Illinois and New York.”
“Holy fuck,” Rory said. “And Sommer? She’s not entering that program.”
“She isn’t part of this, nor needs to be at this point. She’s classified as uninvolved. If she would have told Carlo to kiss off, he probably would have. He’s nothing but a paid bully. Carlo Scarlotte is an associate. Aka a free agent. A low rung thug, who makes a living off collecting on debts for all sorts of groups. Unlike Mike, whose real name isn’t Mike Harris. It’s Mikailov Tarrin. He’s the one with the connections, but he’s a problem to his underboss. The reason Carlo showed up is to get a handle on what’s going on. Seems like Mike has a tendency to swindle more than he reports, and the organization he’s tied to doesn’t know who the hell owes him money. So much so, he’s limited in the amount of bets he’s authorized to take until he gets off whatever shit list he’s gotten himself on.”
“Tarrin, doesn’t sound like the type of asshole you can go after. You listening, Rory?” Stephen asked.
Rory shook his head. “Might be too late. I had a run in with him earlier today.”
“How bad?” Miller asked, watching him from across the table.
“A couple of punches. Nothing more. I told him to stay away from Sommer.”
“Rory’s hands tell the story,” Stephen supplied solemnly.
All of his brothers glanced down to his hands, then upward. He sat there, fuming, and gritted his teeth. “I won’t go off on him, as long as he stays away from Sommer.” His whole body vibrated with constricted rage and his desire to safeguard her.
“Fuck,” Matt growled. “Miller, how’ll that play out?”
“Shouldn’t matter. The ammunition against Tarrin is stacked. Eventually, he’s going to have to take a deal if he keeps double-crossing his organization. Or he’ll disappear, if he knows what’s good for him. Just don’t go near him again.”
“Okay,” Rory blew out the word sharply, not trusting himself to say more or promise something he might not uphold.
Stephen poured a round of shots and his brothers all took a glass. Matt passed one to him and clapped him on the back. “Drink up.”
“Live long.” Fight strong. Rory silently finished the second part of an old toast routinely shared with their cousins in the military. He took his glass and downed the two fingers of whiskey straight back. He slammed his glass on the table as the burn helped clear his head, untangling his thoughts. “M
iller, how soon until you get an answer?”
“I’ll go and talk to the Kincaids tonight. If they agree, they’ll be gone by Monday, maybe sooner. Depends on the U.S. Marshalls. This is their deal and their program.”
“If I can fly out tonight, I gotta find Sommer and let her know about her father,” Rory said. This wasn’t the type of news he could say over the phone. Not after all she’d been through and how they just parted. “Unless you think I should go talk with Frank.”
“Once they disappear, that’s it,” Miller said. “It’s up to you.”
Brandon leaned over. “Where’s Sommer right now?”
“On a plane to LA. Her friend invited her…Ivy. Engaged to a musician tied to Haden’s tour. Diehard’s opening act.”
Stephen downed his drink. “Want us to go with you?”
“Naw. Hold down the fort while I’m gone.” Rory typed and sent a text to Sommer, but doubted she’d get the message until she touched down in LA.
“I’ll contact Haden and have him keep an eye on Sommer,” Stephen said. “You can stay with him. His band is holed up in the hills somewhere. Otherwise, Cory is still in Paris, but her apartment is available.”
“Thanks. If Haden is free, I’ll hang with him until I can hook up with Sommer. I’d better see what my options are for getting a ticket. Miller, give me a couple.” He opened the browser on his cell phone.
“Why not use the computer?” Stephen pointed toward the living room. “Hit print when you’re done. Jillian has the laptop hooked up to the printer for her flyers.”
Rory got to his feet and nodded. “Thanks. All of you.”
Before boarding the airplane, Rory received a text from Miller that confirmed the Kincaids were on board with the WITSEC program, but his brother couldn’t give a date or time they’d be taken into custody by the Texas U.S. Marshall’s department.
The last time he’d been on a plane, it had been with Sommer and they’d flown to Miami to attend Matt’s wedding. He hadn’t been airborne since and stared out the window as the plane circled back around Los Angeles, preparing to land. It was almost eleven at night back home, not quite nine here. He’d been in touch with Haden prior to departing and he was set to pick him up from the airport, but he’d yet to hear from Sommer. Jumping on a plane, he hadn’t been able to confirm anything about her arrival, or her settling in some West Hollywood apartment where she was staying with Ivy.
