“We have something to do,” Barrett says. “Don’t worry. Troy will drive us.” He gives Alison a quick kiss and waves to Huxley. “I’ll be back in a bit, okay?”
“That’s fine,” she grins, Ryan nestled up against her.
“That’s a good look on you,” Barrett winks before moving towards the front door.
Lincoln clears his throat. “I better stay with Dani.”
“No,” Dani laughs. “You better go with your brothers.”
“But—”
“Ford,” she pleads. “Make him go.”
“Let’s go, lover boy,” I say, getting him in a headlock. “Say goodbye, Linc.”
He fights with me until we’re both on the ground. Arms and legs are flying as we maneuver to get the best position.
“Boys, don’t you break anything,” Mom warns. “I thought we were past this and got the good crystal back out!”
“I quit!” Lincoln shouts as I twist his arm behind him. “I quit. Fuck, Ford!” he laughs.
I roll over onto my back, out of breath. We lay next to each other laughing.
“You’re responsible for those two,” Dad tells Graham. “Get them back in one piece.”
G extends a hand to Linc and I and pulls us up.
“I thought we were going to do yoga tonight?” Mallory pouts, wrapping her arms around Graham.
“When I get home,” Graham promises.
“But . . .”
“Hey, Mal?” I call, following Lincoln to the door. “This is what you get for your Ellie bullshit.”
“Ford!” she whines.
“I agree with Mallory,” Sienna chimes, a little panic in her tone. “Daddy! Make them stay here.”
“They’re grown men,” Dad notes. “What do you want me to do?”
I look at Mallory and wink, which only irritates her more. “Come on, G! Night out with the boys!”
Ford
“SIENNA IS BLOWING ME UP,” Lincoln laughs from the front seat of the SUV. “Should I reply or ignore her?”
“Ignore her,” we all say in unison.
“If she wants to be an accomplice in this, she can take a little of the heat,” Graham points out. “I’ve spent so much fucking time on Swink and her bullshit when all Sienna has to do is tell me what she’s doing.”
“It’s obviously a guy,” Lincoln points out.
“It’s obviously a guy she knows we’ll flip a lid about,” I say, catching Troy’s eye in the rearview.
“Am I going to need bail money?” he asks.
We chuckle as he takes the final right-hand turn towards the bar where Camilla’s car was towed from.
“I ask you one thing: don’t let Barrett get hemmed up,” Troy says, looking at me. “If shit is going to hit the fan, at least have the decency to let me get the Governor out of there first.”
He pulls the car in front of an old brick building with a series of letters partially lit across the top in a faded red lighting. It looks like the dump you’d figure would be on Davis Street. As we all climb out of the SUV, we take in the sight before us.
“What in the ever-loving hell is Camilla doing here?” Lincoln turns to Graham. “You sure you got the right place?”
G flashes him a look, chastising him for second-guessing his facts. Lincoln shrugs and enters. We all follow behind him.
The Gold Room, as we come to learn the fine establishment is called, isn’t aptly named. There’s nothing gold or expensive or even “room-y” about it.
A long bar extends down the center of the wall to the right, pillars hold up the ceiling up along the middle of the building. Tables with cheap plastic chairs dot most of the free space, save a little area in the back. That’s reserved for a couple of pool tables and what looks to be a makeshift dance floor that appears to have the same eighties-style paneling as the walls.
“You think Cam has turned to stripping?” Lincoln jokes, nodding at a semi-hidden stripper pole situated behind a partition.
I shove him in the back, causing him to propel forward a few feet.
“I was only kidding,” he laughs. “I’m sure Graham is gracious enough to give her enough money to keep her from that.”
We slowly make our way to the bar. There are only a couple of patrons in the place. They’re spread out, some at tables, a couple at the far end of the counter.
“Let’s have a drink, shall we, boys?” Barrett takes the lead and sits at a bar stool at the end. We file in to his left and wait for the bald-headed bartender to come our way. He sees us, that much is for sure. He also purposefully makes us wait.
“There goes his tip,” Lincoln mutters, earning another bump on the shoulder from me.
Troy stands discreetly by the front door, not missing a beat.
“What can I get you?”
I turn to see Nate, if his name tag reads correctly, looking between the four of us. His eyes are assessing, trying to figure out what we’re doing here.
“Four shots of tequila,” Lincoln relays. “You have any Patrón?”
Nate gives Lincoln a look as if to say, “Really?” Muttering something under his breath, he turns to the cabinet behind him. After a few seconds of rummaging, he pulls out a bottle and blows a layer of dust off it. “Yup.”
“We’ll have that and give the asshole to my right a double,” Lincoln says.
“Fuck you,” I laugh. But before I can change the order, Nate is down the bar.
“Tequila, Lincoln? Really?” Barrett asks. “Do you know the last time I’ve shot tequila?”
“Not my fault you’re a proper politician these days,” Lincoln winks. “Besides, don’t you want to see Ford and Graham get all fucked up?”
“I will not be getting fucked up.” Graham shoots Lincoln a look. “Now focus, boys. Let’s do some . . . what do you call it, Ford?”
“Recon. We’re on a recon mission.”
The shot glasses are placed in front of each of us, Barrett’s spilling over a little. Troy looks concerned when Lincoln asks that the bottle be left in front of him.
We raise our drinks and shoot them at the same time. It’s not so bad going down, but I forgot the fire once you open your mouth.
“Ugh,” I say, licking my lips. “I hate that shit.”
“Purifies your blood,” Lincoln laughs. He points at Graham. “Want another one?
“When in Rome . . .” He holds out his glass and Lincoln fills it back up.
“Fuck it.” Barrett offers his up for a refill too. “Give some to Ford. Don’t leave him out.”
“I’d never leave him out,” he grins. “He’s the one I’d like to get bombed.”
“Good luck,” I snort.
The clear liquid fills the glass again. I cringe as my brothers wait for me to lift it to my lips. It goes down a little better than the first, but still tastes awful. The glass clinks against the bar top as I feel the fire again.
“All right. Now to business,” Barrett says. He looks around the room and I follow suit.
There’s an exit sign behind us that’s dimly lit. Over by the nook holding the stripper pole, there’s a nondescript door.
“Wonder where that leads?” I say, moving my eyes that way. “Door to the left. By the pink chandelier.”
“How do we even know if she was here specifically?” Barrett asks. “Maybe she got dropped off here and went elsewhere.”
“Yeah. Because if you were getting picked up by someone, this is the place you’d choose,” I say sarcastically. “The only reason you’d be here is to be here.”
Lincoln pours everyone another shot and we take this one without thought. He looks proud.
“Hey, Nate!” Lincoln calls.
The bartender makes his way to us, looking irritated. “What’s up?”
“We’re looking for someone,” Lincoln says.
“Aren’t we all?”
“Hey! That’s a good one,” Lincoln laughs. “But we really are. She’s short, blonde, green eyes. A pain in the fucking ass.”
“A set of bi
g ol’ titties?” Nate leans against the bar so he’s eye to eye with Lincoln. He’s challenging him, there’s no doubt about it, and becomes very clear he knows who we are. And who Camilla is.
Lincoln grins, but I can see his jaw pulsing. Instead of replying right away, he pours us all another drink. I down mine. I see Graham pushing his away out of the corner of my eye.
Nate shoves away. “I see a lot of whores in this place. Hard to tell them apart after a while.”
“Why ya gotta be a dick, Nate?” Lincoln asks, shaking his head.
“Why ya gotta come in here causing trouble, Landry?”
Just like that, all cards are on the table. Not that we had cover, but if we had anything going for us at all, it’s now blown into the abyss.
“We aren’t here to cause trouble,” Graham cuts in. “We’re just looking for our sister.”
“She ain’t here,” Nate says, spreading his arms to his sides. “Do you see her?”
Barrett leans forward, giving Nate his best campaign-esque smile. “We don’t want trouble. We’re just concerned.”
“Why?” Nate snorts. “Because you think maybe your little sister has fallen to the dark side?”
“We didn’t say that,” Graham says calmly.
“Maybe,” Nate says, keeping a few feet back, “your little sister just likes a little real cock laid to her.”
“Easy . . .” I warn.
Nate laughs. “I’d venture to say there’s nothing easy about it.”
“You motherfucker,” I say, lunging across the bar. Troy is at my side, Lincoln on the other, before I know it.
“It’s time to go,” Troy says, jerking me backwards. I shake off his grip and give him a look letting him know I’m fine.
Nate grins. “Do you boys need anything else?”
Lincoln slams a couple of bills down and sits his glass on top of it. Without taking my eyes off him, I pour another shot and down it. Slamming my glass against the bar, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “If you fuck with her, you fuck with all of us. Do you hear me?”
“I hear you,” he winks. “Now listen to your minder there and get the hell out of here before word gets out the Governor is sitting in the Gold Room. I don’t think you want that, do you?”
Nate flashes Barrett a look, letting him know with a few well-placed calls, he can turn this visit into a PR nightmare.
“Let’s go,” Barrett says.
I wait for them all to file ahead of me before I turn back around. Nate is looking at me.
“You know, not everything you see is what you get.” He raises his brows. “Your sister is a big girl, Landry. She can take care of herself.”
My hands plant on the bar and I look him dead in the eye. “She can. And if she can’t, she has me. I’m not the Governor and I don’t give a fuck what is written about me in the papers.” I turn to go, but wheel back around. “If you allow her in here, I want you to know that I personally hold you responsible for her safety and well-being. You got that?”
Something changes in Nate’ eyes. I see it happen. He nods subtly before I turn and walk out to a much-relieved look on Troy’s face.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Barrett says, climbing into the backseat.
With a last look at the Gold Room, I pile into the SUV and we speed off towards the Farm.
Ford
HODA TAKES A FEW FINAL notes before closing the notepad. “I think I have it, Mr. Landry. I’ll send the estimate over now.” She stands, smoothing out her dress, grinning.
“What?”
“You’ve seemed really happy the last few days. That’s all.”
“Really?” I smile at her in a tell-tale sign that she’s right. It’s amusing to me that she’s noticed.
“I like seeing you like this. I don’t know what’s causing it, but I hope it continues.”
“I didn’t know you were so invested in my happiness, Hoda.”
She laughs and heads towards the door. “If you’re happy, you make my life easier.”
“Is that some kind of veiled way of saying you don’t want me stressed and acting like Graham?” I joke.
“You said it. Not me.” She heads back to her office, closing the door softly behind her.
Glancing at my phone, I look for a missed call. A missed text. Anything from Ellie, but find nothing.
I turn back to my computer in hopes of getting something done when Hoda pokes her head back in again. “Mr. Landry? I’m sorry to bother you again so quickly, but Camilla is here to see you.”
“Oh,” I say surprised. “Send her in.”
The lid of my laptop closes with a quick snap. Swink doesn’t just drop by to see me in the middle of the day. As a matter of fact, she’s pretty scarce to all of us these days. Her arrival has me curious. And worried.
“Hey, Ford,” she says, her tone terse. She breezes in, her posture perfect from years of instruction from our mother. Her blonde hair, the most like mine out of all of our siblings, is tied at the nape of her neck.
“This is a surprise.” I watch as she sits across from me, smoothing out her emerald green dress. It’s a throwback to the old Camilla—the one before she decided to be a renegade.
She lets loose a heavy breath. “I came to talk to you because you’re logical.”
Leaning back in my chair, I take her in. Her forehead is marred with a line of wrinkles, her blue eyes shining with a seriousness she doesn’t wear often.
“Because I’m logical? This should be a fun conversation if you’re coming to me appealing to my logic.” I lean towards her and grin. “You know what that tells me?”
“What’s that, Ford?”
“It tells me you think you can persuade me to go along with whatever bullshit you’re selling more easily than to Barrett or Graham or Linc.”
Her jaw sets. “Apparently I was wrong. You’re just as irrational as the rest of them.”
“We aren’t irrational, Swink.”
“Oh, so going to The Gold Room was rational?”
She nearly glares at me, which makes it hard not to laugh. She’s this little thing in a glitzy-label dress trying to battle with me. It’s hard to take her seriously.
“Do you have any idea what The Gold Room is known for?” I ask, smirking. “Tell me, Oh Brilliant One, how smart it was for you to be hanging out at a place that’s best known for its happy endings.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about!”
I laugh. “You’re right. Because I’ve only been there precisely once in my life. Would you like to tell me more about it, Cam?”
“Where I go shouldn’t matter to you. I’m a grown woman.”
“You’re my little sister,” I warn. “You’ll be my little sister when you’re fifty. Got it?”
“You’re just as bad as the rest of them!”
“What do you want me to say? Just go get mixed up with the wrong people? Just go hang out on Davis and good luck to you?”
“How about a little faith that I know what I’m doing?” she volleys back.
“I’d love to do that. Really. But it’s hard when you’re so fucking secretive and then G gets a call—”
She springs to her feet. “Don’t get me started on Graham!”
The rise in her voice sparks something inside me. The edge of brattiness catches me wrong. Whether she thinks she’s right or wrong is one thing, but to pretend that all of us, Graham specifically, are out of line is another.
Fuck. That.
“Don’t get you started on Graham?” I ask coolly. “Okay. That’s fine. But I’m going to ask you to consider who works their fucking ass off to make sure you that you can go to the mall and buy those fancy labels you like so much.”
She flinches, falling slowly back into her seat.
“You say what you want about Barrett and Lincoln and I. But Graham?” My elbows resting on the edge of my desk, I look her in the eye. “You must be out of your damn mind if you think for a second that anything he does
or says isn’t in your best interest. Use your head.”
“How does anyone know what’s in my best interest besides me?”
My chuckle has little to do with amusement and more to do with my struggle to contain the frustration I feel. “Oh, I don’t know. Because we’re your family. Because we don’t see the world through rose-colored glasses. Because we don’t stand to gain from any interactions you have except to see you happy and healthy.”
“I am both,” she says, getting her nerve back. “I’ve never been happier, as a matter of fact. I wish you all would stop seeing me as some little girl that’s clueless and trust me to make my own decisions! It’s like you think I’m not following along Landry protocol so someone has to intervene. I don’t need an intervention.”
“If you want to be treated like a big girl, Cam,” I say, looking her square in the eye, “we’re all happy to do that. Be sure you’re ready for it.”
My words hit their target. She falls back slightly in her chair, the fight leaving her eyes. While it gives me some relief that she hasn’t completely lost her mind, it does cause a little bubble of regret to begin to form.
I sigh. “I know what it feels like.”
“What?” she mumbles.
“I know what it feels like to look around our family and feel . . .” I struggle to find the word, “ . . . different than the rest of them.”
This gets her attention. Furrowing a brow, she adjusts in her chair. “What could you possibly know about not fitting in around here? You’re Ford. The hero. The one of us that’s never done anything wrong but be a feather in our parents’ cap?”
Laughing, I shake my head. “Oh, Cam.”
“What?” she asks, joining my laughter. “It’s true. Even when Barrett was the Mayor, I know Mom and Dad worried about some of his . . . extra-curricular activities?”
“Nice way of putting it,” I wink.
“And Graham is definitely Dad’s favorite, but even he worries sometimes that G will make the wrong decision or is working too much. And Lincoln . . .”
Our laughter starts up again, that one not needing an explanation.
“But you?” she shrugs. “You’re Ford, the military boy. The pride of the Landry family. The one that took after Grandpa Landry and went the honorable route. The one that—by listening to our parents rave to their friends—can do nothing wrong.”
Swear (Landry Family #4) Page 13
