by Finn, Emilia
“It’s bendy,” Jay replies. “And there’s no dirt, no dust. Everyone understand their roles?”
“Yeah,” Romeo’s voice crackles in my ear. “Listen to him. Silence him. Go the fuck home. I miss my family.”
“You’re almost done,” Soph says. “Stay sharp, guys. I’m the only one who might die today.”
“I’ve got you, Sugar Plum.” Jay’s body literally vibrates beside mine as we watch the dark SUV approach. “Never doubt me.”
When the SUV is close enough, the air changes for all of us, but most of all, for me and Libby as our eyes meet.
There are two passengers. Female.
“The fuckin’ sour-sisters are involved.”
Libby’s voice catches, but it ends on a stream of cussing that almost makes me worry for her. Thankfully, Libby isn’t much for internalizing. I don’t have to worry that this is going to fuck her up. She’ll swear about it, she’ll make the shot she’s been wanting to make her whole damn life, and then we move on.
This won’t be a setback for her.
I can’t speak, since we’re all wired into the same system and the others will hear, so instead, I slide my foot across the grass until it touches hers, then I loop them together in the closest thing to a hug I can give right now.
For just a brief second in the silence, her lips curl up into a ghost of a smile. It’s tiny, shaky, and weak, but it’s the best she can give. And it means she’s here with me. She’s pissed, but she’s right here and letting me touch.
Turning back, I study the driver’s broad chest, since his shoulders and head are hidden by the roof of the car and the angle at which we sit. He wears long sleeves and jeans. This Theo’s limbs are long; long torso, long arms, long legs. He’s tall. He wears a thigh holster on his right leg, and keeps another handgun in the cup holder between his seat and the passenger seat.
“Okay, I see him now.” Soph’s voice catches as though she might now be realizing how this can go bad. She’s brave, and since the email was addressed to her, she insisted on being the one in the valley for the meet. But she isn’t stupid. She could die today if this dude decides he doesn’t want to chat.
A cell phone chirps in my earpiece. It takes us a moment to find it, because it’s actually across the valley. One sharp bleep, then Romeo’s voice. “Hello?”
“Romeo!” Sophia hisses. “What the fuck!”
Romeo’s “Now?” snaps in my ear. “Today?”
“Romeo!” Jay cracks. “Focus, motherfucker!”
“I’m out.”
He stands on the hill seven hundred feet across from where we lay. His movement blows our cover, because before this, the car wouldn’t have had any clue there was more than one person here. He might have suspected it, but he can’t have known. But now a muscled ranger stands in a ghillie suit and telegraphs us all.
Romeo’s gun drops to his side, and the SUV comes to a screeching stop just one bend before he would pull up in front of Soph.
“I have to leave.”
“Romeo!”
“Family emergency.” Without another word, he turns on long legs and sprints into the thick trees at his back.
In the valley, the SUV’s passengers panic and show their faces when they peer out the windows, but the driver slams his car into reverse and spins his wheels in escape.
The sour-sisters look exactly the same. Different, but the same. Too thin, too tall, too mean, but they’re gone again within a second as their driver escapes around the bend that hides them from our scopes.
“Yeah.” Spence jumps to his feet. “I’m out too. I’m sorry.”
“Spencer!”
“Pull her out!” He collects his things and turns the way Romeo went. “Your team is out. Pull Soph out. We’ll regroup later.”
“Spencer Serrano!” Jay pushes to his knees. “Where’s the brotherhood?”
“I’m sorry! I need to go to Abigail.”
29
Libby
Bailout
“The sour-sisters…” I shake my head and study my hands as we pass white line after white line on our way back to town.
Everyone packed up, Romeo is out, Spence is out, which means we’re all out. Now we’re following the convoy all the way back home, because whether Jay is mad about the failed meet or not, Spence is his brother, and he’s calling family emergency.
“I can’t believe the sour-sisters are involved in this shit.”
Gunner drives with an elbow resting on the door, one hand on the wheel, and the other sitting in his lap. He appears to be relaxed, but he’s anything but. His past has reared up just as savagely as mine, and his ticking jaw proves how mad he is. “Not that it surprises me. They were bitches then, and they’re bitches now. But I guess I’m still a little in shock. I can only take so many blasts from my past before I explode.”
“I wonder what game they’re playing?” I look up and meet his eyes. “Like, what do they want?”
“Revenge?” He shrugs. “They no longer live a life of luxury.” He rubs a hand over his face and sighs. “I truly have no clue. Meeting us in the valley wouldn’t have done them any favors. What do they expect? Us to write them a check?”
“I wonder who the guy is?” I nibble on my bottom lip in thought. “I didn’t recognize him by his body or anything.”
“Me neither. He’s just… average. Tall, but loads of dudes are. He’s not abnormally wide like Spence and Romeo, but he’s not skinny either.”
“He works out,” I ponder. “He wasn’t jacked, but he wasn’t fluffy either. We would have seen his face if we weren’t so high up. We should have been waiting in the valley.”
“We’ll work this out,” he promises. “And when we figure out who he is, we’ll take care of it.”
We let the silence take over for hours while Gunner drives until his eyes droop, and when he finally relents, we switch drivers and keep going all the way back to town.
It feels strange going back to town this way. It feels like we’ve been gone forever, but more than that, I’m coming back with Gunner. I know I technically left with him too, but this feels different. I’m not going to be scared of what people think anymore. I’m going to live my life with him right beside me, and just as soon as we take care of this fake-Theo business, I’m taking him to the station, and I’ll be telling them who he is to me.
My man.
The same man I’ve been in love with since I was nine.
Seventeen hours on the road. Two hours sleep for each of us. We arrive smelling of travel and stale air, only to watch Soph and Jay’s car head straight to the hospital. Frowning, I follow them into the parking garage, and when they head inside at a fast trot, Gunner and I collect our phones and wallets, and we follow them in to find that sweet girl Spence has spent every day for two months talking to on the phone, checked in and awaiting surgery.
“Family emergency.” Gunner takes my hand once we get enough information to ascertain what’s going on, then he leads me away from the packed room and back into the elevators. “They don’t need us here. Let’s go home and shower.”
“My apartment?” I yawn and lean against his strong body when mine decides it’s done with today.
Our threat is a million miles away from here, and though we should be worried, there’s no need to be, for now. We’re back home, and I refuse to be on guard instead of checking out long enough to get a decent sleep and a good meal.
“Yeah, your apartment. Let’s get some sleep. We’ll figure out the bitch sisters tomorrow.”
“At least it’s night this time.” I can’t stop the yawn that overtakes my body.
I’m beyond exhausted, and dangerously close to catching my second wind, so I stay sleepy, I let Gunner drive us home, and when there’s nothing weird happening at my apartment building – because despite my plans to not be on guard, I can’t turn that off so easily – we stumble our way up the stairs and through my front door.
I dump my bags on the couch and snatch up the red s
weater like it’s my lifeline. I don’t need it anymore. I have the man and a lifetime promise, but I still press the sweater to my face as I stumble my way toward my room. I have a single second to worry that Gunner hasn’t followed, but when I toss the sweater onto my pillow and shove my jeans down my legs, he’s right there, helping me with my laces so I don’t trip on my face.
Jeans off, shirts off, we both strip down to our underwear, and when I climb under the covers, he follows me in and pulls my back against his chest so we touch from head to toe.
“I love you, Libby. I’ve got your back. We’re gonna fix this.”
“Love you too.” I yawn again and pull the sweater against my face the way I’ve done so many times over the years. “Thank you for loving me. Two people say that now. I like it.”
I feel the kiss he presses to the back of my head, but I’m already drifting off. “I’ll say it forever and ever. I’ve got you, babe. We spit shook on it.”
30
36 Hours Later
“Hello there.” Blonde hair, blue eyes, dimples, and a wide smile, this chick with the long torso and nice tits gives me her PR smile as I stop at the gym desk. “I’m Kit, and I can help get you signed up.”
“Hey.” I give her my most charming smile and bask in the way her eyes flicker down to my chest. This place, the Rollin On Gym, is large, but not the state-of-the-art kind you see in big cities that cater for the corporate folks that want to work out at eleven at night. The equipment they own is high-quality and not worn away, but the building is a shed, long, but not wide. “My name is Oliver Dunne, and I’m hoping I’ve come to the right place.”
“You wanna fight? Lift? Yoga? We’ve got it all, so how about you fill this out.” She sets a clipboard in front of me and plops a pen down that says Montgomery Law on the side. “Give me some details, and I can help get you sorted.”
“Perfect.” I fill out my details, but I use the name I’ve known for the last fifteen years, and not the name I was born with. That name would send up too many red flags, and I can’t risk any of those in here.
“You’re twenty…” Kit leans forward to read upside-down. “Twenty-five?”
“Thereabouts.” I nod, smile, and continue writing. “I’m new to town, and this place is known all over the country. When my company transferred me over here, I can’t say I was too sad when I realized whose town I would be in.”
“Oh,” she waves me off and accepts the clipboard back after I sign. “Town belongs to all of us. Except the Turners. They don’t own shit. We just let them stay here.”
I know she’s joking, and strangely, I know who she’s joking about, but seeing as it’s an inside joke between her and the police chief, I smile and pretend that I think she’s funny. “Kincaids are known all over the country, Miss. People talk about you guys in every gym I walk into.”
“They talk of my husband, or my brother,” she insists with a kind smile. “The guys earned that reputation, they worked hard for it, but around here, we just call them stupid and tell them to sit down, lest they get big heads.”
“Keeping them humble.” I laugh. “Every man needs a woman like that in their lives. It’s how we stay on track.”
“Can’t say that’s a lie,” she agrees with a smirk. “Oh.” She reads my form and frowns. “You’re staying at the hotel?”
“Only for a couple weeks until my company gets my house sorted out. They said there’d be one when I arrived, but I dunno. Someone forgot to file paperwork somewhere. I’m not sad, though. Have you been to that hotel? It’s lush.”
She laughs. “I have, once or twice when my husband has formal functions. It sure is nice. We tend to cookout every weekend; you’re going to want a home-cooked meal at some point while staying at the hotel.”
“Oh, no–”
“Open invitation.” She grins. “When you train here, you become family. Soon you’ll be asking to drop in at the estate. Or better yet, you’ll just turn up. Everyone does.” She lets her eyes scan my form, and when she gets to the ‘Interests’ part, nods. “You know weights, but you want to learn to fight.”
“Yes, ma’am. Not pro stuff, just for fitness.”
“Okay. I can hook you up.”
“You do PT, or just group classes?”
“We do both.” She writes something on the form for her own records, tosses it onto a pile of others in a tray, then comes back to me. “Which are you most interested in?”
I shrug. “Both, though I suspect private training is expensive as hell, so maybe I’ll go to classes mostly, and save up for a PT a month.”
She gives a soft laugh and leans against the desk. “You’re a fan? Which one do you want?”
I frown. “Which one what?”
“Of our fighters. If you only get one PT a month, which one are you gunning for?”
“Oh, I dunno.” I arch my neck when the sounds of sparring around the corner stop, only to be followed by a floor-shaking boom and a body hitting the canvas. “Um… maybe whoever won that bout.”
She laughs and follows my gaze, but though we can’t see anything because of a dividing wall keeping reception separate from the rest, she smiles wider, as though she knows people by the sound of their bare feet touching the mats. “Actually, that’s a good choice. The guys are busy this month training up the guy that lost that sparring session, so maybe we should just catapult you to the top for today and let you train.”
“Yeah?”
I run images through my mind. Aiden Kincaid. Bobby Kincaid – the world champion. Jon Hart, perhaps, or even Jack Reilly.
I’ve researched this place so much that my eyes want to bleed. But never in a million years did I expect it all to be this easy.
Wild curls made of platinum blonde hair precede the woman that comes around the corner. Her chest lifts and falls with heaving breaths as she moves around the counter Kit stands behind, and snatches a water from the mini fridge, and when she’s halfway through chugging the bottle’s contents, she slows and focuses on the two of us that stare.
Her hands are wrapped in sweat-soaked, hot pink wraps. Her hair is tied back by a straining hair tie, and her trim body is covered in almost nothing. A sports bra that holds little double As, and booty shorts that stick to her frame and leave nothing to the imagination.
She’s only sixteen. I know that from my research, but her age isn’t the reason I have to fight my body’s natural reaction and stop my lips from curling back in disgust.
Bright blue eyes a dozen shades brighter than the pair Theo Griffin – aka Gunner Bishop – owns. But just like in Griffin, her eyes remain completely unaware.
“What?” She lowers her bottle and lets some of the liquid dribble over her chin and into her bra. She looks to her aunt. “Why is everyone staring at me?”
“Smalls. Oliver.” Kit turns to me. “Oliver, this is Smalls.”
“Smalls?” I lift a brow in question.
“Well, her name is Evelyn, but we only use that name when she’s in trouble. You can call her Evie.”
“Can he?” The arrogant teen doesn’t give a single fuck about manners as she looks me up and down. “Who is Oliver to me?”
“He’s a brand-new client,” Kit growls. She grabs Evie’s arm and squeezes hard enough to make her niece growl in return. “He wants to try us out, and when I asked who he wants for PT, he heard you knock Knox the hell out. He said that one. You’re finished now, right?”
Evie’s arrogance only seems to grow the longer Kit talks. “Yeah, Knox is a pussy. He needs to fix that gimp arm, or he won’t win.”
“That’s for your dad to decide.” Kit frowns. “And don’t say pussy. But in the meantime, Oliver needs an assessment, and you got a C on your last math test, so guess who’s up?”
Evie’s eyes narrow with rage. “I hate you a little bit.”
“No you don’t, sweetpea. You think I’m awesome. Now go. Start him on the ropes, then run him through basics. You know the drill.”
Evie’s assessing
gaze comes back to me like she thinks she gets to judge me. She studies my Nikes, my shorts, and the t-shirt I picked up from a surf shop on the way to town. Then she leans closer to Kit and whispers, “Can I make him puke?”
“No! Now go, and stop being a brat. One hour. Show him the gym first, send him into the locker rooms, show him around, and then get started. We want them to come back, remember?”
“Uh… with all due respect…” I lean forward. “I can hear you guys.”
“Oh, we know,” Kit brushes me off. “It’s only fair you get to hear her attitude. She’s gonna work you hard, so to come back a second time means you really want it. Don’t let her bad mood get to you; she’s always like this. But she’s good in this gym, she’s knowledgeable, and she’s gonna be our champ in a couple years.”
“Pfft. In a couple years.” The teen snatches up a towel from a pile beneath the desk and slings it around her sweaty neck, then she grabs her water and walks toward me. “I’m already your champion, Kitkat. Show your respect for the next world champion.”
“You need to sit back down and study a little longer. What’s the point of winning twelve belts if you can’t count that high?”
“I can count.” Evie’s grumble makes her aunt smile, but the girl doesn’t slow or wait for me. She walks back the way she came, and expects me to keep up.
“Go!” Kit flicks her wrists. “I’ll have your paperwork finalized when you’re done.”
I dash away to catch up, but only make it six feet into the gym before I almost crash into Evie talking to another girl. I know that face too. I know them all. I’ve studied them all for a decade. I’ve watched these girls grow up in the news. I’ve seen their attitudes on national television.
“Alright.” Evie speaks to her cousin. “I gotta work for the next hour, but I’ll get you after.”
“You gotta work?”
“Yeah. Aunt Kit found out about my math test.”
