Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 52319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
"How the fuck were you damn near a virgin but you run a bar like this?"
"This place was Jayson's dream," he says quietly.
"Ah, got it." I don't ask for an explanation. I don't need one. I may be one of the only people who knew Memphis's shit until recently. And he knew mine. He picked me up off enough bar floors a few years ago. When you do that, secrets have a way of coming out. He told me about his best friend, Jayson. I told him about my nightmares.
If anyone gets what he's doing here, running a place like this, I do. We do what we gotta do to make shit right and live with the guilt. It's precisely why I'm here now.
"About that favor…" I say.
"What do you need?"
"You know where the Dixie Mafia congregates?" In another life, he was in an MC. Right up until everyone in his was murdered, including Jayson. And this place is full of bikers and criminals six nights a week. If anyone in my circle can get a bead on the pricks I need to find, it'll be Memphis.
"Jesus Christ, Brant," he mutters, blinking at me. "What the fuck do you need with them?"
"It's a long story."
He glances around at the mostly empty bar and then back to me. "I've got time, motherfucker. We aren't even open for another half hour."
"It's about my father," I mutter, running a hand down my face. "I'm pretty sure they're the ones who had the hit out on him. I need to find them."
"Why?"
I quickly fill him in on the situation with Isla and Bella, hitting the highlights. When I'm done talking, he leans back, whistling.
"I can ask around for you," he says. "But I'm not sure you should be getting involved in this, brother. If he owes them that kind of money, you may very well be the next one they come after. They won't stop trying to collect just because he's dead."
"Considered that," I mutter. "And if they want what he owes badly enough, they'll agree to negotiate."
"What kind of terms are you wanting to offer?"
"They give me the names of the two who killed him, and they agree not to go after Isla and Bella," I say. If they're willing to do that, I'll give them whatever he owes. I've been investing every goddamn penny I could for the last four years, trying to recoup my mother's fortune. And they've been good investments. She doesn't have a clue that his "life insurance" came directly from me. That's a secret I'll carry to my grave. What's left is more than enough to pay off his drug debt and ensure the past stays the past.
"It's not a bad plan," Memphis murmurs. "You sure you don't want to clear your name while you're at it? If you're dangling that kind of money in front of them, might as well attach whatever strings you want."
"Nope," I mutter. "That's the last damn thing I want."
"Right," he says, drawing the word out to let me know he thinks I'm full of shit. "You're just peachy-fuckin'-keen with everyone blaming you for his shit."
"Yeah." I meet his gaze, holding it. "If it means no one ever finds out what that motherfucker did to my mother, then yeah, Memphis. I'm peachy-fuckin'-keen with it."
"The shit he did to her? What about the shit he did to you? Don't forget, I know the truth. I'm the one who helped scoop your ass up off bar floors when you tried to drink it away."
"What he did doesn't matter."
"Jesus Christ." Memphis pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing. "One of these fuckin' days, man…"
"Don't start with me, Memphis," I mutter, throwing a hand up. "I don't press you. And unless you forget, I know the truth about your shit too."
He glowers at me.
I stare back.
Eventually, he mutters a curse, throwing up his hands. "You're a stubborn pain in the fuckin' ass, Brant."
"Right back at you, motherfucker."
He laughs, flipping me off.
"You going to help me or not?"
"Yeah, brother." He scrubs a hand through his long hair. "I'll help you. But I swear to Christ, if you get yourself killed, I'm going to be pissed about it."
"I'm not going to get myself killed."
"You better fuckin' not."
When I get back to my office, it's to hear peals of laughter echoing from inside. I hurry my steps, my heart pulsing in my chest. I'd know that laugh anywhere.
Isla is here again.
Christ, every minute I spend with her sinks her more deeply under my skin. I'm fucking crazy about her. And growing crazier about her by the day. I want my ring on her finger and my kid in her belly.
I know she's trying to keep her dad happy, but fucking hell. Sending her home every night is starting to piss me off. I want her in my arms, in my bed. It's where she belongs. It's where she wants to be, too. I thought she was going to cry when it was time for her to leave last night.