Breaking A Bad Boy Page 16

  “I’m owed twenty thousand.”

  She shrugged. “Why should I care how much you’re owed?”

  “One reason. You got a parent who hasn’t paid me back.”

  “How do you know my family?”

  “Like I said, I’m owed money. You have a parent with a serious gambling habit. I had to take a line to cover the note I’m holding. Now, that line needs payment. If I don’t get the money, I can’t cover my line. And that line always gets paid. This is out of my hands, you read me,” he sneered, drumming his fingers on the counter.

  “My mother has a psychiatric condition. No court in this state would allow you to collect,” she snarled.

  “This doesn’t have diddly-squat to do with your Momma. It’s your daddy’s debt, Sommer.” He stood up straight and glared over to her.

  “My father isn’t a gambler,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t believe you.”

  “Good thing I came prepared to square Frank’s little issue.” He removed a cell phone from his pocket and rapidly swept his finger across the screen. He held up the cell, displaying her dad’s phone number. “Now. Listen.”

  Damn, how many clients did he have on the lam? She halted all tumbling thoughts when her father’s voice filled the front room. He’d called Mike and talked about paying back money for a bet. A very substantial bet, and her insides knotted. “Turn it off,” she snapped and grabbed for the phone, but he pulled it out of her reach.

  Mike’s glassy light green eyes held hers, unblinking and he nodded. “Satisfied, princess?”

  “What do you want? I don’t have that type of money.”

  “Nice place. You got fire insurance?”

  “This isn’t my tattoo parlor,” she said, a red haze filling her vision as time slowed. First, her mom and now, her dad. Her dad? He’d always been solid…albeit a far removed solid presence nowadays.

  “You see that man out there?” Mike pointed toward the door and just beyond, where she noted the older man who stood just outside. He wore dark glasses and his hair was slicked back like he was a character directly off the set of the Sopranos. Mike lowered his voice. “He’s my partner on this line. See, I’m a nice guy. I work with people around here…up to a point. We’re well past that with your dad. So much so that Frank has garnered the attention of some other men in my business. People who don’t care about excuses. Sommer, a piece of good advice: square his debt and fast. These aren’t the type of guys that give a rat’s ass about him or you. Carlo wants to meet you.”

  “Me? This doesn’t involve me.”

  He kept his eyes trained on her in a tight, unwavering line. “You gonna tell that to him? Like I said, he doesn’t care. If you don’t go outside, he’ll come in here and Carlo doesn’t talk in hushed tones.”

  No way could she risk Rachel or her boss’s client hearing this. Sommer crossed her arms over her chest, walking from behind the counter and to the door. Mike held it open and followed her outside.

  “Sommer, say hello to Carlo,” Mike said, and for the first time, he spoke without his Texas twang. She did a double take prepared to go off on him for being a lowdown snake, but all her words crouched on the tip of her tongue, refusing to budge when Carlo pushed up his sunglasses.

  “Doll, have we got your attention?” Carlo laughed like this was a joke, but the fake mirth he flaunted didn’t reach his cement-colored eyes. No, his gaze coldly regarded her, and she dug her nails into her biceps to stymie the shiver that had released along her spine.

  “I don’t live with my dad. This doesn’t have anything to do with me.”

  His gaze held hers then lowered down her body before he sucked his teeth. “You’re his blood. I need to collect a debt, so that’s bullshit. Don’t matter whether you signed a note, you got an interest and that’s all that matters. Otherwise, what happens is on your head. So you’re right, you didn’t borrow the money, but in my world, you’re involved. To close this matter, I’m involving you. And sweetcakes, I always close a deal.”

  “You heard the man,” Mike said, taking hold of her arm, but she yanked her elbow free.

  “Don’t touch me,” she hissed.

  Mike inhaled, his chest rising and falling. “Okay, Carlo. I got this.”

  Carlo smiled like a hyena. “Kid, if you did…I wouldn’t be here.”

  “Meet me inside, Sommer.” Mike stared back at Carlo, his nostrils flaring, but he didn’t respond further.

  Carlo nodded to her and retorted, “I’ll wait here until you conclude your business.”

  She turned and grabbed the door handle, storming back inside with Mike following so close behind her that she felt his shadow and sped up, not wanting to be near to him.

  “So ya see, there’s a problem and it’s not going away,” he whispered.

  “You’re the problem,” she choked out and went back to standing behind the counter, not trusting herself to keep her hands down. Right now, she ached to take a swing at him—smack his smirking face. His fake accent. Everything he represented. “You’re nothing but a slimeball. Not even from around here.”

  “I’m not here to hurt you, Sommer.” Mike resorted to using his fake Texan drawl.

  Her mouth hung open and she gaped at him, unable to conceptualize the rash of lies Mike dealt in. “Then why are you here?” She immediately understood him. Some kind of disease that moved into a small community and worked over the residents, pretending to be their friends, garnering their trust, and all the while sucking them dry.

  “Shut your pretty mouth and pay attention. We’re not done, princess. Now, for the horse. You might not have the funds, but you’ve got a way to pay back this debt, big time. With that body, oh man.”

  She ceased breathing. “You’re crazy. I’m not going to bed with you…or him.”

  “Sommer, as inviting as that sounds, that won’t solve this issue,” he said dryly. “Although there are enough people who do repay debts with all sorts of bartering, but as you said, you’re not willing. Lucky for you, what I’m talking about is you and Rory.”

  “What about us? How is anything associated with Rory and I going to repay a loan?”

  “I’ve got a line going at the moment. On the lucky person to pop the… On who is going to… Shit,” he cursed, tugging on the bill of his cap.

  Morbidly strange to see Mike stumble on his words. Him being inarticulate made whatever proposition he was trying to fund, come off as untenable.

  “What are you trying to say?” she asked, all but clawing the counter top with her nails.

  He scratched two fingers down the side of his face. “I’m gonna just have to be blunt. The line is on who is going fuck your boyfriend first. The other line is on who is gonna fuck you first.”

  “That doesn’t even make any sense. Everyone would be betting on us together!”

  He stared across the counter at her and shook his head with a low chuckle. “Doll, that just ain’t holding up.”

  “Are you telling me, people in this town are betting on someone else?”

  “Remember it’s a two-way bet? And some are running it as blind.”

  “You allow people to bet on things blind?” She snapped.

  “When there isn’t much to bet on, sure. It’s the ultimate rush for some of these gamblers. High stakes. Easy cash. Lots buy in.”

  “I’m not even suggesting that I’d agree to any of this…but if I did, what do you think I’d be doing?”

  “Get Rory to break his word. I know if he hasn’t bedded you yet and has asked you to marry him, it’s because he’s made some screwball vow. All I want is for everyone to be happy.”

  Her face heated—burned hotter and hotter under his glowering perusal. “And what…I have sex with Rory, and then what?”

  “I’ll need proof. Video—”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Then a photograph. Something.”

  She looked down at the floor, and shook her head. Her leg muscles started to tremble and she was so certain any sec
ond, she was about to barf all over the counter. “Stop already. I don’t know if I can do that.”

  “This isn’t brain surgery. I’ll give you an hour to decide,” he remarked, pressing his lips together and pointed toward the door. “If I don’t hear from you, Carlo is going to go and deal with your old man.”

  “And just how am I supposed to get in touch with you?” She snapped.

  He took a card out of his shirt pocket and laid it on the counter, taping it. “Call me with your answer.”

  ALL around Sommer, the world seemed to be dissolving. Problems rained down, flooding her world. Sitting in her car, she picked up her phone and hit the icon for her Dad’s office, but his business answering machine picked up. It wasn’t yet five, but his office was closed. Her hand shook and she blinked, staring at his home telephone number. Her stepmom Gloria might answer and listen on the extension as she did whenever Sommer called. She tossed her phone onto the passenger seat and started her car’s engine.

  Driving out of the parking lot from work, she mentally screamed not once, but at least a hundred times. No freaking way would she consider doing something as underhanded as what Mike proposed. But she couldn’t stop the auto looping of that man’s very real threat. The look in his partner’s eyes was beyond cold; Carlo’s eyes were stark, calculating. Deadly.

  Daddy…how could you? She had to stop asking herself that question, since apparently he had. Dad wasn’t perfect and she wasn’t naïve or so she kept telling herself—all the way over to her father’s house. The neighborhood was unlike where she and Momma lived. A regular suburban gated community in Clarkesville, with a small pond on the right as she drove past the entrance.

  Since her father had remarried, she’d been invited twice. Once for Christmas and once on his birthday. But since his wife, Gloria and her children were part of another world…one that involved private schools, music recitals, and attending church on Wednesday nights and all day Sunday, she didn’t seem to fit within that scheme of things. She pulled up to the curb just beyond his house and parked, glancing around. On either side of the street, as far as she could see were tract houses. Nice manicured lawns, front porches with flowers, and two point five children, she imagined. The good old American dream. Drawing out her cell phone, she dialed Dad’s number.

  “Hello Sommer,” he said in that joyful tone whenever she called. “How’s my little girl?”

  “Daddy…” she fought the dip in her voice and coughed. “Dad, I’m outside.”

  Silence. Then she noticed the sheer curtains in the front windows move. “Well, honey. Come on inside.”

  “I’d rather you came outside. Please, it won’t take that long.”

  “Sommer, are you all right?”

  She gripped the phone, the stinging in her eyes threatening to turn into a stream of tears and if she started to cry, after this week, she’d doubt she stop anytime soon. “Yes,” she exhaled. “Fine.”

  “Coming right out. Sit tight.”

  The front door opened and her father stepped outside. Gloria was behind him, but remained in the doorway. Her gaze connected with her father’s—his glasses were taped and one of his eyes blackened—her chest squeezed so hard she gripped the steering wheel, unable to let go until he was almost to her car. The smile she wore felt more like a grimace pulling her facial muscles taut. She shifted her focus to Gloria, who gave a short wave before retreating back inside.

  Sommer opened her car door and stood, waiting. Then, as if her feet refused to stay still, she skittered to the sidewalk. “Daddy,” she said in a choked voice, opening her arms wide, and not caring about all the things she’d promised herself about holding it together on the ride over.

  “Sommer, my gosh,” he said as they hugged. The familiar scent of his spicy cologne filled her nostrils as tears welled in her eyes. He patted her back and laughed. “I can’t say you’ve grown, but you sure do look all grown up.”

  When they stepped back, she searched his face, and besides the purple bruise, a few scrapes, and his broken frames, she noticed more furrowed lines on his forehead, and that his eyes were bloodshot. That black eye had to be at least a couple of days old.

  “Dad, what happened?” she asked, unwilling to ignore his condition and her racing pulse.

  “Slipped on wet tile in the kitchen,” he replied without hesitation. “You’re old man isn’t as light on his feet as he once was.”

  Oh god! She didn’t know if what he said was some freaking coincidence or a bold-faced lie meant to shield her from the truth.

  “How are you?” she asked, not sure how to start. “I went by your office, but it was closed. New hours?”

  He waved his hand. “The economy has hit us hard. People don’t need an insurance agent when they can buy whatever they need online. But is that why you came… to talk about business?”

  “Dad, actually it is.”

  Her father’s eyes widened. “Oh Sommer, if you need a loan—”

  “That’s not why I came. A man stopped by the tattoo parlor and said you owed him money,” she said.

  “I’m taking care of that,” he replied. “Please, don’t mention this to Gloria.”

  “Never. But he said…the money needs to be repaid.”

  Her father ran his hand over his head. “Jesus. How did things get away from me?” he muttered. “Don’t talk to them. Sommer, it’s all a misunderstanding and I will deal with them.”

  “How?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “I’ll have to figure something out.”

  “Can’t you get a loan…from a bank?”

  Dad laughed. Short and gravelly. “No bank will loan me money. We owe too much and I was getting behind. I made a stupid mistake and tried to find a way out. Impossible to dig out of hole with more dirt falling inward.”

  “What will you do?” Sommer wrapped her arms around her middle and shuddered at the mention of a hole and dirt.

  “That’s for me to figure out.” He patted her shoulder. “Not your concern. How’s your mom?”

  “Better. She’s finally going out,” she said, brushing away a strand of her hair from her face.

  “I never stopped loving her. You do realize that…don’t you? I just couldn’t deal with running a business and her needs. I hope you know that.”

  “Daddy, just please don’t reach out to any more bookies. They’re going to ruin your life. My life. Everyone’s life we know.”

  “Sommer, these people are serious, but I can deal with them,” Dad shot back, then he stopped, his face growing even more ashen than before. He stared at her, unblinking, and the hairs on the back of her neck rose up. “Don’t repeat any of this to Gloria. She’d pack her bags and be gone like the wind.”

  Heat exploded between her shoulder blades. “How can you even suggest that after I called you out here to talk, alone?”

  Frank threw up his hands. “I didn’t mean you would on purpose. Only, she doesn’t do very well with finances. Doesn’t understand,” he said, pushing up his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

  CHAPTER 13

  HOLDING THE LEVEL to the kitchen wall inside his trailer, Rory marked the spot for the shelf. He lowered the level and grabbed the drill, screwing in a bracket.

  “That ought to do it,” Stephen said, flipping the breaker and the lights in the kitchen came on along with those down the hall. “Hey. You on auto pilot in there? You got lights, dude.” His brother poked his shoulder.

  Rory placed the drill on the counter, nodded and sighed, “Thanks.”

  Great. Caught again in La La Land. He’d been lost in his thoughts about Sommer and getting this place fit to live. Over the last three days, he’d heard from his brothers, father, and uncles about his lack of concentration on Evermore concerns as he poured his time and energy into his new home. “I’ll give Bran and Matt the thumbs up,” he remarked.

  He walked outside the trailer and whistled toward his other brothers out near the road. Matt nodded and called up to Brandon, who replaced t
he metal panel on the work box, and began climbing down from the power pole.

  “So much for waiting for the electric company to turn your power on,” Miller remarked, coming from down the hall. “Water’s running as well. Those lines are temporary until the builder buries them, but for now, you’re in business.”

  All his brothers were there to help. Thus far, he’d gotten his utilities hooked up without a hitch making the trailer habitable on short notice. Rory plugged in the refrigerator, enjoying the burst of cold air jetting across his sweat-drenched skin. “Now for the AC,” he replied, wiping his forehead with the back of his arm.

  “That unit will take all of us to move,” Stephen proposed, and handed him the screwdriver he’d used. His brother went over to the bag on the counter and lifted out a six-pack. “For later. Catch.”

  He tucked the screwdriver into his back pocket, then raised his hand and caught one of the beers Stephen lobbed. After setting the can on the shelf inside the refrigerator, he replied over his shoulder, “Let’s do it. I don’t need this place to be a sauna when Sommer comes over.”

  “Don’t think it matters. That girl’s been to places where there’s no AC or running water, if memory serves me correct.” Stephen tossed Rory the remaining cans, one by one, then picked up a pair of leather gloves.

  “Sommer’s coming over tonight?” Matt asked, as he came through the front door and chuckled. “Hell, I bet Rory will get the HVAC unit moved all by himself.”

  “What are you gonna do about furniture?” Miller remarked. “Not that you need any immediately.”

  “Got a bed on order,” Rory responded, lifting his brow.

  “Brother, of course you do…you’re a McLemore.” Matt clapped him on the back with a loud thud, and Rory bit back a retort, exchanging a sharp glance with Stephen.

  They all walked outside, encountering Brandon stowing the aluminum ladder in the back of his truck and veered toward Rory’s own truck.

  He lowered the tailgate and climbed inside the back along with Matt. The HVAC unit sat on a wooden pallet. “On three,” Rory said, wedging his boot into the corner of the truck bed.