Breaking A Bad Boy Read online

  The woman peered back at him, studying him for a beat. “Who wants to know?”

  “He worked for me last week. Just need to speak with him.” He clenched his jaw, imagining this woman had probably heard it all given the baseball bat she had propped up in the corner.

  “Hold on.” She looked down at a sheet of paper. “Room twelve. Straight down on this side.”

  “Much obliged,” he said and tipped his hat.

  The hotel room wasn’t far from the office, and more than a few doors down from Mike’s truck. He stood in front of the room and listened to the sound of a television along with some voices coming from inside. He rapped his knuckles on the door. Immediately it flew open as the head of man poked outward.

  The dude wasn’t Mike and he squinted up at Rory, barking, “You got the stuff?”

  A billowing cloud of smoke tumbled outward from the room, and Rory waved his hand in front of his face. “Mike around?”

  “You here with the stuff?” the dude repeated, this time stepping onto the walkway.

  “Naw. I’m here to talk with Mike,” he answered.

  “Gary, he’s not the one.” Mike appeared in the doorway, slapped the guy on the back, and chortled. “Stop worrying. Shit man, I said he’d be here, and he will.”

  “I ain’t worried.” When the other man cleared the threshold, disappearing back inside, Mike narrowed his eyes and focused on him “You want something, McLemore?”

  “Won’t discuss my business in the doorway. Either come out or I’ll find someone else.”

  Mike stared at him, possibly trying to weigh why he was there. He exhaled, then stepped outside and pulled the door closed. Bare-chested, Mike leaned against the doorframe, and sucked on a toothpick. “You want a line on some of the action? NASCAR is going strong. Or is this about that pretty little thing from the other night? Shame when your old lady isn’t giving it up for you. Still, you can probably pound some pussy anywhere in this town, am I right?”

  He was close to clocking Mike in the mouth, but he wasn’t going to resort to throwing a sucker punch. Hell no.

  Rory widened his stance, looking both ways, and spoke nice and slow. “Listen to me you low life cocksucker, I don’t know what the fuck you’re up to or why, but you say one thing about or to my girlfriend again, and I’ll knock all your crooked teeth down your fucking throat. On that front, I’m going to settle a score that scum like you should understand.” With that said Rory swung wide and sailed his fist into Mike’s face. Without waiting, he brought his left hook around, connecting a punch with Mike’s jaw. The sack of shit careened into the motel door and grabbed a hold of the knob. He twisted the handle in his hand, but it was locked. Not a shocker that no one inside offered to open it up.

  “Stop,” Mike grunted and keeled over, holding the side of his face.

  “Get up,” Rory growled, clenching his fists, more than prepared to trounce this asshole into tomorrow.

  “Shit, just wait,” Mike started to say, waving his hands, but the fucker lunged for Rory with a well-placed jab to his chin.

  “Son of a bitch,” Rory snarled, then retaliated, swinging and connecting with two hard hits into Mike’s torso. He shoved the dipshit hard enough to see him stumble backward. The prick knocked into 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 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 moron’s tooth had split open his knuckle.

  Blood trickled from Mike’s mouth, which 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 fucking talking?” Rory went after him again. Only this time, he didn’t stop with a few punches. He laid into Mike, slamming his fists into whatever part of that fucker’s body he could reach. He hammered Mike 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 women’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 bone tired, and took a seat at the table in between in 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,” Gillian 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. “She’s growing. Pretty as a flower.”

  “A sweet baby girl,” Matt said, clapping Rory on the shoulder and winking.

  “Come here, angel,” Stephen softened his voice, opening his arms. His brother’s whole face lit up when Gillian placed Chelsea in his Stephen’s grasp.

  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,” Gillian said, 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 all…every single one centered on Sommer. She is 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 said, getting up and going to the refrigerator. He came back with three beers, as Gillian 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.

  “Gill, Chels,” Brandon said, 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 Gill, 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 said, tossing a beer to Miller, then to Brandon.

  “Okay, boys,” Gill said, placing the pan of lasagna on the table, and then taking off 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 said. “I’ll be right back.” He rose from his seat with his daughter.

  “I can manage,” Gill said, looking up into 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.” B
randon raised an eyebrow and shook his head, popping open his beer. “The official countdown begins,” he murmured.

  “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 until the tenth.” 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 heck of lot better if Sommer were sitting next to him, though.

  “You ready?” he asked, already aware that Brandon was more than ready. He was the brother that Rory had the most contact with on a day-to-day basis. 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.

  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 Gill 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 again. 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 as Rory felt his body grow more and more tense. Miller didn’t begin talking, and the silence perpetuated, growing louder, if not deafening. He 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 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 stand 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 come out hoarse, he was that on edge.

  His brother nodded, 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 raced, 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 of black coffee 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 the words, shaking his head. “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.”

  He glanced down at the paper, then up again at Miller. “This here 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 good 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 find a way to help her without losing it…returning to that sleazy motel and fucking 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.

  “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.”

  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. “I only care about keeping Sommer safe,” he said roughly.

  “I know,” Miller replied. “An acquaintance of mine in the Marshall’s office 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 witness program.”

  “Do you mean some sort of 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 a hold of yourself.”

  “I’m in…control,” he said gruffly, lifting his hand and nodding. Oh holy fuck…he was so not. 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’s not part of this, nor needs to be. 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, a free agent. A low rung thug, who makes a living off of collecting on debts for all sorts of groups. Unlike Mike, whose real name isn’t M
ike 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.

  He shook his head. “Might be too late. I had a run in with him earlier today.”

  “How bad?” Miller asked, watching him 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 again as along as he stays away from Sommer.” His whole body vibrated with constricted rage and his desire to do something…but what now that he’d promised he stand down?

  “Fuck,” Matt growled. “Miller, how will 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 murmured 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. “How soon?” he asked.

  Miller sipped his drink. “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.”