Chapter 3 NOVA #2
Shelby had been testing a new cake recipe—strawberry with buttercream frosting—and I’d shoved an entire cupcake in my mouth the moment after the lie had passed my lips. The cake had kept the truth from slipping out.
The guilt of lying to my sister was gnawing at me already. But I’d tell her the truth when this was over. Two months would go by in a flash, and if I was lucky, I’d find evidence against the Tin Kings even sooner.
“Where are you staying?” Mom asked.
“A vacation rental.” It wasn’t the fanciest place in the world, but it would do for now. All I really needed was a bed, a table where I could set up a temporary office and high-speed internet. I hadn’t seen the place in person but based on the photos and description, it checked the required boxes.
I was meeting the host at six tonight. It was about time for me to head out if I was going to make it in time.
“I’d better get going,” I said, motioning to the flowers. “These are for TJ.”
She smiled and picked up the vase. “Thank you.”
It was Wednesday. Mom went to his grave every Wednesday.
Maybe someday, when this was over, we could get a new tombstone made for TJ. One with his real name.
Tucker Talbot Junior. Though he’d always been TJ, it would be nice to include his real name.
“Please be careful.” Mom closed the distance between us and wrapped her arms around me.
I was in heels today—every day—and they made me a few inches taller.
Otherwise, we were the same five nine. We had the same rich, brown hair and coffee-colored eyes.
TJ had taken after Mom too, with her high cheekbones, heart-shaped face and full lips.
Only Shelby resembled our dad. A fact that made her resent him more.
“I love you, Mom.” I hugged her tight.
“I love you too. If you go there again . . .” To prison. Mom struggled with that word.
“I’ll tell him you love him.”
“Thank you.” Mom would always love Tucker Talbot. For better or worse, he was the love of her life.
Mom held me for a long moment, then let me go and picked up the vase of roses. She buried her nose in the blooms and smiled. “It’s a pretty day to sit with your brother.”
“It sure is.” And it was a beautiful day to drive in Montana.
I walked her out, giving her one last hug before handing over the spare keys to my condo.
Lingering beside the door, I waited until she reversed out of the driveway before hustling through the house for one last check that the lights were off and the doors were locked.
Then I climbed in my car and hit the road.
The Nova soared down the interstate for the first half of my trip. I turned up the volume on the radio and let it soothe any fears that I was diving into the vipers’ pit.
I could do this.
I had to do this.
For Dad. For TJ. For Shelby. For Mom.
For me.
They’d stolen my father before he’d had a chance to become my father.
Dad had always promised Mom that when he quit the club, he’d move home.
They’d live a simple life like normal retirees.
Dad could be a grandfather to Christian.
And we could get to know him. Finally, after only glimpses of him in our life, we could become a real family.
That had seemed even more important after we’d lost TJ. Especially for Mom.
But it was just another dream lost.
I hated the Tin Kings for stealing that future. Almost as much as I hated them for stealing my brother’s life.
I could do this.
I had to do this.
For my family.
Halfway through my drive, I exited the interstate and navigated the two-lane highway that led to Clifton Forge. Once in town, my vacation rental host was waiting by the front door when I pulled into the driveway at six.
Assuming my role as June Johnson, the persona I’d perfected after thirty-two years, I smiled brightly and thanked him profusely for arranging the rental on such short notice.
I’d left Emmett’s bed on Monday and driven straight through the night for Missoula. Adrenaline and a huge cup of coffee had fueled the trip home. I’d crashed for a few hours, then woken for work yesterday. After arriving at the office, my first task had been to book a rental online.
My host handed over the keys after a brief tour, then left me alone to settle in.
Unloading the car took three trips and unpacking took just an hour.
I killed the next ninety minutes by checking emails and social media on my phone.
Finally, when the clock ticked past eight, I swiped on a fresh coat of lipstick, combed my hair and headed out the door.
The Nova purred as I rolled down the streets of Clifton Forge. It took exactly seven minutes to reach The Betsy. And a shiny black Harley was parked outside the bar’s door.
Emmett’s Harley.
I smiled. Finding him here was better than having to call his number.
I slid out of the car and smoothed down my dress.
It was a favorite, the design simple. The straps were thicker than those Emmett had shredded from my lace top.
It was the color of sunflowers in bloom and the fabric skimmed my curves.
The square neckline plunged low to reveal a hint of cleavage—just enough to draw attention.
And then there were my heels, a strappy pair I couldn’t wait to sink into the dimples above Emmett’s squeezable ass.
It had been surprisingly easy to sleep with him.
Some night, years from now, I’d take the time to dissect my plan and the ease with which I’d orgasmed beneath his touch.
Some night, I’d let myself replay it from different angles and wonder if there had been a different way to gain entry into his life besides using my body.
Some night, I’d likely feel guilty and ashamed that vengeance and cold, calculating anger had pushed me this far.
Those worries were for some other night.
Tonight, I was marching into the bar wearing my favorite pair of two-thousand-dollar heels.
The Betsy smelled like beer and sweat and a gallon of industrial cleaner that would never erase the stale scent of cigarettes. It was even busier than it had been on Monday night. The tables were full of people who’d come for one drink after work but had stayed for four or five.
A country hit blared from the jukebox. The thunk of balls sinking into pockets at the pool table cut through the music but I didn’t glance in that direction. I walked straight to the bar, slow and steady, then slid into a stool dead center. I chose one with an empty seat at my side.
The bartender walked over, bracing his hands on the bar and giving me a lazy grin. “Martini, right?”
I touched my temple. “You remember.”
“You’re hard to forget.” His eyes flicked over my shoulder and his grin faltered. I didn’t need to turn to know who was standing behind me.
Emmett took the empty seat, his movements deliberate and fluid, especially for a man of his size. He stood at least six four. Maybe six five. I’d always had a thing for tall men. Add in the longer hair and short beard, he was rugged sex appeal with that bad-boy edge.
His body was honed for pleasure and sin.
He exuded confidence and control. His ego didn’t need the boost so I’d be keeping it to myself, but he was the only man who’d ever made me orgasm.
I’d even tried to fight it. But Emmett had a talented cock and wicked fingers, both of which he knew how to use.
My vibrator was in Missoula, safely tucked into the drawer of my nightstand, because I wasn’t going to need it in Clifton Forge.
He was the type of man I didn’t let myself date because June went out with clean-cut businessmen. Men like those were seated throughout the room, the ones who’d shed their suit coats and tried their best not to blatantly stare at my ass as I’d crossed to the bar.
Emmett had most definitely been staring at my ass and he wasn’t the kind of man to hide it. I liked that.
He leaned forward, elbows on the bar, jerking up his chin at the bartender in a silent command to get lost. I liked that too.
Maybe I liked the entire package just a little too much. But again, that was a worry for some other night.
“Why the queen, Ace?” I asked.
“Ace?” He looked over and the corner of his delicious mouth turned up.
I dragged a fingernail over the forearm that rested between us, pressing hard enough to leave a white streak in the ink on his skin.
The tattoo I touched was of two cards. A queen. And an ace.
There’d be no calling him Emmett, not only because he didn’t know I knew his name but because names meant attachment. Names were personal. And for my own sanity, keeping some boundaries was necessary.
Ace was the perfect nickname. There was no way in hell I was calling him babe or sweetie or honey. Besides, Ace fit.
“Why the queen and not a king?” I asked again, raising my gaze.
His pretty brown eyes were waiting. They were lighter than mine, most people’s were, the color of toffee and chocolate swirls. Maybe the prettiest eyes I’d ever seen.
“It’s from something my father said.”
His father. Neal Stone.
A murderer.
“He told me that a king was nothing without his queen. That the two most important cards in a deck were the ace and the queen. You want the ace up your sleeve. And you need the queen at your back because women fight dirty.”
A smile stretched across my face and I couldn’t help but laugh. I’d laughed on Monday night, too, after I’d forced myself out of his bed. It was a laugh that said he had no idea what he was getting into.
Maybe neither of us did.
“Did you want a drink?” Emmett asked, bending low enough for me to catch a whiff of his spicy scent. “Or should we skip it?”
“Do you really think I came here for their cocktails?”
He grinned, then stood from his stool.
I did the same, following him to his house and smiling the entire way.
The ace and the queen.
Oh, yes. Women fought dirty, especially this one.
The queen who’d shove her knife into his back.