37. Ford #3
“Figured as much.” Jagger looks down at his cell and shakes his head.
I don’t have to see it to know what he’s looking at.
He’s going through the images he took at the house.
The rubbled siding. The charred grass outside.
“Can’t believe that asshole started a fire all because we kicked him out of a Harden Night. ”
“Definitely a dick move,” Hawke agrees. He rubs at his jaw as if replaying the interaction. “If I’d known he’d pull something like this, I would’ve kicked the shit out of him before tossing him out on his ass.”
Honestly, I’m surprised Hawke restrained himself at all.
After what he said about June at the auction, I’m determined to keep my distance because the next time he’s within arm’s reach, I’ll beat the shit out of him.
Knowing he’s related to Lex? It’s gotta be killing Hawke.
Not that he and Lexie are a thing. Honestly, I’m not sure anyone is his cup of tea after what his ex did to him, let alone a stripper from The Drift, but what do I know?
Regardless, now that Ethan has officially fucked with us, it’s time we return the favor…wisely. “We should put together another night,” I announce.
“Have you not heard anything I’ve said?” Uncle Judge pushes. He isn’t angry. He’s…exasperated. I’d find it comical under any other circumstance.
“Have you not heard anything we’ve said?” I counter. “We’re not backing down, Unc. We’ll be smart, but we aren’t gonna run.”
“You’re not invincible,” he warns, looking around the room. “None of you are.”
“We know,” Jagger tells him.
Uncle Judge clears his throat and pushes away from his desk. “If your father asks, I didn’t hear anything.” His biker boots scuff against the hardwood floor as he walks out of the room and closes the door behind him.
When we’re officially alone, Roman questions, “You sure it’s a good idea? Another Harden Night?”
“We need the money, anyway,” I remind them.
“Might as well multitask and hit our issues from multiple angles. Hosting a Harden Night would show we aren’t scared of Morgan’s bullshit and what he may or may not have done tonight.
It also hits him where it hurts because every night customers are with us is a night he can’t cash in on them.
” I motion to the photo of the still-smoking building on Jagger’s phone.
“And, on the off-chance we’re all wrong, and Cobie wasn’t on the phone with our insurance company, it’ll also help put a dent in the funds needed to repair our place. ”
Damn, I’m good. I fight the urge to pat myself on the back for my brilliance. Because yeah, we might feel like we’re fucked, but we have options. We still have playable cards. Why the hell would we fold now?
Roman glances at Jagger and waits.
With his arms folded across his chest, Hawke sighs and turns to Jagger, too. “What do you say, big brother?”
Jagger sighs. Turning off his phone’s screen, he studies me.
I know he’s on the fence. I know he’s considering our uncle’s stance on the situation, along with our own priorities.
Ever the weigher of pros and cons, my big brother.
Question is…does he trust me? Does he trust us?
He should. Any of us would take a bullet for the other.
And sure, we might be vulnerable when we’re on our own, but when we stand together? We’re unbreakable.
“What do you have in mind, Ford?” Jagger finally asks.
I hesitate. We just had a Harden Night, and it’s not like they’re easy to prepare. They take time and planning and money. None of which is an easy commodity at the moment. But like I already told Uncle Judge, neither is the option of backing down.
“Let’s do another race night,” I decide. “It’s easy to throw together, brings in a pretty penny, and gives us two entries to win the pot instead of only one.” I turn to Roman. “You in?”
Rome nods. “Always.”
“What do you say, Jag?” I ask.
Standing, Jagger stretches his arms over his head like sitting on his ass for too long was bad for his back.
Old man.
“All right, baby brother. Make it happen.”
“You can count on it.”
“You,” Jagger adds, speaking to Hawke, “see if you can track down the missing footage from tonight. Maybe the cameras weren’t off.
Maybe they were only made to look off. Just a hunch, but if that’s the case, I’d say it’s probably with the haunted house footage.
And you,” he addresses Roman, “like I said, talk to Rafe and see if any of his Drifter contacts know anything about Morgan’s whereabouts earlier tonight.
If we can poke a hole in his alibi, it’ll make things with Gus easier in the long run. ”
“And don’t forget to ask Gus if we can use the abandoned airfield,” I add. “I could do it, but—”
“But you’ll probably get jumped for running your mouth,” Hawke points out.
He’s right. After the bullshit move Morgan most likely pulled tonight, combined with my lack of filter, I probably would.
“I’ll take care of it,” Roman says.
“And I’ll look into our security,” Hawke adds.
“And I’ll get the ball rolling on the car race and see if I can find any new contenders who’d be interested in participating,” I announce.
“Sounds like we have a solid game plan,” Jagger notes.
“Hell yeah, we do,” I return.
Roman nods, then Hawke and I do the same.
Part of me feels like we’re starring in a sports movie and are ready to put our hands in a circle and yell, “break!” Instead, Roman turns on his heel, then Hawke steps back, each of them following Uncle Judge into the main part of his house until it’s only me and Jag in the office.
“How pissed do you think he’s going to be?” I ask, referring to our sperm donor.
Jagger tucks his hands in his pockets. “We’ll fight that shit-storm when we get there.”
He’s right. We will. Because we have no choice.
“Any chance you wanna brawl for thirty before you start sending out invites?” he adds. “I’m sure Judge has a gym around here somewhere.”
“Need the stress relief?” I volley.
With a nod, he rotates his shoulders as if the idea of beating the shit out of someone is so close he can feel it.
“Fighting and fucking, huh, big brother?” I jest. “Oh, wait, I forget. You and Violet don’t fuck, you just make love.”
His mouth lifts, and he gives me the side-eye. “Speaking of relationships, how are you and June, anyway?”
The bastard knows me too well. That the R-word has a way of making me want to shove my head in a microwave.
Or at least, it usually does. With June, I still want to shove my head in the microwave, but closing the door and pushing start?
I don’t know. And that little beat of hesitation?
That’s what really messes with me. I like June.
I do. I like her more than I should. I think about her all the time, and after finally being inside her?
Fuck, I don’t even know what to think about the whole thing.
But just because I can feel my hesitation doesn’t mean Jagger should be privy to it as well.
“On the fucking side?” I quip. “Fan-fucking-tastic.”
“And on the making love side?” he challenges, though I don’t miss the mirth dancing in his coal-black eyes.
My lungs squeeze, but I paste on a fake-ass smirk. “I think I’ll leave the lovey shit to you.”
“Does June know that?”
An image of June beneath me pops into my head, her pretty pink lips parted as I push into her over and over again before we both fall asleep in my room, her hair sprawled out on my pillow.
It isn’t real. We’ve never had sex in my bed, and I’ve never been a fan of sleepovers.
But with June, the scenario doesn’t make me want to crawl out of my own skin.
Honestly, it feels like it would be pretty easy.
I shake away the thought and sigh. “Gonna have to call Vi to work out your stress,” I tell him. “For now, I gotta plan a Harden Night.”