• Ten •
· Ten ·
“When it comes to the Shephard brothers, it’s Thatcher who gets the pussies wet.”
Storm
“Jameson got arrested for assaulting a security guard,” Sebastian said as he walked into the lounge room in the Shephards’ stables.
I set the glass of whiskey I had been drinking down and looked over at him. “Are you serious?”
He nodded, grinning. “Very. I’m sure he’s already out on bail, but he’s gonna have to go to court over it. Guess what security guard it was.”
I inhaled sharply through my nose. “The one at Briar’s former apartment building.”
He nodded. “Yep. Security footage showed him losing his shit when he was told she no longer lived there. Damn, that’s funny.”
I took a drink. Maybe I’d find humor in it if King wasn’t hell-bent on tracking her down. Roger was dead. She wasn’t lying about killing him. Why couldn’t he let it go? If Rumor knew he was still tracking her, she’d be pissed. And I wanted to not have to hear Briar Landry’s name so I could stop thinking about her.
King stalked into the room, looking more relaxed than the last time I’d spoken to him. Maybe he’d decided to let it go after all. Or he’d just fucked Rumor and he was relaxed and sated.
“You’re in a better mood,” I pointed out.
He opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. “It’s a good day. The jockey we got riding Bloodline is a hell of a lot better on him than Carmen was at Preakness,” he said, then took a long drink from the water in his hand.
“Yeah, I saw him out this morning. Small guy, but that always makes for a good jockey,” Sebastian said.
“It’s a her,” King said. “Young too. But, damn, she can ride. Even better that she’s a local. That shit never happens. Fantastic jockey who isn’t full of herself, and we don’t have to fly her ass around. Anyway, I’m done for the day here. Going home to my girls.”
He hadn’t mentioned Briar, which seemed odd, and I should be fucking thankful. Maybe her name would stop popping up around here, and I could get that face of hers out of my head.
“Letting the Briar thing go, huh?” It just came out of my mouth before I could stop it. I was supposed to be getting her out of my head, not asking about her.
He took another drink, then shook his head. “Not until I am positive the bastard is dead. Huck sent one of his guys out and tracked her down. Found her at a hotel in Tampa and got a tracker put on her new car.”
I frowned. “How did they track her that fast?”
“They asked the car dealership where her Jeep was and about the woman who had traded it in and what car she’d bought. Then, they started in Leesburg, like you’d said, and headed south until they saw the car and followed it to a Hilton in Tampa.”
None of this surprised me. If I had taken a moment to think about it, I’d have figured it out.
“She’s traveling with a girl though. Young teenager from what Huck’s guys said. It sounds fucking sketchy, which leads me to believe she lied about something, and if it’s Roger, I will be the first to know.” King headed for the door. “Check on the jockey in a bit, yeah, Sebastian?” he asked.
“On it,” he called out with a salute.
I finished off my whiskey, trying to figure out why she had a teenage girl with her. Not that this mattered to me, but I was fucking curious. King was right. Something was definitely off. Didn’t add up.
“Your wheels are turning. You got that look on your face,” Sebastian said, breaking into my thoughts.
I shrugged. “Nothing important.”
“Bullshit.”
I shot him an annoyed glance before taking my phone out of my pocket to check the last few texts I’d ignored.
“The fucking hot redhead has gotten under your skin. King is trying to find a man who is dead by tracking her, but you, you’re hoping she’s not what she appears to be. Admit it.”
I didn’t look up from my text. Two were from women I could use to get the edge off. Neither were redheads though, and right now, I was thinking that might be what it took.
“She did call you the hot one,” he said.
Why had Thatcher told him that? Yeah, she’d called me hot more than once, and maybe I liked it, but that was it.
“Because I am,” I replied.
Sebastian chuckled. “King’s the hot one, but now that he’s married off and a daddy, I’m gonna have to say I get that title now.”
“Keep dreaming,” I drawled. “When it comes to the Shephard brothers, it’s Thatcher who gets the pussies wet.”
“Sure, the fucked-up ones with daddy issues. They’re into psychos.”
“They all got daddy issues,” I told him, barely glancing up in his direction. “Learn to slap an ass until it’s red and how to call them ugly names, then you might be competition for your big brother.”
He sighed. “There is so much truth to that, that I won’t argue.”
With a smirk, I sent a text to Laurel. She was a strawberry-blonde who served drinks at the strip club we went to in Atlanta regularly. Close enough to red. It wasn’t the dark copper of Briar’s hair, but in the dark, that didn’t really matter. I headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” Sebastian called out.
“To get my dick sucked.”
“Wait up! You headed to the club?”
“Yeah,” I replied, not stopping.
“Let me check on the new jockey, and I’ll go with you.”
“Hurry,” I shot back as I stopped at my leather jacket I’d left hanging on the hook and took out my pack of Reds before heading to the truck outside.
I’d get my fill of tits and ass while sinking my dick in a couple of mouths and pussies. This Briar Landry shit in my head would be forgotten by the time the sun came up tomorrow.
Lighting up the cigarette I’d stuck between my lips, I waited for Sebastian to talk to the jockey. He needed to speed this shit up. I wasn’t in the mood to get stuck in rush-hour traffic. Leaning against the truck, I crossed my ankles and inhaled deeply. If only this took the edge off like it once had. Now, it was only a habit.
Sebastian tilted his head, and I could see a smile curl his lips. He was fucking flirting. Shaking my head, I finished the cigarette, then tossed it down before covering it with my boot.
Looking back out at Sebastian, I lifted my hands up and yelled, “You coming or not?”
He turned his head and looked over my way, then nodded.
Rolling my eyes, I jerked open the truck door and climbed inside. Sebastian and his Casanova ways were entertaining at times, but right now, I was ready to go. He loved charming a female almost as much as he loved fucking them. They always fell for his clean-cut look, love of books, how he could quote lines from literature, his expensive sports cars, and how he gave them his complete attention. Knowing the bastard was just trying to fuck them.
He said his goodbyes to the jockey and jogged toward the truck. She must not be pretty enough to keep his attention if he still wanted to go to the club. Rolling down the window, I lit up another cigarette as he climbed in the passenger seat.
“Not gonna fuck that one, huh?” I asked.
He shrugged. “No, not that one. She’s not worth pissing Dad off.”
I nodded. Smart. If she was that good with Bloodline that King was impressed, then Sebastian fucking her and tossing her would end up with us losing a jockey. It wouldn’t be the first time it had happened.
“Is she hot enough to get Thatcher’s attention? Because he won’t give a rat’s ass about pissing off your dad.”
Sebastian chuckled. “Not Capri. He’d never go there. She’s not his type.”
Now, he had my attention.
“You know her?”
He shrugged. “Not really. She’s our age, and she grew up in town, but she was homeschooled. Her dad is the minister at the Methodist church. I dated a friend of hers once years ago. Anyway, she’s the religious sort. She does volunteer work, sings at her church in the choir and shit. Real sweet though.”
I grinned and took another pull from the cigarette. He was right. Thatcher and his demons wouldn’t get anywhere near her. She’d try to pray for his soul or some shit. The idea was funny though.