24. Tristan
I keep waiting for the phone call.
The one wanting to know why I didn’t show up at the rendezvous point last night at eight. I know it’s coming. Guys like that don’t take kindly to being stood up. I’d know, because I’m the same way.
But fuck Danny Deschamps and his demands. My wife’s father was just murdered and left like trash in a grassy lot outside town. I wasn’t about to abandon her at a time like that, even if she did spend the rest of the day hiding in bed. I needed to stay close by in case she needed me, and even if she didn’t.
Not going to the meetup was a risk, but going knowing that there was a possibility I might not make it back was an even bigger one. And I just wasn’t willing to take it. Not last night, and maybe not ever, depending on what the Deschamps want from me.
If the Deschamps were behind Randall’s death, did they want the body to be found when it was? Or was that a coincidence? Regardless, they must realize that a murder this close to my family is going to make me cautious.
After working out the next morning, Alex, Finn and I drive over to the distillery. I have a nine o’clock meeting with the accounting firm to go over the results of their audit. Then I’ll check in on Scott and the rest of the management team to see how things are going.
I call my father on the way, filling him in on the latest. While dismayed at the news, he’s not all that surprised. Randall fucked around a little too much and finally found out, unfortunately.
“I don’t like this,” he says. “What if whoever killed Randall has their sights set on you or Evie?”
“I know,” I say grimly. “But we got this. I got a good team down here and Evie’s house is on gated property. Full security system.”
“You got guys watching the cameras?”
“Always.”
“What about the gate?”
“Four-hour shifts, 24/7.”
“Good, good. What about dogs?”
I wince. “Evie has two cats.”
“Cats,” he says derisively. “Nothing better than dogs when it comes to keeping your family safe, Tristan. Get a couple, train ‘em, and let ‘em roam the grounds.”
The thought has crossed my mind, but getting dogs down here always felt so domestic and permanent. Like I was settling into Savannah for good. But maybe it’s time to stop looking at it like that. Evie and I are permanent, no matter where we live, and I need for our home to be as secure as possible.
“That’s gonna take some convincing with Evie,” I hedge.
“Well, convince her,” says Dad. “Hold on, your mother wants to speak to you.”
“Hi, honey,” Mom says a second later. “I’m so sorry to hear about Randy, God rest his soul. Listen, I’m thinking about coming down tomorrow.”
“What?” I laugh incredulously, though nothing about her announcement is amusing. “Ma, no. It’s turning into a circus down here, and it’s way too dangerous. I was actually gonna try and send Evie up to you guys, but she won’t go.”
“Of course she won’t,” she says, her tone softening. “She wants to stay where she feels needed, you know? And she probably wants to be close to her dad even if he’s gone. I felt the same way when Pop died. ”
Pressing my lips between my teeth, I pull down the road leading to the distillery. “Has Dad told you anything about the situation down here?”
“He tells me everything,” she chides. “You know that.”
“And he’s okay with you coming down here? Knowing how hostile it’s getting?”
“We’re both coming,” Dad says, startling me when his voice joins hers.
“Not the tag team,” I groan. “You realize it’s creepy when you two do this, right?”
Dad talks over me. “I don’t want your mom to travel down there by herself, knowing what kind of fuckery is afoot. But Evie needs her—she needs family. Her parents are both gone now, and we’re all she’s got. It’s time for her to see how we take care of our own. And besides, you might need a little support, yourself. Lucky was thinking of flying down and surprising you, but …”
“But what?”
“Eh, he’s got a lot going on, too,” he says cryptically. Mom says something to him in the background.
“Is everything okay?” I ask. Lucky and I were just texting last night—he never mentioned anything.
“Yeah, yeah,” Dad says quickly. “He’s great. I gotta go, but listen—we’re gonna try and grab a morning flight tomorrow, all right? I’ll let you know when we’re boarding.”
A mixture of trepidation and gratitude settles in. I hate dragging them into the bullshit, but there’s nothing better than having family around. They’re equally capable and compassionate, in different ways, so I know they can take care of themselves … and us.
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Don’t mention it,” he says. “Take care.”
Alex looks at me from the driver’s seat with an expectant grin. “They’re coming down, huh?”
I snort. “They just can’t help themselves.”
We pull into Doyle Whiskey and park up front in Randall’s old spot. The lot is nearly full today, as it should be on a weekday morning. I’ve been keeping in touch with Scott, as well as the board of directors we’re putting together, and I feel good about how things are coming along. Grabbing the briefcase at my feet, I tuck my phone into my pocket and slide out of the Suburban. It’s a beautiful, crisp morning, the sky a cloudless blue as I make my way toward the front door with Alex and Finn.
The growl of an engine speeding into the lot shatters the quiet. Whirling around on instinct, I drop the briefcase and pull my Glock from beneath my jacket, Alex and Finn doing the same as a navy blue F150 pulls up behind the Suburban, blocking it in. Four men spill out,
the morning sun glinting off the metallic surface of their drawn guns.
“Kelly!” the one leading the charge calls.
My heart skips a beat as I hold my gun at my side, its familiar weight a comfort. “Cole.”
“Hey, there.” He strolls toward me, tapping his gun against his thigh. “What happened last night?”
“Stay the fuck back,” Alex snaps, stiffening.
I elbow his arm, the futility of the situation sinking in as more men emerge from a sedan parked nearby as well as a third vehicle across the lot. Ready and waiting, and we didn’t even see it coming.
Cole smiles pleasantly as he raises his gun and points it at Alex, then me. I return the favor—if I go down, he’s coming with me—and it’s like tipping over a row of dominoes. Alex and Finn take aim, as does every man on their side.
My stomach coils and my heartbeat triples, every thump reverberating against my eardrums as I stare at that muzzle. Sucking in a long, deep breath, I hold it for as long as possible, trying to slow the swell of panic rolling slowly in. I’m no stranger to the adrenaline-soaked sensation of self-defense, but I haven’t had a gun pointed at me since the night we retrieved Liam and Bria.
It's worse than I remember.
“I asked you a question, asshole,” Cole says.
I release my breath slowly, coming back to myself. “What? ”
“The meeting?” he asks, stopping about a foot away as his guys flank him. We’re completely surrounded. “With my dad? You didn’t show.”
“Sorry about that. Evie had just been told some upsetting news about her father,” I say carefully, watching closely for any sign he knows what I’m talking about. “It wasn’t a good time to leave her.”
“Letting your personal dramas interfere with business is a sign of weakness.” Cole stares back at me, eyes glittering coldly. “You’re lucky my father’s feeling generous.”
Finn, usually the calmest and most composed of us all, shifts from one foot to the other beside me. He’s a live wire right now, vibrating with anxious energy. Another layer of dread settles over me. Finn is Uncle Keegan’s only son and my responsibility. He’s always been about this life, just like his dad, but I don’t like that he’s in this situation because of me. My fingers tighten on the Glock, knowing he and Alex will back my play if it comes to that, but it won’t. We’re outnumbered, one bad choice away from being mowed down like grass.
“Let your father know I apologize.” Inhale, exhale. I wish he’d lower his fucking gun.
“You can tell him yourself,” he says, gesturing toward the truck. “He cleared his schedule this morning to talk to you.”
“My morning’s full,” I say, stalling. I don’t know why. Cole isn’t here to chat. “I can’t meet until?—”
“You think you have a choice, you arrogant fuck?” he says with an incredulous laugh. “Get in the truck!”
“Can you guarantee safe passage?” I ask.
“Nope.” He grins, clearly enjoying this.
“There are cameras all over the premises.” I motion to the parking lot, the building behind me. “People inside, waiting for us.”
“What’s your point?”
“My point is that if I disappear, people will notice.” I break our gaze long enough to eye each of the men at his side. “My family will notice.”
Cole’s face remains impassive, but he hesitates. Good. Finally, he shrugs. “I can’t speak for my father, but nothing will happen to you on the way there. Now get in and stop wasting my time.”
I lean over, keeping my eyes on Cole as I whisper to Alex. “I have to go with them. Don’t do anything. Just … wait here.”
“You can’t be serious,” he mutters, his aim unwavering .
“Call Dad and Lucky. Make sure Evie’s secure,” I add quickly. Squeezing Finn’s shoulder, I holster my gun and step forward.
“Come on, now.” Cole holds out his hand. “Give me that.”
I have no choice but to obey. The second my gun is in his hands, the others converge around us. Cole shoves me into the truck while his guys hold Alex and Finn off, and then we’re moving, speeding back down the long, tree-lined drive.
I’d expected a verbal assault once Cole had me in the truck’s cab, but he doesn’t say a word, content to keep his gun on his lap, pointing my way. In fact, except for the country station playing on low volume, everyone’s got their mouth shut. It’s a relief, though I can’t help but wonder if it’s the calm before the storm. I’ve kicked this guy’s ass, married the woman he wants, and stolen the distillery his family’s interested in. And now, on top of all that, I’ve ignored Daddy Deschamps’ request for a meeting. Cole has every reason to get violent, and now he’s got me just where he wants me.
It’s hard not to let my mind drift to dark places. I’ve been on the other side of scenarios like this, and they usually don’t end pretty. Without warning, my breathing becomes shallower and more difficult, my exhales offering no relief from the tension building inside me. I shut my eyes, trying to gather my scattered thoughts. Focus . I thought I was beyond this, the panic attacks and nightmares, thought that all those months of therapy—physical, mental, and everything in between—had prepared me to go back to this life but apparently, I’m still pretty screwed up.
But falling apart is not an option, not right now. Forcing my eyes open, I stare at the road ahead, completing circuits of box breathing … breathe in, hold, breathe out, hold … over and over until my body releases its death grip on my muscles and my heartbeat mellows to a normal pace. By the time we’ve entered downtown Savannah, my mind is clear. We weave through morning traffic, finally pulling up to the rear entrance of what looks to be a business or restaurant.
The driver cuts the engine, and we climb out of the truck. I follow Cole and one of his guys past a couple of rank dumpsters and in through a black door. We’re hit by a wave of noise, fragrant, humid air and the controlled chaos of a kitchen. Mama Avanelle’s . A couple of people deep in the throes of prep work nod or wave when they see Cole, and he’s at once the charming boss-man I saw the day I met him out front, but that disappears as we climb a staircase.
We step out onto the second floor, which is comprised of private rooms, the kind people rent for business lunches or birthdays. Cole brings me to one, knocks twice, and opens the door. Then, giving me a shove, he shuts the door again, leaving me alone with three older men.
“My, my, my. Tristan Kelly.” Danny Deschamps—I assume—rises from the table and swaggers over to shake my hand. He has the build of a boxer, and what he lacks in height he makes up for in breadth and, judging by the firm grip of his handshake, strength. “It’s about time. I’ve been hearing about you since the day you rolled into town.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Deschamps,” I say, even though it’s not.
“It is nice, isn’t it? We could’ve met earlier had you come last night.” He sits, crossing one leg over the other in a figure four. He has a full head of hair, more salt than pepper, and acne scars across his broad face. Cole’s more of a pretty-boy; he must take after his mother. “I waited for half an hour. What happened?”
Dropping into a nearby chair, I stare at him long and hard, searching for truth in his dark eyes. Does he really not know? “There was a death in the family.”
“Ah.” He dips his chin, his eyes never leaving mine. “My deepest condolences.”
I nod once. “Thank you.”
“I hear you’re quite the fighter, collecting medals and title belts like candy. I was a fighter in my day, too.” He winks, squeezing his bicep. “A boxer.”
“I can tell.”
“And I hear you come from a very impressive family,” he says. “Third generation Bostonians, IRA all the way, ey ?”
It’s not really any of his business, but I don’t want to be rude, so I shrug one shoulder and grace him with a coy smile. I’m fairly sure this is all just to prove he’s done his research, anyway.
Chuckling, he nods. “I can appreciate the discretion. Moving on. You’re probably wondering why I wanted to meet with you, why I went through such trouble to collect you today.”
“I did wonder that. ”
His eyes narrow just a bit. “You busted my son’s lip, didn’t you? Gave him a black eye?”
Did I? That would explain why Cole made himself scarce after our little skirmish. “It was in self-defense.”
“He bit off more than he could chew, eh?” He snorts, taking a sip of his drink. “He’s always been wild for the Doyle girl. Guess he wasn’t thinking straight.”
Is this why he hauled me in? To get revenge for the fight with Cole? And how’d he know that Evie was there, too? Did Cole tell him or did Danny find out another way? He definitely seems like the type who’d have eyes and ears all over the city.
“Is that what this is about?” I ask delicately.
“Yes and no.” He clasps his hands over his knee. “It seems you and yours have stumbled into something that belongs to me and mine. Now you’re new here, so I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt, but you need to know that I’ve had designs on Doyle Whiskey for a long time. We’re entitled to it, and I’ll tell you why. My great granddaddy was makin’ and sellin’ whiskey with Randall Doyle’s granddaddy during Prohibition, over a hundred years ago. They sold it out of basements, back alleys, and speakeasies all over this great state.”
“I had no idea,” I lie, intrigued to hear this from the horse’s mouth. It’s like history come to life.
“That distillery might’ve belonged to Doyle, but my family provided financial backing all through the twenties and thirties, even when they went legal again.”
“So, what changed?” I ask. “Why isn’t it Doyle and Deschamps Whiskey?”
“Long story,” he says with a smirk. “All you need to know is that it was a messy breakup then and it’s still messy now. That family has owed mine for years, you hear me? Years. Some reparations have been made, but not nearly enough.”
“I was under the impression that Randall himself owed you money,” I venture.
“He did, but those were new debts,” he says, crunching on a piece of ice. “As is our familial tradition, he came to me for help when he needed capital for repairs and a new business venture or whatnot, and I obliged. ”
“He and my father had a similar arrangement, one he did not honor,” I explain, though I suspect he knows already. “Hence, my presence in Savannah. I came to collect a debt, that’s all.”
“Seems you picked up a wife, too,” he says, corners of his mouth curling in a sly smile. “Was that part of the plan?”
“Evie was a bonus.”
He grunts, shaking some of the ice from his glass into his mouth. “Seems like more trouble than she’s worth, is what she is.”
It’s so fucking tiresome, the way people around here regard Evie. Like she’s a possession. An investment. “Evie and I have known each other for a long time, and I knew as soon as I saw her again that she was the one.” Not a total lie—forever might not have been on my mind when Evie and I reunited, but hooking up certainly was.
“That simple, huh?”
“When you know, you know.”
“Here’s the problem, Tristan,” he says with a sigh. “Randall had already promised that girl to us. To Cole. He has history with Evie, too. Betcha didn’t know that.”
“I did know that.” I clench my fists on my lap. “But with all due respect, Mr. Deschamps, Evie made her choice, and it was not Cole.”
Danny’s eyes flare. “ With all due respect , it was not her choice to make, son.”
“That’s where we disagree. You can’t make someone marry?—"
“Yes, I can. This ain’t about love,” he says with a scoff. “It’s about a plan that was put into motion before you kids were even alive. There’s a lot more at stake than Evie’s feelings—or even Cole’s, for that matter.”
“I get that joining your families would’ve given you access to the distillery, but?—”
“It would’ve done a helluva lot more than that,” he says. “Don’t think you understand it all, because you don’t. There was a lot riding on that marriage, and you fucked it up real good.”
“I apologize, but it was never my intention to get in the way.” At first, anyway. I came down here to make Randall Doyle pay up. That’s it. Evie was just collateral damage. Sweet, sexy, collateral damage that blew up my world in the best way. It’d be a lot easier if I had nothing but whiskey to worry about down here, but given the choice to go back and do things differently, I wouldn’t .
“Your intentions don’t matter much to me, son.” Danny leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “It's actions I'm interested in. Making things right.”
“How do you propose I do that?” I ask, my mind whirring with the possibilities of what he might suggest. “We won’t annul the marriage.”
“No, not an annulment,” he says slowly. “But there are other ways to make amends.”
Tired of dragging this out, I get to the point. “Listen, I’ve already discussed this with my father, and we’re willing to negotiate, starting with the warehouse on West Saint Julian Street. We know you want it back, so we’d be happy to sign it over.”
“That’s a damn good start,” he says, slapping his hand on the table.
“The deed will be in your hands by the end of the week,” I say. “I’ll have my lawyer draw a contract.”
A smile starts to form at the corners of Danny’s mouth, and it’s not one that I particularly like. “I said it was a good start. But if you think signing over a little bit of property gets you off the hook, you’re sorely mistaken.”
“What else do you want?” I ask warily, wishing he’d just spit it out already. “Money?”
“You were raised up in this line of work—you tell me.”
“What line of work, exactly?”
“Don’t do that,” he says, his voice dropping to a lower register that just reeks of violence. “I met with you today so we could negotiate, man to man, not so you could play games. Does your family not receive tributes from the businesses under your care?”
“Protection money,” I affirm. “You want a piece of that action.”
“There we go.” His restless fingers drum a staccato rhythm on the tabletop. “I’m thinking five percent of the distillery’s monthly intake. That’s what I offered Randall.”
My jaw clenches. I knew it was gonna come down to this. Evie had been so earnest, so sure it would fix things if we offered to pay the Deschamps off, but I knew they wouldn’t be satisfied with a little when they could fleece us for a lot.
It’s not the financial cut that bothers me—we could give them fifty percent and not even feel it. No, paying tribute is acknowledging Danny’s superiority over us, and while I can respect that this is his city— we’re just doing business in it—it really rubs me the wrong way. My grandfather, my father, Lucky and I—we’ve already paid our dues. We’ve earned the right not to kiss anybody’s ring.
I’m tempted to reject his proposition outright, to let him know how I really feel about his smarmy family’s attempts at getting us under their thumb, but this isn’t the time or place. I’m in Danny’s world right now, and it’s vital he thinks I’m playing by his rules. “And what do we get out of it?” I ask.
“You get to do business in peace,” he says. “Safety. Nobody will fuck with ya.”
Nobody but him, that is. We’d be safe from Savannah’s two-bit goons and wannabe gangsters, but we’d be Danny Deschamps’ bitch. And Cole’s, by extension. I’d rather have a root canal every day for a week. Still, I have to tread carefully. Thoughtfully. The man sitting across the table from me is a kingpin staking claim on his territory. This conversation isn’t a negotiation. It’s a warning.
“I’ll have to discuss this with my father,” I respond after a moment. “And my brother. He’s the boss, now.”
“You won’t get a fairer deal than this,” he says grimly. “You’ve had some gall, moving in without permission. I’ve shown a lot more restraint and respect than you deserve.”
“I appreciate it,” I say, unsettled by the reptilian glint in his eyes. I guess Cole is his father’s son, after all.
“You have three days.” Danny’s face hardens as he rises from the table. “After that, what happened to Randy will look like mercy.”
That’s as good as a confession. I push back from the table and stand as well. “So, it was you.”
“Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.” He gives an exaggerated shrug, eyes wide. “Three days, son.”
“Three days.”
Reaching for his phone, he taps out a quick text. “That’s my number. I’ll be expecting your call.”
My phone vibrates. Pulling it from my pocket, I see a text from an unknown number that reads simply ‘3’. Danny texts something else, and the door to the room opens. Cole walks in, eyes on me. “Let’s go.”
I start for the door, expecting him to lead me back downstairs. And he does, but not before swinging for my gut, knocking the wind out of me. A split-second later, he punches me in the cheek and then my eye, his fist colliding so viciously that for a second, the world shimmers, threatening to go dark. I manage to shove him back, bringing my fists up in a belated stance of defense, but Danny’s voice cuts in from right behind me.
“All right, all right, you got your licks in. We need him in one piece.” His friends chuckle as he claps a meaty paw on my shoulder as if we’re the best of friends. “Now take him home.”