37. Ford #2
Scratching his jaw, Jagger murmurs, “Yeah. Yeah, I kind of do. We already know he, or at least someone he’s connected with, knows how to infiltrate our system after stealing the footage of Violet at the haunted house earlier this year.
Now our surveillance goes out, covering whoever started the fire?
” He shakes his head. “It’s almost too perfect. ”
Perfect. Bullshit. Toe-mae-toe, toe-mah-toe.
My blood boils at the thought of anyone in this room complimenting that asshat’s plan.
I squeeze my hands into fists. Yeah, Morgan might be behind this shit, but I sure as hell am going to enjoy setting his life on fire the same way he did with our house.
Only this time, I’ll make sure the entire thing burns to the ground.
Feeling someone’s stare, I glance up, finding Roman watching me. As if he can read my thoughts, Roman says, “We can’t retaliate until we have solid proof.”
“Fuck solid proof,” I seethe. “I don’t need a whiteboard to know two plus two makes four.”
“For now, we still don’t even know what numbers we’re working with,” Jagger reminds me.
“You’re saying you really don’t know Morgan’s behind this?” I shove myself to my feet. “Why else would Lexie invite Violet and June to work with her?”
Hawke meets me halfway. “You don’t know if she was behind this.”
“How many nights does Lexie work a week, Hawke?” I toss back at him. “Why tonight? You can’t think it’s a coincidence—”
“You. Don’t. Know,” he grits out.
The floor creaks as Uncle Judge stands behind his desk.
His closed fists press against the top, and his glare burns a hole in my periphery.
“Boys.” There’s a warning in his tone. One that’s sharp and brooks no argument.
If I had to guess, it’s the side Daddy Dearest was hoping would make an appearance when he blackmailed Uncle Judge to come back to Harden Heights and put us in our places.
Funny. It’s the first time I’ve really seen it.
“Now is not the fucking time to turn on each other. Do you hear me?”
Hawke pulls away first, giving us some breathing room as he moves toward the massive window and looks outside.
It’s dark. But even if it wasn’t, there wouldn’t be a soul in sight.
Uncle Judge is staying in one of the family homes.
Daddy Dearest inherited three from their father before he kicked the bucket a solid decade ago.
It was for the best. He was kind of a dick.
Like father, like son. Uncle Judge was written out of his family’s will after forming his band instead of becoming a real estate mogul like his father.
The reminder is almost enough to distract me from the shit-show we’re drowning in.
“Now, I do not know whether or not Lexie is involved in what happened tonight,” Judge continues. “But I will tell you that her uncle is not someone you fuck with.”
“We know,” I groan. “You’ve told us this a hundred times since you came back to town—”
“And I’ll say it ‘til I’m blue in the face if it’ll get you to listen,” Judge returns.
“Why should we?” I ask. “Okay, you’re not Daddy Dearest’s henchman anymore. So what?”
“Ford,” Jagger warns.
I barely glance his way, choosing to stare at our uncle instead. “Tell us what happened between you and Gus, or I walk.”
“Me, too,” Hawke decides.
Look at us, putting aside our differences and getting along.
It’s a modern-day miracle. My mouth twitches at the thought, but I keep the sentiment to myself, refusing to shift the limelight from Uncle Judge.
Besides, this conversation is long past due.
I know it, and so does everyone else in this room.
Uncle Judge’s attention shifts to Jagger. “You haven’t told them?”
What the hell? We don’t keep anything from each other. Or at least, I thought we didn’t. Apparently, this conversation is only long past due for some of us. My molars nearly crack as I glare at Jagger. “Floor’s all yours, big brother.”
Jagger shakes his head. “I figured it wasn’t my place.”
“Of course, it wasn’t,” I all but sneer. “Anything else you want to own up to? Ya know, since apparently we don’t share shit with each other—”
“I’m not keeping anything else from you,” Jagger starts.
“Just Uncle Judge’s biggest secret.”
Jagger’s upper lip curls. “It wasn’t my place.”
I scoff. “Because that’s stopped you before.”
“Both of you, stop it,” Uncle Judge orders. “My buddy, Rudy, and I borrowed money from Gus, all right? We did it to start IndieCent Vows. Then, one night, at The Pelican, we thought we were safe. We thought we were in Harden territory. And there was a bar fight.”
“We know this part of the story, too.” I scrub my hand over my face, more annoyed than I probably should be, but it is what it is. “You ran your mouth, got into a bar fight, and Rudy accidentally hit his head—”
“Just like how your house accidentally caught on fire,” he returns.
I drop my hand from my face and give him a sharp look.
“So, what are you saying?” Roman asks. “It was murder?”
Hawke frowns. “From what we were told, he hit his head.”
With a sigh, Judge rounds the edge of his desk, then leans his hip against it and crosses one ankle over the other as his fingers grip the solid wood on either side of him.
“Yeah. With a brick wall. Over and over again.” He swallows thickly.
“So much so, he was unrecognizable as I was held back, forced to watch the entire thing.”
His words hit like a punch to the gut, and I stagger toward one of the armchairs, collapsing into it.
So, not a bar fight. Holy shit. Is he telling the truth?
Was Rudy murdered? Right in front of him?
My chest expands, and my hands tighten into fists as I imagine it.
Being held against my will while forced to watch any of my brothers be beaten to death.
We always knew Gus wasn’t someone to be trifled with, but murder?
And not the cut your brakes so it looks like an accident kind, but cold-blooded, undeniable, we’re so untouchable we could pull the trigger in front of an entire town, and no one calls you out, kind of murder?
That’s a different beast. I know it, and my brothers know it, too.
Fuck.
“It’s different,” Jagger pushes. “We have an agreement—”
Uncle Judge’s humorless laugh cuts him off. “You think we didn’t?”
“You borrowed money,” Jagger argues.
Uncle Judge’s eyes thin. “And you’re threatening his nephew.”
My gut twists. He’s right. We might not have started this shit, but we are willing to end it.
Judge, my father, they warned us we were biting off more than we could chew when we began talking to Gus, but we had no idea he’d take things so far.
But what does this change? We’re already in.
Hook, line, and sinker. And we sure as hell can’t back out now.
“Here’s the thing, Unc,” Jagger decides. “We’re not going to sit back and let Morgan threaten us, let alone try to burn down our house—”
“While simultaneously fucking with our futures,” I add. “If we’re pinned for this, and it comes out as insurance fraud, we can kiss our seats on the board goodbye.”
“If we submit a claim,” Hawke says.
Yeah, that would make things a hell of a lot easier, wouldn’t it?
“Pretty sure Cobie already submitted the claim when we were at the house,” I grit out. Dammit! How had I not pieced this shit together before she offered to call them?
Defeated, Hawke’s head rolls on his shoulders. “Shit, you serious?”
“When I pulled up to the house, I saw her on the phone with them,” Roman confirms.
“So we can kiss our seats on the board goodbye,” I repeat.
Jagger hesitates, and I feel like I can see the wheels turning in his head. “Technically, Titas’s name is on the insurance. He’d be the one on the hook for fraud.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Which means we just gifted him free blackmail for life.”
Fan-fucking-tastic.
“Dad’s gonna love that,” Jagger mutters.
He’ll never let us live it down, and whatever side gig we’ve built over the last year on campus would turn into our only option.
There would be no exit strategy. No future.
No honest income. We can say what we want about Harden Nights and taking a few bets here and there, but it was never long-term.
Never something we wanted to continue after graduation. So, where does that leave us?
“Take a step back,” Roman urges. “Right now, we need to focus on what happened to your house.”
Look at Rome being the voice of reason.
“Rome’s right,” Jagger says. “Let’s take Lexie out of the picture for a minute.
Even if she had nothing to do with it, Morgan could’ve still seen an opportunity when we all walked into The Body Shop.
And if we’ve learned anything about Morgan, it’s that he has no issue capitalizing on opportunities. ”
“Unless it comes to him sharing the haunted house video,” I reply. “Then he keeps it tucked in his back pocket for a rainy day.”
“If he was planning to set our house on fire, maybe he didn’t need the video,” Roman argues.
The bastard makes a good point. Besides, I actually like Lexie. She’s kind of a pain in the ass, but overall, she’s not half bad, and if anyone is sympathetic to the shit-hand people are dealt, it’s me.
Folding my arms, I ask, “So, what do we do?”
“We need proof,” Roman says. “If we go after Gus’s nephew without it, we’re fucked.”
Jagger snaps his fingers at Rome. “See if your brother knows anything.”
Roman nods. “I’ll have him ask his contacts.”
“Thank you.”
“And speaking of numbers,” I interject. “Anyone want to guess how much the renovation will cost?”
“Depends,” Hawke returns. “Is Positive Pete talking or Negative Nathan?”
My mouth lifts. It’s as much of an olive branch as I’m going to get after calling his pet a traitor. “Let’s just go with a lot.”