Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 130673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 653(@200wpm)___ 523(@250wpm)___ 436(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 653(@200wpm)___ 523(@250wpm)___ 436(@300wpm)
“He’s shadier than the Mariana Trench at midnight. Dangerous too—I’m talking underworld stuff. And you know what it’s like. When shit hits the fan, everyone in close proximity gets dirty.”
I’d always suspected as much about Tate. His suits were clean-cut, but I saw the ruthlessness lying underneath them. However, I found his expertise and balls of steel valuable to my endeavors. And it had to be said: he had yet to let me down.
“Thanks for the heads-up. So? Will you sign the contract?”
Bruce pressed his lips together, gave me a puzzling look. “Do you love this woman?” he asked.
What does that have to do with anything?
“Lil Miss,” he clarified. “Are you going to be a family man and treat her and her daughter right? Keep your nose clean and your ass outta trouble? Not run off with my money and resources to seek refuge on a Bahamian island?”
I took my turn to raise my shotgun. I leaned into my shot, focused on my target, and slowly pulled the trigger. The cap danced in the air before falling to the ground.
“Yes,” I lied. “I love her.”
I’d told more brazen lies in my lifetime.
I didn’t love Dylan.
But there was no point in denying it: she was no longer just Row’s annoying, albeit hot, little sis.
These days, I found pieces of her everywhere. On the radio in my car when a Taylor Swift song was on. In tired, happy moms chasing after their kids in the park. In the scent of garlic and tomato wafting out of the Italian restaurant across from my dry cleaner.
“Why do you give a shit about my personal life?” I growled.
Bruce ran his knuckles over his white stubble, ill-contained rage thinning his lips. “The one and only time I entered into a business relationship with a young, single man, it blew up in my face.” He gave me a sidelong glance that dug into my conscience, like he was talking about me.
“Explain,” I instructed, watching him reposition himself to take a shot. This time, he did good.
“I’m talking about Blackthorn,” he barked out.
“Tate never mentioned you two worked together.”
Then again, how much did I really know Tatum Blackthorn? How much did anyone? He always felt like an extension of the three of us—me, Row, and Kieran—never fully integrated into the group.
“That’s the one.” Bruce dug the barrel of his gun into the ground. “He was a spring chicken back when we first met, in his early twenties. I was riding my fourth exit high. I was richer than God. Had everything I ever wanted. Tate tried to force my hand into business with him—first directly, and then, when I shot him down, in roundabout ways. Through hostile takeovers of companies I worked with, getting on the boards of corporations I was considering taking over myself.”
That sounded about right. Tate Blackthorn didn’t take no for an answer. Sometimes I thought his entire existence was about pissing other people off.
“Okay,” I said. “And that was enough to get you so riled up?”
“I wasn’t finished.” Bruce bared his teeth, jaw stretched tight across his skin. “He spent three years butting into my shit, to the point I was fantasizing about taking out a restraining order against him. Then my father passed away after a long battle with cancer.”
We slung our shotguns over our shoulders, making our way to the shed.
Bruce ran his tongue over his upper teeth. “My father’s dream was to be buried on Slipdown Mountain. He used to take us hikin’ there when we were kids, me and my six siblings. We’d camp there. The place holds some of our most precious memories. But Slipdown Mountain is a tourist attraction. There were little private lots for sale there.”
I knew where this was going, and my blood curdled. I had a ruthless streak, but I was by no means a sadist. Tate was.
“Tate purchased all the private lots?” I guessed.
“Sure did.” Bruce offered a brief nod, kicking the door to the shed open. It wasn’t one degree cooler than it was outside. If anything, the air was stuffy and still on top of being hot. “Every spare inch of land.”
“Did he sell it to you at an insane price?” I asked, put off by Tate’s behavior and general existence. I could be a top-notch asshole when prompted, but I’d never understood Tate’s unabashed desire to hurt people.
“He didn’t want to sell.” Bruce’s jaw twitched. “I offered him well above the going rate, allotted three real-estate firms to try to get him to sell, rent me out a spot—anything.”
We hung the rifles over the wooden wall.
“He wanted my business, not my money. My connections. My trade secrets.”
“Did he end up getting them?” I eyed him warily. I already knew the answer. Tate stopped at nothing to get what he wanted.
“Yes,” Bruce admitted, his voice cracking midword. He bowed his head. “He got everything he wanted from me. He extorted me, used my knowledge and means, and went on to build an empire bigger than mine just to throw it in my face. I sold him something far more valuable than companies, materials, or land.” Pause. “I sold him my soul.”