Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 120186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
“What do you want me to do? Go in guns blazing?”
Sawyer doesn’t even blink. “No. I’m just surprised. You’re usually very impulsive. I thought you’d have made some moves by now.”
Normally, I would’ve, but Allie’s involved, and I don’t know how to deal with it.
“Trying something new.” I shrug.
Sawyer lifts an eyebrow as if to say he doesn’t believe me. “Dad doesn’t want to move on the Porters directly. Not yet. He wants leverage. Dirt on Jackson, dirt on Joseph, anything that gives us a seat at the table when the deal goes through.”
“If it goes through.”
“You don’t think it will?”
I stare at the whiskey in my glass. The Lowrys are rich, connected, and expanding. The Porters are drowning. Emma’s been hemorrhaging money for years—the ranch is bleeding out slowly, the way an animal that’s been shot does, and the person to do it doesn’t have the decency to finish the job. She’s too proud to ask for help and too stubborn to sell. A marriage alliance with the Lowrys is probably the only play she has left.
“I think Emma Porter is desperate,” I say. “And desperate people make deals they wouldn’t normally make.”
Sawyer nods slowly. “Which means Allie doesn’t have much of a choice in this.”
My fingers tighten around the glass. Allie never puts herself in a situation where she doesn’t have a choice.
He noticed. Of course he did. Sawyer doesn’t miss shit. “This is business, Kade.”
“I know what it is.”
“Do you?” He leans forward, elbows on the table, voice dropping beneath the jukebox. “Because if you still have something going on with that Porter girl, you need to lock it down now. Whatever it was, it’s not worth facing Roman’s wrath for.”
What it was. Like it was nothing. Like she was nothing. Like the months I spent sneaking onto that ranch, meeting her in the dark, learning the shape of her laugh and the way she tasted and the way she looked at me like I was something worth looking at—
“There’s nothing to separate,” I tell him, and the lie tastes worse than the whiskey. “She made her choice.”
Sawyer frowns but doesn’t say anything further about our relationship.
He pulls out a page near the back of the folder, and I try to stop my body from reacting violently. I know what’s on that paper, and it makes me sick.
“Jackson’s got a history. Two assault complaints from women in Salt Lake City, both dropped before they went anywhere. And a DUI that his father made disappear. Wonder how that happened?”
“When you’ve got a rich daddy, anything is possible.” We know that for a fact.
Sawyer sets the page down. “Exactly. They’ve got money and people to make problems go away. We need to find out who those people are.”
All I do is nod. I tried not to think about Allie as I compiled the information for Sawyer, but I couldn't help it. All I can see in my mind is her bruised and swollen face. She’s going to marry a man who has a history of beating women, and there isn’t a fucking thing I can do to stop her. I have to remind myself that it isn’t my problem.
She isn’t my problem. She’s made her bed. And she can lie in it with whatever monster she chose over me. But even as I think it, I know it isn’t true. I can’t throw her to the wolves. A sudden throbbing in my hand pulls me from my rampant thoughts, and I realize I’m gripping the glass so hard it’s cracked. Fuck.
Sawyer closes the file. “Get me whatever info you can on who they might be paying under the table—lawyers, cops, judges, anything.”
“Got it,” I murmur.
For a second, he just sits there, looking at me with something that resembles concern but could be calculation, too. With Sawyer, it’s hard to tell the difference.
“You know,” he says, swirling his drink, “Roman keeps us on a tight leash because it’s how he maintains control. Loyalty through obligation. Blood as a chain, not a bond.” He shrugs, like this is a casual observation and not a knife slipped between my ribs. “It doesn’t have to be that way forever.”
I snort. “You planning a revolt?”
“I’m saying the leash only works if you keep wearing it.”
“That’s real inspiring, counselor. You should put that on a coffee mug.”
He almost smiles. Almost. “I’m just saying—the things we do because we’re told to and the things we do because we choose to are different. Roman doesn’t see the difference. That doesn’t mean we can’t. Look at Calder. He’s doing what he has to do to keep what he wants, even if Roman doesn’t like it.”
Calder. Fucking Calder. I don’t want to discuss the secrets we’re keeping from Roman for our oldest brother, because when the truth comes to light and shit hits the fan, I’ll be the one who suffers the worst. I always am.