Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
“Because you matter to my daughter,” he said flatly.
The words stopped me.
Conner’s eyes bored into mine. “You matter to IvaLeigh. I’ve seen it. And because of that, I’ll be in your pocket. I’ll do what you say. Isn’t that how you outlaws play? Leverage, loyalty, debts owed. I’m telling you, Gonzo—I only did what Stanley ordered. He’s the one you need to blame.”
The mention of her name cracked something open in me I didn’t want to admit to. I clenched my fists under the table, holding my face stone still. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me bleed.
I leaned back, letting the silence stretch, letting him sweat. He needed me more than I needed him. That was the truth.
Finally, I said, “You want to prove you’re not Stanley’s puppet anymore? Then you’re going to set a table. Dinner. You, your wife, your daughter. You’re going to sit there and come clean. About the affair. About Stanley. About how you’ve been his lapdog. You’re going to put the truth on the table where they can all see it.”
His face drained. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m dead serious,” I said. “You owe them that much. And it opens the door for me to fix what your cowardice broke with IvaLeigh. You started this war and I’m gonna finish it and that means giving her the whole ugly truth.”
He shook his head. “She’ll hate me and probably you too.”
“She already does,” I snapped. “This way at least it’ll be for the truth, not the lies.”
He looked down at his glass, swirling the bourbon like it might hold the answers.
“And another thing,” I added, leaning forward, my voice a growl. “You’re going to give Devyn every document she needs to get GJ released. Every order. Every memo. Every backroom deal Stanley forced down your throat. You hand her the keys to his freedom, or this ends right here.”
Conner swallowed hard. “And Stanley?”
“The club will handle Stanley,” I said coldly. “But you’ll turn the other way. No rulings. No interference. You pretend you never saw the storm coming.”
He looked up at me then, fear flickering in his eyes. “You’re asking me to betray the man who owns me.”
I smirked. “He doesn’t own you anymore. I do.”
I left him there in that cave bar, staring into his empty glass like it might give him back his soul.
Outside, the night was cold, the mountain wind sharp enough to bite. I lit a cigarette, the smoke curling into the dark, and let myself think—for just a second—of her.
Her laugh. Her stubborn fire. The way she’d looked at me like I was something worth believing in, before he poisoned her against me.
I didn’t admit to missing her. Not even to myself. But I knew this: Conner Walsh was going to set that table. He was going to bleed out the truth in front of his family. And when the smoke cleared, there’d be an opening.
For her.
For my son.
For the club.
And when Hampton Stanley fell, it would be with Conner Walsh’s silence buying us the time we needed.
Because an enemy of my enemy?
He was my puppet now.
And I was going to use him until GJ was breathing free again.
Chapter 18
IvaLeigh
I knew the dinner was wrong the second my mother said we were having it. Life was upended and turned upside down. Nothing felt right.
She tried to smooth it with her voice—“Sunday roast, sweetheart; your favorite, lemon pie”—but there was a tremor under the words, the kind you hear when a bridge starts to creak under too much weight. I stood in my old bedroom, the one with the faded quilt, and stared at my phone sitting dark on the dresser. I hadn’t turned it on since I sent him that text. I shut down and the world out.
I pulled my hair into a low knot and changed my top three times before I stopped pretending it mattered. I wasn’t dressing for anyone. I wasn’t dressing for him. If he even came—God, if he came—the world was spinning crazy again thinking about
“Dinner,” Mom called, too bright. I didn’t want to upset her when she had to learn I was used by the man she invited to her dinner table.
I went downstairs and stepped into a room I didn’t recognize.
My father stood at the head of the table like he didn’t know where to sit. Jacket on, tie off, sleeves rolled. The place caught the light the same as always—linen runner, silver polished, candles set but unlit—but the air was wrong. It felt like the hallway outside a courtroom. Stale and uneasy with anticipation.
“Hi, honey,” Mom said, kissing my cheek. Her lipstick was perfect. The hand that smoothed the napkin by my plate shook.
“Where’s—” I started, and then the doorbell rang.
Dad flinched.
Mom’s eyes went wide with a warning I didn’t understand. “I’ll—uh—I’ll just—”