The Romeo Arrangement: A Small Town Romance

by Nicole Snow

  It’s been almost two hours since they took him so something better happen soon.

  Patience has never been my virtue.

  I’m stewing when a new text hits my phone, and then a louder chiming sound for a camera notification goes off right behind it. I look down at the screen.

  Raven’s here. Got him in sight. Look alive.

  I fire back a text to Grady, relieved he’s in position.

  Wait for my mark. No fireworks unless he’s getting stupid, I send back. Or anyone makes a move on Grace. Shoot first. No hesitation.

  He sends back an elephant emoji.

  Christ.

  I’m gonna trust that means yes with his gruff locked and loaded attitude. The cutesy crap never was his specialty, and neither was carrying on a conversation by text.

  I open the camera app and replay the latest alert, a video showing a bright-red truck beginning its long crawl up my winding driveway, followed closely by a green vehicle behind it.

  Goddamn. I didn’t expect them to show up in the same vehicles they used to capture Nelson.

  I figured Grendal would only wheel around in the back of a sleek black SUV.

  Apparently not.

  I turn to Grace, who’s stopped pacing the floor, clutching at a strand of hair hanging over her shoulder. “It’s him, isn’t it?”

  “Whatever happens outside, you stay in here,” I tell her firmly. “The rest is up to us.”

  Of course she starts shaking her head.

  “I mean it, Grace. Don’t argue.” I look at Jackie desperately. “Keep her inside. Lock the doors if you have to!”

  Jackie nods, and fighting the raging desire to shut Grace up with a kiss that pulls the breath from her lungs, I jog to the door.

  I don’t need to touch base with Faulk to know he’s on top of his people.

  It’ll probably take a few minutes for the furthest agents to close in on the house, the barn. Even on horseback, they’re plodding over rough, uneven ground left scarred by winter.

  No doubt whatsoever the recent rains have left the fields washed out with sinkholes of mud that can swallow a horse’s leg like quicksand.

  Slamming the door, I head for the barn with my game face on. Those engines are growling closer by the second.

  I never thought I’d see the day when my acting skills might save my life, but ready or not, it’s here.

  Another thing I never expected: ruining a fifty-thousand-dollar bottle of scotch to pull my balls out of a vise.

  Fuck.

  I flash back to last night when Tobin helped me put the finishing touches on our big surprise. He had that fancy bottle of Macallan scotch I’d ordered looking like a virgin, never touched, its potent liquid swirling like molten gold behind the glass every time it caught the light.

  It’s in my hand now as I pull it from the small crate of expensive bourbons I’d intended to have Tobin load up last if we were still heading into town as planned. Glad I kept it handy.

  Truck tires crunch over pavement now.

  I wait, raking a hand over my face one more time, willing myself to be someone else as the truck grinds to a stop.

  Setting the bottle down on a small table behind me, I turn and face destiny.

  Stepping outside with a glare for the men in the trucks, I look like a man who’s just walked through a messy dog park with brand-new shoes.

  “Private property, you idiots!” I shout. “Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying. Buzz off.”

  Grendal, wearing a black suit and chewing on a cigar, climbs out of the red truck.

  He scowls at me and then at the house, head up, neck tense, every bit the vampire mobster Grace made him out to be. Those eyes are like whorls of dark ink, portals to some scary, ruthless place.

  His stance, the way he holds his arms out, tells me he works out.

  I keep my shoulders slouched, my knees slightly bent, hoping he’ll think my good looks come from stylists and yoga classes. Not hard muscle earned in rivers of sweat.

  Jackknife Pete climbs out of the green truck behind him. He’s wearing a suit jacket, too, leering at me instantly with that piggish tattooed face of his.

  Interesting. Seems I’m not the only actor here.

  They’re playing their parts well, I’ll give them that. Trying to flex on my turf like real high rollers.

  “You again?” I point to Jackknife. “What the fuck are you doing here? I thought I kicked your ass at the Bobcat back in the winter.”

  “Watch your tone, Hollywood,” Grendal says coldly. His voice is charred but smooth, every word clipped, pointed, and fired with intent. “Nobody disrespects my men. I don’t care how famous you are, pretty boy. That’s one reason I came all the way here today.”

  “Do I know you?” I grumble with a shrug.

  Facing me again, he flips open his jacket, showing a gun holstered near his belt. “A friend of a friend. I wish we’d met sooner. This could’ve all been much simpler.”

  “Hell of an introduction, showing up at my place, flashing your toys.” Ignoring the gun, I nod at Pete and smile. “You some kind of real live terminator or do you just play one? Who put you up to this shit? I bet it was Bebe, this is just the kind of thing she’d pull at my own engagement party to—”

  “Enough,” he barks, and the other three men at his sides draw their guns.

  Now we’re having fun.

  I glance up at the highest point of my roof where Grady hunkers down underneath a silvery grey cloak that matches the shingles, the long nose of his gun shifting.

  He’s got Clay right in his sights.

  I shift my weight and stiffen, acting like I’m intimidated, giving him a false sense of control.

  “You’re not playing, are you? What’s this all about? We...we were supposed to meet at the hotel.” I throw my pitch a little higher, panic entering my voice.

  Clay just nods, motions with two fingers, and three more hulking thugs step out of the green truck, guns drawn.

  No sign of Nelson, which also means there’s more to his crew than these freaks here. He probably left one or two guys behind, guarding him elsewhere.

  “What is it you want?” I ask again, staring back into his dead-eyed gaze.

  But Clay looks past me then, toward the house, and gives me the words that ice my blood.

  “About damn time. Hello, Gracie,” he snarls.

  Grace?

  Shit.

  I spin toward the house and stifle a curse hanging in my throat.

  I should’ve known she wouldn’t stay put. Jackie couldn’t hold her. Not when it’s Satan himself on our doorstep.

  Think, dammit.

  I’m desperate for ideas. Every hot second counts. I can’t let her get in the thick of it.

  So I take a long deep breath and let go. Losing it comes all too naturally.

  “Hey, Godfather man, what’s going on here?” I shout, then whistle so loud their ears twitch. “How do you know her?”

  Grendal stares at me for a moment, dumbfounded, and shakes his head as a smile that’s too wide for his mouth stretches across his face.

  So much for acting.

  I don’t have to fake looking freaked. For Grace’s sake, I am.

  “You really think you’re something, don’t you, Hollywood?” He looks back at Grace. “Looking for your daddy, Gracie? Come on over, let’s have a chat. It’s up to this playboy if you want to see Nelson alive again.”

  I take a step forward, needing to work my way to Grace, but stop as half the men point a gun at her, and the rest turn on me.

  Shit, shit. I wasn’t expecting this type of firepower.

  I’m sure somewhere up there, Grady is just as confused, weighing his options. He’s only one man. He can’t shoot them all simultaneously. He might blast three or four guys at best before the others react.

  If he has to pull the trigger on Clay, it might scatter them, but also might not buy us more than thirty seconds to run.

  I can’t even count on his snipe
r skills.

  There’s no more safety net.

  I have to fucking act.

  “You blowhards mind putting your guns down for a second? Christ. You’re not careful, you’ll put somebody’s eye out. And we have a party to get to, so hurry up,” I say, throwing the subject off Nelson.

  For a second, Grendal looks at me, his head cocked and his nose wrinkled.

  “You’ve either got balls of steel or you’re mentally deficient,” he says with a bitter chuckle. “I should’ve known you were missing a few marbles with the stuff you ordered. It’s true what they say—a man’s got a better chance at spotting a unicorn than one of your kind sober. You’re fucked up right now, aren’t you?”

  He thinks I’m on drugs.

  I flash him an empty smile, raising my hands, giving them a nervous shake.

  “I don’t know what your deal is, bro...I just want to party. You’re holding up a sick bash. Or did you come to drop off the goods? Is that what this is about, you worried I won’t make good on the money? Shit, I’ve got it in the barn. Let me just head over and grab it so we can—”

  Everybody’s guns pivot toward me, thankfully off Grace.

  She’s looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.

  Inwardly, I smile.

  If it looks real to her, then these boys are almost where I want them.

  “Not so fast,” Grendal mutters, his salt-and-pepper hair catching the sun, lighting him up like an evil shadow in broad daylight. “We have more important matters to discuss than money.”

  “What? Ohhh. Oh, hell.” I whack my hands against my thighs loudly. “I get it. You’re pissed because you didn’t get an invite?”

  “What?” he clips off, a disgusted look on his face. “That’s not even remotely true, you idiot fuck of a—”

  “Talk to my manager,” I say, giving him the idiot he wants. “Actually, don’t. Tell you what, if you make good on the candy, if it’s truly as mind-blowing as they say...you guys can join in. I know keeping a low profile is probably your jam—I’m not in your business—but if you don’t mind doing lines off the tits of the most expensive stripper in the country, we can—”

  Clay doesn’t answer, not with words.

  He raises his gun in the air and fires several times, thoroughly done with my shit.

  I hold my breath, waiting for total chaos.

  By some miracle, Grady holds his fire, probably begging me to give him the signal.

  Not yet.

  Because I just saw several men dressed in black tactical gear creeping around the storage shed, and Faulk himself dropping down behind their vehicles. He’s probably planting trackers in case they make a run for it.

  “Enough of this fucking nonsense!” Grendal barks, hot fury smoldering in his eyes.

  He whips his attention back to Grace, but before he can say anything, I walk toward her, careful to keep a healthy distance while their guns follow me.

  “Baby, you know these guys? I thought...you told me that ugly weasel-rat from the bar was a fluke. Some idiot who wanted in your pants and wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

  A knowing glimmer lights up her eyes.

  She’s still confused, sure, but she remembers what I told her, what I asked her to do, back in the house.

  Pretend for me one more time.

  “Grace?” Grendal eyes her up and down. “Is that true? You didn’t tell this jackass about us?”

  She makes a soft, choked sound.

  “There was nothing much to tell,” she says, stepping closer. “I’m done with what happened back home, Clay. Just give him what he ordered and let it go...he’s paying you a fortune.”

  For a second, I can see the maniac torn.

  Unsure whether to forfeit the biggest payment of his life for his trash drugs, all for this angel who still has him climbing the walls in his own fucked up head.

  He’ll never have her.

  But I need a damn diversion. Some way to get them in the barn so I can deliver the kill shot.

  “You’re not cute, girl,” he growls. “Did you tell him about your other boyfriends? The one in high school who took you to your senior prom? The one whose mother made him break up with you after she found a dead rat stuffed in her mailbox with a Post-It wrapped around its tail? Or the one in college who suddenly decided he needed to go to a new school in another state? I told that twit I’d feed him his own balls.”

  Shit, she’s turning pale.

  I only see red.

  This bastard has been warping every part of her life, even new ones she never knew about.

  “That’s right. All me. Do you have any—any damn clue—just how long I’ve waited for this?” He turns back to me, hot death in his gaze. “If there’s any reason left in your drug-addled brain, you’ll listen, Hollywood, and listen good.”

  I stare him down, relieved that I can finally let the hatred boiling me alive pour out.

  “You’ve put me in quite the fucking pickle. See, I don’t want to give her up...but I would very, very much like my eight million dollars,” Grendal snaps. “I could just try to kill you and take it...but you’re too high-profile to sweep under the rug. Such a shame. Gracie, your little engagement here was exactly what I needed. Imagine my surprise when I learned you’d convinced him to go along with my media leak, living with this washed-up idiot...it should’ve ended there. But you’ve always been a selfish bitch, haven’t you? Now, you’ve put Hollywood in real danger.”

  I see how he looks at her.

  It makes me want to rip his throat out with my teeth.

  He’s trying to push our buttons, though, so I might as well play along.

  “Whoa, wait, it was you? Asshole, I’m taking a break from L.A.! Your dumb-ass stunt could’ve trashed my whole career.” I turn to Grace, my eyes on fire. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why’d you have to go and sweep it all—”

  His deep, cruel laugh cuts me off. The sicko sounds truly pleased this time.

  “Do you even want to marry her?” he asks softly. “I think I see what this is really all about. You invited everyone here, all your friends, promising them some candy to get back in their good graces. Well, Hollywood, I’m your candy man.” He winks at me.

  I stop my hands from balling into fists and act shocked, stunned, confused.

  “I just...stop fucking around. Show me the goods. We’ll see if they’re worth this trouble.”

  He puffs out his chest. “You think I’m offering some second-rate raver garbage from California? I’m bringing you the finest. Crafted by scientists with degrees in a real lab.”

  “Yeah?” I step closer, and I can almost feel Grady on the roof just begging to pull the trigger. “Show me, and I’ll show you the money. Then we’ll sort out whatever shit she’s gotten me into.”

  I cast a mock-angry look at Grace, who throws up her hands and glares right back.

  I hate like hell that she’s out there, but since she’s so good at playing along...

  I don’t completely lose it when Clay lifts his hand a second later and motions to the barn.

  “Grab her, you idiots. Find the money. Let’s make a deal.”

  It’s a minor miracle I get away without sampling any of the crap in those bags.

  He’s brought a junkie’s dream of high-grade amphetamine in small round pills, white powder meant to make people fly like kites, and other crap only the DEA could fully classify.

  The last ten minutes feels like an entire year, with Grace at my side, and I can’t even hold her hand.

  Not if we want to keep up appearances.

  I just hope to God the wire I’m wearing is still working and Faulk’s team hears everything. They can’t come storming in while these goons can shoot back.

  “It’s settled, then,” I say, throwing two black leather bags bulging with cash down in front of them. “Eight million even. Another two million I’ll wire to you as soon as we’re done here for Nelson’s life. And your word that you’ll fuck off out of their lives, and mine.�
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  Clay Grendal’s eyes light up—as much as two demon-dark black holes in a man’s face can, anyway.

  He grips my hand like a tiger tearing at some slab of meat. The pump of his arm alone leaves zero doubt he plans to stab a dagger in my back the minute it’s turned. He’d still come back for Grace and probably kill Nelson in cold blood if I were making a real truce.

  Bad news for him: I’m so fucking not.

  “Hell of a shake,” I say, already moving to the small table a few steps away. “Former military?”

  “I never had the honor. But I’ve seen more gun battles than the average bonehead grunt,” he says, gross pride in his voice. “I once thought about—hey! What do you think you’re doing?”

  I freeze, already lifting the bottle, doing a slow turn as their guns rise again.

  “Relax. I wanted to polish off the fine print right with a toast.” I give them a goofy grin, holding up the Macallan bottle. “If this goes well, I think I’ll be buying from you boys again. You’re pretty reasonable when you’re not trying to blow my brains out.”

  A couple of his guys gasp when they see the bottle and lower their guns.

  Grace just stares, worry etched in her pearl-blue eyes.

  “Boss, that stuff’s the shit...if it’s real,” Jackknife grunts, the spark in his beady eyes saying it’d better be.

  “Will you let me get some cups? I’ve got a few right over here. Go ahead, Grendal, take a sniff.” I struggle for a few seconds with the cap, tearing off its foil layer, working off the top, and then passing it over.

  Tobin’s ruse with the seal worked. The bottle looks and feels as good as new.

  Dammit, and now for the one part I forgot...I grab the only cups in the barn, the cheap red plastic ones we’d kept around for quick drinks of water after bringing in the horses, and walk back over to the group.

  Grendal looks at me like I just pissed all over his expensive polished shoes.

  “You can’t be serious? You...you expect us to enjoy a scotch like this out of these fucking frat house cups?”

  “I’m sorry for the bad presentation. If you’d like to head on over to the house for some real glasses, we can. I’d ask my man, Tobin, but after the way you fucked him up earlier—”