Get Over You (Dare Me Book 1)

by Skylar Hunter

  “I see.” Brigham searches my eyes. “And what about you? Did he promise you any money? Gifts?”

  I swallow. “He said he made provisions for me.”

  Brigham pounces. “What kind of provisions?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t give him a chance to finish. I said I didn’t want his dirty money. I told him he needs to make restitution to his victims.”

  Brigham exchanges glances with the other agents. I don’t know if they believe me.

  Reyes wraps an arm around my shoulders and hugs me closer to him, offering protection and support in the only way he can right now. Feeling my stomach unknot a little, I lean against him.

  Brigham regards me through narrowed eyes, shrewdly assessing. “We have reason to believe that your father has coconspirators who were involved in his scheme. We believe he had a team buying and selling stocks, forging books and filing false reports. Did he say anything about that? Mention any names to you?”

  I shake my head.

  “Are you sure?”

  I frown. “If he’s still maintaining his own innocence, why would he implicate others?”

  Brigham exchanges a look of amused contempt with the agents, who smirk in return before he looks back at me. “Was there anything else?”

  I stare at him, carefully weighing my answer. I’m sitting on a bombshell that could start a cold war in the family I’ve just married into. That’s the last thing I want, so I say evasively, “The rest of our conversation was of a personal nature.”

  Brigham’s eyes gleam with menace. “I hope you’re aware that withholding information in a federal investigation is obstruction of justice,” he warns softly. “Unless you want to be charged as an accessory, I suggest you keep talking.”

  I look at Reyes.

  He gives me a tight nod, jaw clenched.

  I return my gaze to his uncle, looking him directly in the eye. “He told me that you were in love with Reyes’s mother, and that’s why you turned your parents against her.”

  Brigham’s face goes white as chalk.

  “What?” Reyes’s stunned gaze swings from me to his uncle. “What the hell is she talking about?”

  “Don’t believe him!” Brigham blusters desperately. “He’s lying!”

  Reyes looks at me, his eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.

  “That’s what he told me,” I say shakily. “He said your uncle wanted your mom for himself, but she never gave him the time of day. So he retaliated by ostracizing her.”

  Reyes’s head swivels back to his uncle. “YOU SON OF A BITCH!”

  He’s on his feet in a flash, launching himself at his uncle with a roar of fury. Brigham has no time to react before Reyes seizes him by his suit jacket, hauls him up out of the chair and punches him in the face.

  Shouting erupts as three agents rush forward and grab Reyes. He shakes them off like ants and tackles his uncle to the floor, hitting him in the jaw and pummeling him in the stomach before the agents manage to wrestle him off Brigham.

  “You lying, backstabbing motherfucker!” Reyes yells furiously as two agents drag him out of the room.

  I start after them. “Reyes!”

  The third agent blocks my path. “Get back.”

  “But—”

  “Your husband might be a hotshot NFL quarterback,” the man snarls in my face, “but that doesn’t give him carte blanche to assault a U.S. attorney. Stand down, Mrs. Malone. This is my last warning to you.”

  I turn away in frustration and shove a trembling hand through my hair.

  Across the room, the fourth agent hovers worriedly over Brigham. There’s blood pouring out of his nose and he’s on his knees, doubled over and clutching his ribs. I hope they’re broken, every last one.

  My heart thuds furiously as I watch the concerned agent carefully help Brigham to his feet. He looks angry, embarrassed and in a world of pain.

  He fumbles a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and presses it to his bloody nose, glaring at me with fuming hatred. “You vicious little cunt.”

  I raise my chin. “You told me to tell you everything. I guess you should be careful what you ask for.”

  He scowls and tips his head back.

  “Sir,” the agent says grimly, “do you want to press charges against your nephew?”

  “No,” Brigham grumbles, his voice muffled by the handkerchief. “My mother and daughter would never forgive me, and a public family squabble is the last thing my campaign needs right now.”

  The agent frowns with displeasure.

  Brigham jabs an unsteady finger at me. “The next time—” He breaks off with a hiss, clutching his side as pain shoots through him.

  The agent looks worried. “We need to get you checked out, sir.”

  “Yes, yes, fine.” Brigham glares malevolently at me. “I’m not finished with you. Not by a long shot.”

  Apprehension quakes through me, but I merely lift my chin and stare him down, refusing to show weakness.

  Scowling, he puts his arm around the agent’s shoulders and allows himself to be assisted out of the room. Moments later I hear voices and the crackle of radios, then the sound of the front door closing hard.

  When Reyes reappears, I rush over to him, throwing my arms around his neck. He hugs me back, crushing me to him as tears of relief flood my eyes.

  He pulls back, his hands sliding up into my hair as he roughly demands, “Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” I choke out tearfully. “I’m just glad they didn’t arrest you! My God, Reyes, you almost killed a U.S. attorney!”

  “It’s been a long time coming,” he growls ferociously.

  “Are you all right? What’d they do to you?”

  “Nothing. They just wanted to get me away from the son of a bitch before I pulverized him.” His eyes are flashing like a feral jungle cat’s, his hair is mussed and his silk tie is askew. “I’m hiring private security for you, something I should have done in the first place. I’m not taking any more chances with your safety. Don’t fucking argue with me,” he warns when I open my mouth. “This isn’t—”

  I put my fingers over his lips, making him scowl. “I wasn’t going to argue. I just wanted to say how sorry I am for not telling you about my father. I was going to, I swear. But then I came home and your family was here and—”

  “Shh,” he murmurs, his fingers kneading my scalp. “It’s okay, babe. I’m not mad. I understand.”

  I shake my head at him. “I’m so sorry about your uncle having feelings for your mother. I wish you didn’t have to find out this way.”

  “So do I,” he says darkly. “But so much makes sense now. I’ve always been haunted by the thought of my mom going to her grave believing that she was never accepted by Dad’s family. Finding out the truth doesn’t make it easier to accept the mistreatment she suffered, but it fills in the missing pieces of the puzzle. If she knew the real reason they rejected her, maybe that helped her cope better with the situation.”

  “I hope so,” I say softly. “I’m sure your dad can shed some more light.”

  He nods grimly.

  I bring his right hand to my lips and gently kiss his bruised knuckles. “How are you going to explain this to your board members?”

  He grunts. “I’ll think of something. Speaking of which, I need to get going.” He presses a firm kiss to my forehead and peers into my eyes. “Don’t go anywhere.”

  “But—”

  “Goddammit, Em. Don’t argue with me. Not today.” He cups my face, his gaze intensifying. “Once the judge revokes your father’s bail, he’ll be back in custody. Until that happens, please just stay the fuck home. All right, baby? If you need a distraction, help Mrs. Sutton with the dinner party preparations. Then put on one of those pretty dresses I bought you in Spain, have a glass of wine and wait for me. Okay? Can you do that for me?”

  I brush my fingertips against his cheek. “I’ll do anything for you.”

  “Thank you.” He rests his forehead against mine, closing
his eyes as he takes a ragged breath. “I can’t bear the thought of losing you, amor. If anything had happened to you—”

  “Shh. Nothing happened. I’m fine. But I don’t want you worrying about me, so I’ll stay home and do as you ask like an obedient little wife.” I smile wryly. “But just this once, y’hear? Don’t get used to it.”

  In the midst of his turmoil, Reyes breaks into a soft laugh.

  And I think maybe, just maybe, everything will turn out all right.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  REYES

  My grandfather and i don’t see eye to eye on most matters. But ol’ Boone is definitely right about one thing: Being a Malone has its privileges.

  I’ve never taken advantage of my family name, never lorded it over anyone or used it to get myself out of trouble. Frankly, I’ve never considered it an asset.

  Until now.

  I have connections in this town, and just for today, I’m not above using them.

  It takes only one phone call to find out the name of the private security firm hired to guard Silvio Sartori. It’s run by an ex-FBI agent named Levi Schafer.

  As sheer luck would have it, Levi and I worked as lifeguards at the same pool one summer. I applied for the position as Reyes Galindo so I could enjoy some anonymity on the job. I spent that whole month getting ogled and propositioned by girls who showed up at the pool with anything but swimming on their minds. I was sixteen and horny, so yeah, I got laid pretty often.

  I call Levi and chat him up for a few minutes, reminiscing about that long-ago summer gig. Once his guard is down, I tell him that I want to see my father-in-law before he’s taken into custody. When Levi balks at my request, I sweeten the deal with VIP season tickets for him and his employees. The bribe works like a charm.

  After finishing my business with him, I contact another private security firm to arrange protection for Emerson. I like Levi, but no fucking way am I entrusting my wife’s safety to a guy I just bribed with football tickets.

  After calling Darynda to let her know I’m running late for the meeting, I kiss Emerson goodbye and promise to be home soon. She stands on the porch blowing kisses as I head to the garage, where I take my Mossberg shotgun out of the gun safe and load it with buckshot.

  Then I’m in my truck and on my way to handle some unfinished business.

  Emerson’s father lives in a wooded estate just outside the city. As I near his property, I pass several news vans parked along the shoulder of the main road, reporters and cameramen loitering around in hopes of seeing some action.

  Silvio Sartori’s grand house is set back from the road, screened by tall hedges and trees with a long drive leading to the front entrance.

  As I pull up, two armed security guards posted on the front porch watch me like a hawk.

  I park at the curb, grab my shotgun and roll out of the truck.

  Alarmed shouts break out as the guards reach for their weapons.

  “Stand down!” Levi barks, emerging from the house. “I cleared him. He’s good.”

  “You didn’t tell us he’d be armed,” one guard protests.

  “He’s not supposed to be.” As I approach, Levi gives me an exasperated look and gestures to the shotgun at my side. “You know I can’t let you inside with that. Leave it in the—”

  I’m already shouldering past him into the house.

  “You’re not above the law, Malone,” he calls after me as I march through the foyer and cut right, following the scent of food to an aggressively opulent dining room.

  Silvio sits at the head of a long marble table eating a plate of veal with a glass of red wine. He’s chewing slowly, his eyes closed as if he’s savoring his last meal while Pavarotti emotes softly in the background.

  I stalk through the doorway, cocking the hammer on my shotgun.

  Silvio’s head whips up at the sound, his eyes widening in alarm. “What the—”

  I raise the shotgun and aim it right between his eyes.

  “Oh Dio!” His panic-stricken gaze darts to the guards hovering in the doorway, their hands on their sidearms. “Don’t just stand there! Do something!”

  “They won’t,” I snarl between clenched teeth. “It’s just you and me, motherfucker.”

  His fork clatters against his plate as he stares down the barrel of the gun. “I–I’m sorry for what I did to you and Emerson. I never should have kept you apart—”

  “No, you shouldn’t have,” I say in a frighteningly quiet voice. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t put a bullet in your brain right now.”

  He gulps visibly. “Put the gun down, Rey—”

  “One. Reason.” I punch each word.

  “You have so much to lose,” he starts babbling fearfully. “Your football career, your family, your wife. Just think about that, Reyes. You finally have Emerson! You finally got the girl of your dreams! Why would you want to throw that away?” Sweat breaks out on his forehead. “C’mon, kid. You don’t want to shoot me.”

  “Don’t I?” I sneer. “I’ve put down rabid coyotes that meant more to me than you.”

  He lets out a shaky little laugh. “I’m dying, son. Haven’t you heard? I’ve only got six months to live.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe your evil ass will live another fifty years.” I press the gun muzzle into his forehead, watching his eyes water with fresh panic. “You worthless sack of shit. Impregnating Emerson’s mother is the only useful thing you’ve ever done in your miserable life. You were a rancid excuse for a husband and father, and apparently you can’t even earn money legitimately. I don’t know how the hell you sleep at night or get up every morning. As if you haven’t traumatized your daughter enough, you had the fucking audacity to pull a gun on her? Are you out of your goddamn mind?” I slide the muzzle down to his mouth and press it against his front teeth, feeling him shiver with terror.

  “I don’t want there to be any misunderstanding between us. So just in case your scumbag lawyers manage to keep you out of prison, let me spell shit out for you. If you ever come anywhere near my wife again, you won’t have to worry about a diseased liver taking you out. I will personally hunt you down and pump you so full of buckshot, your corpse will piss lead for years.” My eyes narrow with lethal promise. “Stay away from her. Are we fucking clear?”

  He swallows hard and gives a jerky nod.

  “Say yes,” I command.

  “Y–Yes.” His quivering lips kiss cold metal. “I’ll stay away from her.”

  “You’d better.”

  “I will, I swear to God!”

  “Good.” I smile narrowly, lower the muzzle to his throat and hitch my chin at his plate. “Your lunch smells good. What is it?”

  “Saltimbocca,” he replies quickly. “It was one of my mother’s specialties. Emerson knows the recipe, but she doesn’t make it anymore because it reminds her of me. If you ask her to fix it for you, I’m sure she will. Just ask her.”

  “So she can relive memories of you? Fuck no.” Lowering the shotgun to my side, I pick up his glass and take a big slurp of wine, swishing it around in my mouth before spitting back into the glass. “Not bad. Definitely not on par with my family’s wines. You haven’t truly lived until you’ve tasted a Galindo Cabernet Sauvignon.” I plunk his glass down and swipe the back of my hand across my mouth. “Maybe I’ll have a bottle sent to you on your deathbed. As a parting gift.”

  Silvio stares up at me like I’ve gone certifiably insane.

  I grin savagely. “Glad we could have this little talk, old man. It was way overdue. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got places to be and things to do, and you’ve got company coming soon. Enjoy your time in the slammer, and have a nice trip to hell.”

  With that, I pivot on my heel and stalk off.

  “Reyes,” Silvio calls out weakly.

  I pause and look over my shoulder, one eyebrow cocked.

  There’s grudging admiration and respect in his eyes. “I couldn’t have chosen better for my only daughter. Take good care of her
.”

  I hold his gaze for a long moment, then nod curtly and walk out of the room, back through the foyer and out the front door.

  Levi is right on my heels, shaking his head. “I’ll be expecting those season tickets soon.”

  “Of course.” I slide my sunglasses over my eyes. “A Malone always pays his debts.”

  He barks a laugh at the Game of Thrones reference.

  A swarm of black cars screeches up the drive, lights flashing and sirens blaring. FBI agents jump out in every direction and rush forward, staring at me in shocked confusion.

  Strolling past them with my shotgun slung over my shoulder, I drawl, “He’s all yours, boys.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  EMERSON

  Sunday, September 6

  Four months later

  It’s almost kickoff time.

  Seventy-five thousand fans have packed the stadium for the opening game of the regular season against the Green Bay Packers. The stands are a sea of teal jerseys, teal flags, and faces painted teal and black.

  Jack and I are broadcasting our pregame show from an onsite set adjacent to the football field. I’m super excited and nervous, butterflies and knots tangling viciously in my stomach.

  “Look at all these people,” Jack exclaims, looking around the noisy stadium. “I can’t remember the last time the Renegades had a sellout crowd.”

  I laugh. “It’s been a while.”

  He grins at me. “Everyone’s eager to see if Reyes can turn the beleaguered Renegades into a winning franchise. What say you?”

  “He’s definitely up for the challenge,” I say confidently. “He trained like a beast this summer and played impressively during preseason—”

  “Even though they only won two of the four games,” Jack points out almost smugly.