by CE Kilgore
“They are,” Emma answers when all I can do is open and close my mouth. “There are rules, and it’s all about respect, trust and love. Would you like me to tell you about it?”
My momma reluctantly agrees, but their conversation fades to unheard murmurs. My heartbeat is drowning out their voices as it thumps a joyful rhythm, refusing to let anything come between it and the idea of Ian getting down on one knee for me. The chained pendants around my neck have already declared the desire for that dream.
I do want my daddy’s support, and I want him to approve of Ian because Ian deserves it, but Momma’s right.
When Ian asks, I know what my answer will be.
Ian
Back where it all began – the shoe factory. It’s Christmas Eve morning and the partially-framed factory interior is cold, empty and dimly lit. Brandon and I are seated under the skylights, waiting to put this mess to some kind of end. We aren’t exactly sure how this is about to go down, but if we’re lucky, Forester will take our offer. If not, then going back to Oklahoma tonight may not be an option.
I let out a soft sigh, my eyes raising to the skylights as raindrops ping and patter in syncopated beats against the acrylic panes and the metal roof. Brandon and I need to get back to Oklahoma just as much as we need to get this shit with Forester squared away. Our check-in call to Charlotte and Emma last night included some news we had not expected, and now we need to get back up north to help set it right.
“It’ll work out,” Brandon offers over the rim of his paper coffee cup.
“We should’ve told John,” I look back down to the empty factory. “I should’ve told him before asking for permission to marry his daughter.”
Brandon huffs with a tight smile. “I’d like to see how that would’ve gone.”
I shoot him a glare before I can stop it, and he holds up a hand in apology before speaking. “Look, I get that John and Carol might have issues with it. I also don’t think it’s any of their business, but I understand why Emma and Charlie told them. They musta thought to worst a’ us after we ran outta their house last night.”
I disagree and agree with him at the same time. I don’t think John has any right to stop Charlotte from living her life and doing what makes her happy, but I also know he wants the exact same thing I want. He wants Charlotte to be safe. “They just want to make sure their girls are being taken care of properly.”
“My wife is my number one priority, always,” a tinge of anger seeps into Brandon’s voice. “I’d drop the club in a heartbeat if I thought it was a problem.”
“I know,” I curse, running a hand roughly through my hair. “But Charlotte isn’t my wife yet. Hell, she’s not even my fiancée, thanks to Forester and this mess. I was really hoping to have her dad’s approval and support. My father probably won’t give a shit about my wedding.” I inhale a shaky breath as my left hand twitches. “My relationship with her father is important to me.”
“I’m sorry,” his anger deflates. “You know how much I appreciate all the help you’ve given me with the club, but if you want out for the sake of Charlotte, you know I’d never hold it against you.”
I’ve always known that. The club is important to Brandon, but I know his friends and family have always come first. “I’m not ready to give up on the club, Charlotte or her father. I may not be able to have all three, but Charlotte and I will figure it out together.”
“Sounds like a good idea,” Brandon grins for a second, but the sound of the side door opening melts the grin into a scowl. “Let’s see how your other idea works out.”
We watch Michael Forester strutting across the cement floor, his eyes dancing around our renovation progress. Behind him, Austin enters with a scowl that puts Brandon’s to shame. I think, if we hadn’t called him, Austin may have beat us to Michael and then beaten Michael to a bloody pulp.
Forester stops and stands in front of us with his arms crossed and a smugly amused expression. He flicks his chin towards Austin. “You need to teach your jailbait ‘Spic some manners, Peters.”
Austin’s fists clench with muttered Spanish insults, then his cold, grey eyes raise to Forester. I know Austin is a gentle soul, but there’s only so far towards the edge that you can push a person before they turn around and start fighting back. “You’re lucky my boss called me first, hombre,” he sneers the Spanish word. “They’ve got a nice bed saved for you at General right next to Saul, and he’d be more than happy to help you get situated.”
“Ah,” Michael waves the threat off. “I heard Saul ran into some trouble. Bar fight, was it? It’s a shame he’s fallen off the wagon again after… What? Six years sober?”
“Bastard,” Austin lunges as Brandon stands with arm raised to hold him back. “You no-good, spying, cheating son of a bitch!”
Brandon whispers something into Austin’s ear and the man calms slightly, but a hate-fueled inferno keeps his muscles tense and his face contorted with rage. I want to plow my fist through Forester’s smug grin just as badly, but we have to keep our heads on straight if we want to have any chance of this ending tonight.
Michael ignores Austin completely and eyes Brandon. “I thought you called me here for business, Peters. It’s Christmas Eve, for fuck’s sake. I have two girls waiting for me.”
I snort. “Candy-Cane and Debbie Diamond will have to wait for your dollar bills a little longer.”
“Hey, Rider,” Michael takes the empty seat across from us with a sneer. “How’s that redhead? Still hot in all that leather? Shame what happened, what with her losing her job right before Christmas.”
The heat in my blood bubbles just below the surface, but I refuse to let this piece of shit get the best of me. “Just where, may I ask, did you see her wearing leather? And how did you learn of her dismissal at the University?”
He starts to answer but stops, catching himself. Instead of answering, he eases back in the chair and taps his boot heel against the cement. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
Brandon sits back down as Austin backs off a few paces. With a deep, audible inhale, Brandon meets Forester’s gaze. “What is it you want, Michael?”
Michael shrugs. “Peace on Earth and tickets to the Super Bowl?”
“Quit fuckin’ around,” Brandon’s thin patience is leaving. “We’ve got families to get back to, and I’ve had enough of your games. What is it you want in order to end this?”
“I want you outta my city,” he answers, dropping the act. “I want you to take your business to San Antonio, El Paso, fucking Boca Raton for all I care – just get the hell outta Dallas.”
Brandon’s hand fists against his knee. “And?”
“And get them to drop the charges against my brother,” Michael adds. “Oh, and I think a buck-fifty thou’ should cover all the trouble you’ve caused me.” He stops, looks around the factory then smiles. “And I want my damn property back.”
“This factory is ours,” Brandon growls back. “You tried to cheat us out of it before we could put down a full bid, then you cut corners like you always do and lost it.”
“I lost it because Rider can’t keep his damn clipboard to himself!” Michael shouts back then points a meaty finger in my face. “You think you’re better than all a’ us, with your inspector sticker and educated attitude. You got them charges levied against me the same as you got that bullshit dug up about Matt! Did you know his wife left him? About to lose his house, too, and it’s all your fault!”
I take in a breath to steady my reply. “He should have thought of that before committing fraud against the County. You know it’s now a State matter and blackmailing us isn’t going to change that. I couldn’t change his situation if I wanted to. He dug that shithole, so now he can sit in it.”
Michael’s face goes red. “You arrogant fucking prick! When I’m finished with you, you won’t be able to get a job in Timbuktu!”
“Michael,” Brandon reenters the conversation just as Michael hits the edge of losing it. Perfect timing. “There�
�s nothing we can do for Matt. However, if we pay you one hundred and fifty-thousand dollars and sign over this property to you, will you agree to stop following us and hand over any private information you were threatening to make public?”
I swear, I can hear Michael trumpeting his own horn in victory as a sly grin slithers across his lips. “Maybe.”
Brandon makes sure it’s all on the table. “I’ll also need a guarantee that you’ll stop all physical violence against my employees, and you can no longer blackmail Charlotte McLeod.”
“Fine, fine,” he waves it off. “I admit, Saul drunk was a pitiful fight according to my boys, so prolonging that dumbshit’s suffering is pointless. As for Miss McLeod, I suppose getting her sacked was payback enough to Ian, for now. I’ll leave the redhead alone, unless she wants to play.”
The slimy bastard licks his lips at me while raising both eyebrows, then he looks back at Brandon. “If you agree to leave town.”
Brandon leans in, his tone darkening. “Alright, but I want to know how you got your information.”
“I aint no snitch,” Michael teases, “but everyone has their price, including one of your members.”
Brandon’s scowl darkens, but he leans back with a subtle nod. “You get all that?” he asks and Michael’s smirk withers into confusion.
“Indeed I did,” James saunters into the skylight-illuminated area from behind a pile of two-by-fours. He’s in full uniform with a pair of handcuffs looping around one finger. “That all you need, your Honor?”
The rain has stopped overhead and sunbeams fill the factory, giving light to the figures emerging from the shadows behind Forester. Rabbit, or rather attorney Judith Ramirez, is in a sharp looking business suit with a no-nonsense expression to match. The honorable Judge Bruce ‘the bull’ Montgomery steps up next to her five-foot-nothing frame, the sunlight reflecting off his bald head. Bull is well known, respected and feared for damn good reasons.
“What the fuck, Peters?” Michael’s breath hitches as it all starts to come together. “You set me up?”
Bruce raises one eyebrow at Michael. “You do understand that blackmail, extortion and attempting to interfere with a State investigation are all against the law, Mr. Forester?”
“W-w-what?” Michael shoots to his feet, knocking the chair over, and shuffles sideways towards the door a few steps. “You don’t understand, your Honor! Not that I’m questioning you, sir, but if you knew the kinds of things these two were up to…”
“Ah,” Bruce nods lightly, “but you see, Mr. Forester, I am quite aware of the activities of Mr. Peters and Mr. Rider. All their activities, which are all quite legal. Your activities, however…”
Judith tsks, and I can’t stop the smile from forming on my lips as she puts one hand on her hip and grinds Forester’s balls into dust. Glancing at an open manila folder in her hand, she shakes her head with a little sigh. “You’ve been a very naughty boy, Michael. According to my office’s own investigations, your brother wasn’t the only one involved in forgery, faked safety inspections, and… oh, what’s this? My, oh my, this looks like tax evasion.”
Forester backs up two steps before hitting the wall of Brandon’s chest. Brandon leans down to the man’s ear. “I think Ian and I are going to have to pass on your offer. Now, get the fuck off my property.”
James rolls the cuffs around his finger. “I’ve got a ride waitin’ for you, Mr. Forester.”
“Wait just a damn minute!” Michael’s eyes dart towards the door then to me. “C’mon, Rider, that shit with your girl – that was just a joke! And… and Brandon, you know we’ve been at each other’s throats for years. What’d ya’ say we just call it even?”
Brandon looks to me and I nod, glad to just have it all over. “I can agree to that. It is Christmas, after all.”
Forester deflates with a relieved huff, then stiffens as James snaps one cuff around his wrist. “B-b-but…”
“My office, however,” Judith shrugs, “is not against pressing charges on Christmas Eve.” She sneaks a wink at us. “I’m a lawyer, what can I say…”
“I’ll make it all public!” Michael shouts. “I’ll tell them everything!”
“Afraid not, Mr. Forester,” Bruce smiles, and it’s one of the most frightening things I’ve ever seen. “You see, your case, as well as Matthew’s, is going to have a Gag Order due to State security matters. I’m also issuing a Cease and Desist Order. If you so much as sneeze in the direction of Brandon or Ian’s affairs, I’ll hold you in contempt and add the extortion charges.”
I swear, Michael is about to piss himself as Bruce leans in. The large, bald man’s smile vanishes and the Devil himself flashes through his ice-blue eyes. His deep baritone leaves no question about his authority to castrate Michael right where he stands. “Are we clear, Mr. Forester?”
All Michael can manage is a tiny nod and muffled whimper that nearly has Brandon and I laughing our asses off. Bruce stands back up to his full height, turns and smirks at us for a fraction of a second. May I never meet that man in his courtroom.
“Michael Forester,” James cuffs the other wrist and begins escorting Michael out of the factory while reading him his rights. “You have the right to remain silent, not that you will, but it is recommended. You have a right to an attorney, and man, are you gonna need one…”
Judith tiptoes and kisses Bruce’s cheek. “Thanks for coming all the way down here on Christmas Eve, Brucey.” She glances at me and Brandon, winks, then follows James out the door with the click-clacking of her high heels. “Merry Christmas, boys,” she waves over her shoulder. “I’ll send you my bill.”
“Merry Christmas, Jude!” Brandon is fighting back chuckles as he shakes Bruce’s hand. “Thanks, Bruce.”
“Anytime, son,” he smiles. “Oh, and I think I might have a debut coming the week after New Year’s. I’ll let you know.”
Brandon frowns. “I’m almost afraid to let anyone new in until we can find the turncoat. You may’ve shut Forester up, but that leak could put everyone, including you, at risk.”
“I think you’ll like this one,” Bruce grins. “He’s a private investigator.”
Brandon matches the man’s grin. “Sounds perfect.”
“Ya’ll have a merry Christmas, and give Emma a hug for me,” he dips his chin then heads out the door.
Once the metal door bangs closed, Austin lets out a whoop. “Can’t believe that worked!”
“You haven’t known Forester as long as we have,” Brandon’s scowl returns. “A man can only push his luck so many times before it runs out.” Softening his expression, he offers Austin a smile. “Go on back to the hospital and make sure that damn fool doesn’t leave. Vic took away his clothes, but I don’t think that’d stop Saul from runnin’ outta the hospital with his ass hanging out from the back of one of those paper gowns.”
Austin coughs back a blushing laugh at that imagery. “You’re probably right, boss. Give your girls a hug for me, too, and merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” I answer with Brandon as Austin jogs across the factory floor and out the door. Once it’s Brandon and me, I start laughing with a snort. “I can’t believe that worked, either.”
“It was your idea!” Brandon’s laughing right beside me. Once we catch our breath, we start heading for the exit. “Any idea on what to do about John?”
“Tell him the truth.” It’s the only thing I can think of. “Either he’ll accept us or he won’t.”
Brandon nods with a small frown tugging down his lips as he holds the door open. “And if he doesn’t?”
I pause in the doorway, taking a deep breath of the wet, winter air. I thought about the answer to that question all night and have the dark circles under my eyes to prove it. The ring in my pocket, however, held the only question that truly mattered. “Then I guess you’ll have to walk Charlotte down the aisle instead. If she says yes, I mean.”
“I think that’s the last thing you need to worry about, buddy.” He slaps
my back with a chuckle as we walk out into the muddy parking lot. His chuckle dies as he spots James leaning against the rear of his cruiser. Brandon curses under his breath, but keeps walking towards the cruiser that’s parked next to the Mercedes. “James…”
“Brandon,” James takes his Stetson off and stands up straight.
“Shouldn’t you be getting Forester to County?” Brandon asks, his voice neutral.
This was the part of my plan, involving James, that I knew Brandon had the hardest time with. I’d be lying if I didn’t hope it might open up the dialogue between them a little. James had seemed so sincere on Friday night, I felt I had to at least give the bastard a chance.
“Thought I might give him some extra time to consider the consequences of his actions,” James smirks, but it lacks its usual overconfidence. He glances at me and the smirk falters further. “Sorry to hear ‘bout Miss McLeod losing her job, but if anyone can fix that, Rabbit can.”
“Agreed,” I nod. “Thanks for your help today.”
He shrugs. “Not like I got anything else to do. ‘Sides, it’s what friends do.”
“Since when are we friends?” Brandon crosses his arms.
“Wasn’t talkin’ ‘bout me an’ you,” James replies, but much to my surprise, he doesn’t otherwise respond to Brandon’s anger. “You’re not the only one who stands to lose something if the club goes down. ‘Sides,” he glances off to the side and lowers his eyes. “I promised my best friend I’d always keep an eye on his brother, an’ I don’t break promises.”
Brandon’s jaw tightens as James starts heading to the front of his cruiser. “You got a lot of nerve bringing up Brendon, given all the shit that you fucked up between us and with Em.”
James stops, but doesn’t turn back around. “He was your brother, but he was my best friend, and you broke your promise, Brandon. Not him, and not me. You. I already said how sorry I am for what happened with Emma, and it’ll be something I regret for the rest a’ my life.”