by Ivy Layne
"No, I wanted to see if they were okay. That was all, but—"
"Of course, they weren't okay." Cooper looked at Smokey with disgust, his face mirroring the expression on my own and Summer's.
"I never talked to any of them," Smokey said defensively. "Davis picked up the phone. Invited me to meet them, but when I got there, it wasn't the family. It was just Davis. He told me he knew who I was, and he wanted me to stay away from the kids. He, uh, he—"
"He offered to cut you in on some cash if you'd promise to stay away from the Winters kids," I finished for him.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Evers
"Dad," Summer said, her words caught in her throat, arms wrapped around her chest, hugging herself.
Not thinking, I reached for her. She looked so alone, betrayed and devastated as she stared at her father like he was a stranger.
At my touch she jerked, stepping out of reach. My gut turned to ice at the look in her eyes.
It wasn't just her father. She looked at me as if she'd never seen me before. As if I were the enemy.
"Is that why you told me never to contact them?" she demanded of Smokey. "You traded family for money?"
"They aren't your family, Summer," Smokey said, "and it was a lot of money."
"They are my family, and we could have been there for them. You're obviously useless, but Mom and I, we could have been there when they needed us. You gave up our family for nothing."
Smokey jerked in his chair, trying to stand, but he was off balance with his hands cuffed. His thighs hit the under-side of the table and he fell back into the chair, staying where he was.
He looked at his daughter with a desperate anger. "Not for nothing. I kept a roof over your head—"
"Mom kept a roof over my head. Mom worked her butt off. For us. For me. You just bummed around from job to job, forgetting to buy groceries or pick me up from school. What were you doing for William Davis and Maxwell Sinclair? What do you know about Maxwell? About what these Russians want?"
Smokey shook his head. "You don't understand, girl. I was nothing more than an errand boy for them. They gave me a job and I did what I was told."
"And what did they tell you to do?" Cooper asked evenly, holding an iron control on his temper.
Smokey shifted in his chair and shrugged one shoulder with a jerk. "Drive, mostly."
"Drive what? Where?" Cooper asked. Cooper's control wouldn't last long. One finger tapped the surface of the table in a steady rhythm. It was his tell, a gauge of the fury building inside him.
This was going to devolve fast if Smokey didn't start talking. Summer stood out of reach, tears shimmering in her eyes, looking as if she'd lost her puppy, her best friend, and found out the truth about Santa Claus in one fell swoop.
"Half the time I didn't even know," Smokey hedged. "I moved product. I got paid. That was all."
Through gritted teeth, Cooper asked, "What product?"
No one in the room really wanted the answer. Anything Smokey said would only reveal deeper levels of the filth painting our father and Summer's.
If it weren't for my mother and Tsepov's threats, I would have shoved Smokey out the door and washed my hands of him. Of all of it.
My father might be dead. He was probably alive. Either way, right now I didn't fucking care. He'd caused enough trouble, broken enough hearts, shattered enough lives.
If it weren't for my mother and Tsepov I would have been done, but I couldn't walk away. None of us could, and we needed the answers.
Cooper's finger tapped faster on the table.
"What product?" Cooper repeated.
Shifting uneasily, Smokey said, "Drugs, mostly, okay? A few times, sometimes guns. Stuff like that. And uh… sometimes it was… I'd drive the van and it was, uh…"
"Women or children," Lucas finished, in a gravelly, deadly voice.
The blood drained from Smokey's face. His eyes locked on Lucas, he nodded slowly. "Sometimes, it was."
Summer let out a whimper of distress.
I couldn't stop myself. I crossed the room and pulled her into my arms. She let me, burying her head against my chest, the heat of her tears leaking through my shirt.
I could do this. If she was here, letting me take the burden, letting me hold her, comfort her—I could do anything as long as she was in my arms. As long as there wasn't that distance in her eyes. As long as she wasn't making me the enemy.
No one spoke, the sound of Summer's harsh breathing filling the room. Smokey shot a look at her that was half apology and half disgust.
Cooper pushed harder. "What does Tsepov want from us? What did my father take?"
"I don't know, man. I don't have a fucking clue. I didn't even know Davis was dead until a week ago. I'm telling you, I was a driver."
Cooper glanced at Lucas. Lucas nodded.
Rounding the table, he moved to stand behind Smokey and bent to unlock the handcuffs. Smokey barely had a chance to say, "What—", before Lucas had one hand free, the other re-cuffed to the side of the metal chair.
Lucas grabbed Smokey's free hand and slammed it down on the stainless steel table. Smokey jerked his arm back, trying to get free. His hand didn't budge under Lucas' grip.
Leaning one hip against the table, Lucas pulled a shiny, steel butterfly knife from his pocket. He didn't say a word, didn't even look at Smokey, only flicked the knife open and flipped the blade back and forth in a mesmerizing pattern.
In. Out. Circling around, the metal clicking and sliding, the sharp blade flashing in the harsh overhead light.
Smokey started to shake. Then he started to beg.
"I don't know anything. I swear. I swear. I swear. I don't know anything. Please, look, man, look at me. I'm a stoner, man, I'm a mess. You think they're going to trust me with anything important?"
Lucas' hand tightened on Smokey's wrist. Smokey's words came faster. "I did what I was told, and I took the cash. That's all. That's all I did. I swear." The acrid scent of urine filled the air as Smokey pissed himself in terror.
At the desperation in her father's voice, Summer lifted her head, turning in my arms. Every muscle in her body locked tight as she took in the scene in front of her. For one disorienting moment, I saw the room through her eyes.
The concrete floor tilting down to a drain. The spare metal bed frame in the corner. The stainless steel table. That sharp, shining blade in Lucas' hand. We called it the safe room. There was no hiding that it had other uses.
Before I could say anything, Summer looked up at me, the plea in her eyes tearing at my heart.
I wanted to promise her Lucas wouldn't hurt her father. To swear this was just a threat to scare Smokey into talking.
I couldn't do it.
It was probably true. Probably.
If our mom hadn't been threatened hours before, I would have bet my life that the blade in Lucas' hand was just for show.
Looking at Cooper, I wasn't entirely sure myself.
I wanted to believe my brother wouldn't torture an innocent man.
Except Smokey Winters wasn't all that innocent.
I wanted to believe Lucas wouldn't use that knife. In another situation, maybe he wouldn't. Watching him look down at Smokey, a man who'd just admitted to not only running guns and drugs but trafficking women and children, I wasn't sure what Lucas would do.
This wasn't just about Smokey or my dad. Not anymore. I could believe that the guns and drugs were my Dad's work. I didn't want to, but I could see it. Trafficking? That was Tsepov, all the way.
If my dad and William Davis had been that deep with Tsepov, we had a bigger problem. We didn't just need to get Tsepov off our backs, we needed to shut the whole thing down.
My father always hated our connection to Matt Holley, the SAC of the Atlanta field office of the FBI. Now we knew why. Holley had stepped in to help Emma when she'd uncovered the elder Tsepov's dealings with her boss. When she shot Tsepov to save Axel's life, Holley said it wasn't over. He'd been right.
&nb
sp; Summer began to shake in my arms, her teeth chattering from the rush of adrenaline-fueled fear. Whatever I believed, whatever Cooper and Lucas might have planned, Summer was terrified to her bones.
She squeezed her eyes shut and said, "Please, Evers. Please don't hurt him. I know he's—" She cut off with a sob.
I tightened my arms around her, pressing my chin to her head, trying to stop her shaking. Trying to figure out what the fuck to say.
Cooper, his dark eyes hard as granite, said, "Lucas."
Lucas moved the knife, drawing closer to Smokey Winters' outstretched hand. Smokey struggled, jerking his body away, but Lucas' grip was too strong. The knife flashed—snick, click—as he flipped it in and out of its case, twirling his wrist, bringing it closer and closer.
Summer whimpered again. "Please. Evers, please—"
I was out of time, and I knew what I had to do. Cooper was too angry, Lucas blinded by loyalty.
"Stop," I said. "Stop. He doesn't know anything."
Lucas froze, the knife dangling from his fingers, the faintest hint of relief in the shadows of his eyes. I knew what Lucas could do with that knife. I also knew he didn't want to use it. Not on Smokey. Not on anyone. Not anymore.
Finger tapping faster, his voice deceptively even, Cooper said, "Stay out of it, Evers. Take Summer and get out if you can't handle it."
Summer dug in her heels, trying to pull out of my arms. I held her where she was. "No," I said, shaking my head. "I'm not walking out. I'm not leaving him here with you. He's an asshole, a criminal, and I'm not sure he has a fucking conscience, but he can't tell us anything."
"You don't know that," Cooper growled in frustrated anger.
"Come on, I do know that. You know that." I nodded towards the chair where Smokey sat, hand still pinned to the table, stewing in his own urine. "He pissed himself out of fear. You really think this guy wouldn't talk? He'd talk. He sold out his family for a buck, he'd throw his daughter under the bus if he thought it would save him. If he had anything to tell, he would have spilled it already. We're going to have to find it another way."
"We're running out of time," Cooper said.
"I know."
Maybe I was making a mistake. Maybe Smokey was that good a liar and I was letting him slide. I didn't know. I couldn't read my gut on this one. My emotions were too tangled up. Fear for my mom. Love for Summer. Agony at her pain.
I didn't know if I was doing the right thing.
I only knew that if I had to choose between finding what Tsepov wanted or protecting Summer, I chose Summer.
I wasn't going to fuck things up with Summer over my father's bullshit and some Russian mobster who couldn't fucking tell us what he wanted before he threatened to kill us all.
I knew to the marrow of my bones that if Lucas' knife touched Smokey Winters, I would lose Summer forever. She might be disappointed by her father's failures, but if we drew his blood, that would be it. She'd never forgive me. I wasn't sure I'd blame her.
I wasn't going to lose her over this. Not over anything.
Lucas flicked the knife one more time, sending it back into the handle before he shoved it in his pocket and stepped away, releasing Smokey's hand. Summer's arms tightened around me, her tears of relief soaking my shirt.
I stroked her back and murmured into her hair, "It's going to be okay. I promise it's going to be okay."
I thought I spoke the truth.
I'd never been more wrong.
Chapter Thirty
Evers
"What do we do with him now?" Summer asked, glancing at her father in the rearview mirror. He sat in the back, leaning against the door, staring out of the window and ignoring us.
Fine with me. Just because I'd gotten him out of the safe room didn't mean I was on his side. Far from it.
"I don't know," I said. "We could take him back to his place. He's got a lot of cleaning up to do. Might as well get started."
At that, Smokey came to life. "No way, man, you can't just drop me off and get rid of me."
"Why not?" Summer asked. She'd begged for her father's life, but she still stared at him as if he were a stranger. In a way, he was.
She had a mental image of Smokey as a ne'er-do-well stoner.
I didn't have to imagine her shock at finding out he was anything but.
I knew exactly how she felt. I'd been there. I'd grown up thinking my dad was a hero. He kept people safe. Rescued them from danger. He was one of the good guys. Tough, sure. Kind of a jerk to my mom, yeah.
With the blind love of a child, I'd worshiped the good and brushed aside the bad. Even as I'd gotten older and his praise felt hollow, his casual cruelties more distinct, he was my father. A tarnished hero, but still high on that pedestal.
When it all came crashing down, when we'd realized who he really was, the past had come into focus. Maxwell Sinclair was no hero. Expecting us to live up to his bullshit ideals, treating my mother like crap, and turning into a criminal when he was bored with a normal life.
Success, wealth, and a family who loved him hadn't been enough. He had to have more. Always more.
I thought of Hugh Winters. Aiden's dad had been like a second father growing up. Hugh was a hero. He loved his kids, worshipped his wife. Worked hard and still managed to make every game, every recital. He never cut corners. Never failed to tell his kids he was proud of them.
Hugh had deserved his pedestal.
My father was a fraud.
On the surface, Smokey was a hippie stoner, while my father had country club written all over him, but under the skin, they weren't that different. Corrupt and greedy. Selfish.
I knew exactly how much it hurt to learn that the person who was supposed to look out for you had only been looking out for themselves.
I reached across the seat and took Summer's hand. She squeezed my fingers and stared out the window.
Finally, quietly, she said, "I think we should drop Smokey off at his house."
"Summer! What the hell? I'm your father, for Christ's sake. You can't just throw me to the wolves. You guys saw what they did to my place. What do you think would have happened if I'd been there? There's a reason I was hiding out with Wallace, you know."
"And now you expect us to clean up your mess?" she challenged, her eyes tired.
"There's nothing to clean up. I just need a safe place to stay for a while. Cynthia said I could stay at the castle. It's her house. She said—"
"She only said you could stay as a favor to me," Summer cut in. "And I don't want you there. I can barely look at you right now."
Summer's words sank in. For the first time since I'd pulled him out of the safe room, panic worked its way into Smokey's consciousness. Talking fast, he said, "Just for a few days, Summer. I'll figure something else out. Just for a few days. I'll stay in my room, I swear. I won't be any trouble."
Summer looked over at me, one eyebrow raised.
Shit.
I wanted to say fuck, no.
I wanted to slow down at the curb in front of his house and shove him out of the SUV. I wanted him out of Summer's life. Out of my life.
We'd get there eventually. Another day or two wouldn't change anything.
Ignoring Smokey, I said to Summer, "It's up to you."
Summer tilted her head back and closed her eyes. After a long moment, she said, "Three days. That's it. Three days and either you leave on your own or I'll have security dump you outside the gates. If you try to get back in, I'll call the police."
Smokey pressed his lips together and said nothing. I already knew he wouldn't bother to thank her. Odds were an insult hovered on the tip of his tongue. I hoped he'd be smart enough to keep his mouth shut. He was. Barely.
When we got back to Rycroft, Smokey slammed out of the SUV and headed straight to his room. If he wanted to hide out up there, it was fine with me. The longer I went without seeing his face the better I'd feel.
Exhausted from the early wake-up and everything that had happened since, Summer and
I needed food. It felt like an entire day had passed since we'd left Rycroft, but breakfast was still being served in the dining room.
Tired to my bones, I wanted nothing more than to pack Summer up and take off. Go somewhere we could be alone. Somewhere we could leave this mess behind. So many options. Hell, we could be in Vegas in a few hours. Get a suite at the Delecta, and then I could show Summer what a good strip club was really like.
Already imagining the way her blush would spread down her neck and across her luscious cleavage, I was distracted when Cynthia said my name.
Fuck. Get your head on the job, Evers. "Sorry what?"
"Where did you two go so early? Is everything okay" Cynthia's worried glance took in Summer and myself.
"There was a problem with my mom. She's all right, but we thought Smokey might know something. We brought him into the office to find out."
"Did he?"
"No," I answered.
"And your mom's okay?"
"She is. Axel's in Florida with her. He's taking her to Vegas, but if we don't wrap this up soon, we might have to bring her to Atlanta."
"If I recall, your mother hates Atlanta," Cynthia said with a small smile.
"She wouldn't be happy," I agreed, "but we'll do what we have to do."
"If you want Smokey to leave," Summer offered, "he will. This is all a little more complicated than we anticipated. You shouldn't have to deal with any of it."
"Summer, honey, Evers and his guys have this place so locked down no one is getting in or out without them knowing. Seems like the safest place to keep him is here. Right?"
"It is," I agreed, "but this is your show. It's your house, and we're your team. You call the shots. If you want us to move him somewhere else, consider it done. We appreciate your patience—"
"—but we don't want to take advantage," Summer finished.
Cynthia's phone chirped with a text. She dropped her eyes to the screen, brow furrowed. As if we hadn't been in the middle of a conversation, she picked up the phone and tapped to text back.