The Barrington Billionaires Collection 1

by Danielle Stewart

  “I’ll be in in a bit,” she called behind them, holding firm to her attempt to not butt in on their business. Instead she perched herself against one of the pillars and let the fading sun warm her face. It was impossible to clear her mind. You didn’t have that luxury when someone you love is fighting addiction. Worry was part of the equation.

  She promised herself tomorrow she’d call home. She’d find out how her mother was doing, and she’d make a plan. How Emmitt might fit into that was still unknown. For every glint of humanity she saw in him, there were straight-up, glaring moments of jackassery that couldn’t be overlooked.

  Her soul searching was cut short by the sound of a hushed voice on the other side of the large pillar she was leaning on.

  “I just need a few more days, maybe a week,” a man said in a raspy tired voice. “I’m working an angle. But I can’t rush it. I’ll be at the Playpen in a little while though. I’m doing something I can’t get out of right now. Deal me in. I’m telling you, after this week I’ll be golden. She’ll pay.”

  Feeling like she was accidently eavesdropping on this man’s personal conversation, she rounded the pillar just as he hung up and made her way to the door.

  “Dad,” Evie heard Harlan call, Emmitt right behind her. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

  “Like you said,” the man announced, clearing his throat and hastily burying his phone back into his pocket, “this is a great way for me to see the girls without having to do the big introductions yet. I know I haven’t earned that.”

  “You haven’t earned this,” Emmitt said gruffly, putting himself between Harlan and their father. Evie felt wholly out of place now as she watched the tension grow.

  “Emmitt,” Harlan warned and pleaded all at once. “The girls are going on in a minute. Let’s just all get our seats.”

  “I’ve got to go,” Emmitt said, brushing by his father. “Evie, stay if you want to, but I’ve got some work to do.”

  “I’ll come,” Evie said, throwing Harlan an apologetic smile. “Tell the girls I said good luck.”

  Evie followed as closely behind Emmitt as she could, but he was in a near run as he hustled toward his car.

  “Wait up,” Evie pleaded breathlessly, tugging at his arm when she got close enough.

  “I don’t need the lecture right now about how shitty of an uncle and brother I am. She won’t listen. She won’t take my word for it, so I’m going to go get proof.”

  “Good,” Evie said stepping between him and his car door. “I’m glad because you’re right. I heard him on the phone before you guys came back out. He told whoever he was talking to he needed more time, but he was working an angle that would pay off big. I think Harlan is that angle. He’s going to be at some place called the Playpen tonight. Maybe catch him in the act and Harlan will believe you.”

  Emmitt stared at her dumbstruck. Though she was certain he’d never admit it, if there were a tiny grain of hope in the whole shore of Emmitt’s doubt about his father, it had just been washed away. “That bastard,” he barked, making a move to head back to the recital hall.

  “Don’t,” Evie begged. “Harlan and the girls don’t deserve that kind of embarrassment.”

  “I don’t care,” Emmitt barked, yanking free of her grip.

  “Exactly,” she shouted loud enough to turn any heads in the parking lot their way. “That’s the whole point. You don’t think about how your actions will affect other people. You just do what you think is right in the moment. But how does that end up making you look?”

  “How I look isn’t as important to me as Harlan,” he argued, glaring at her as though she were being ridiculous.

  “But you’re the bad guy. The next time you want to warn her about something, or help her, all she’ll see is the moment you burst into the little kids’ dance recital and pulled your father out by the throat. That’s all you’re ever going to be to people if you don’t stop this.”

  “That’s her problem,” Emmitt said, charging away from Evie.

  “You’re better than this, Emmitt,” Evie said, racing behind him. “You are. I don’t know who told you all this time that the only thing you could be was the guy who blows up every situation. You are more than that. Just catch him in the act, get some proof, and talk to Harlan about it in a way that doesn’t confuse who the real asshole is.”

  “If she doesn’t know by now she can trust me—” he snapped, slamming his fist down into his palm.

  “Trust isn’t just about being right,” Evie said gently. “Trust is knowing she can count on you when things go wrong. Not everyone is going to take your advice. People have to make their own mistakes. But you can still be by her side.”

  “This is a huge mistake. A dangerous mistake,” he emphasized fiercely. “She has no idea what she’s getting mixed up with.”

  “But she will. When you and I figure out the right way to expose him, she’ll see it. And then you’ll be right there to help her pick up the pieces.”

  “This is stupid,” he said, but didn’t make an attempt to open the door to the recital hall. “Why is this even necessary? I can end all of it right now.”

  “Normal people have these pesky little things called feelings,” Evie said earnestly.

  “And if they didn’t, the world would be a simpler place. It’s like a plague, and I’m glad I’m not inflicted with that nonsense,” he asserted, then dropped his head in defeat.

  “I’m going to let you pretend you didn’t mean that because you’re having a hard day.” She looped her arm into his and tugged him toward the car. “Let’s go make a plan, and while we wait for him we can go over any of the Lance Barrington stuff you want to. I know your plate is full. I’ll help where I can.”

  “Why?” he asked skeptically as they rounded the car. “You gave me a pass this morning. You said your problems were yours, and you’d work them out.”

  “I did.” Evie nodded.

  “Then why would you want to help me?”

  “Because I am one of the unlucky people inflicted with the feelings plague. I want things to work out for you and your family. I might disagree on whether or not your father can be helped—”

  “He can’t,” Emmitt bit out quickly.

  “We disagree, that’s fine. I like to believe no one is too far gone. But that doesn’t mean he should be allowed to use your sister and then ask her for money.”

  “That’s the thing,” Emmitt said, leaning against the car, but still staring back toward the recital hall. “She won’t give it to him. He’ll ask, and it will break her heart, but she also is too smart to give him any. He should know that. So what’s he trying to get at?”

  “Addicts don’t apply or understand logic all that well. If they did they’d be able to work themselves out of things. They live in a different reality than we do. Don’t bother trying to figure it out.”

  “Well, thanks,” Emmitt said, pulling the car door open and sinking in.

  “You’re welcome.” She nodded, not wanting to bring too much attention to his out-of-character gratitude. “Where do we start?”

  “The first thing we need to know is who he owes and how much. That’ll help me figure out how desperate he is.”

  “How desperate has he been in the past?” Evie asked, not sure she wanted to know that answer.

  “He scammed my mother out of hundreds of thousands of dollars. Let’s just say if we weren’t lucky enough to be born into a very wealthy family we’d have been on the street, starving to death. But with my mother’s family money, and the things Mathew has done over the years, we’ve managed fine. But if he had the chance, if it came down to putting us on the street or placing that next bet, he wouldn’t hesitate for a second. I wouldn’t put anything past him.”

  “I’m glad you’re here for them,” Evie said, watching the little recital hall melt away in the rearview mirror.

  “I have a feeling no matter what I’ll end up looking like an asshole in this. It’s just how it works. But as l
ong as I take him down with me, it’s worth it.”

  Chapter 22

  “Maybe he took off,” Evie suggested. “Maybe he decided not to ask your sister for money and instead hit the road.” They’d gone directly to the bar his father had mentioned when they left the recital hall because Emmitt hadn’t wanted to miss him going in. But there had been no sign of him.

  “I’m going inside,” Emmitt said, swinging his door open with the full force of his shoulder and marching toward the bar. The bastard probably slipped in the back door. Evie was on his heels before he could tell her to stay where she was. “You can’t come in here.”

  “You can’t stop me,” she said firmly as he spun his body in her path.

  “That’s absolutely incorrect. There are about a hundred ways I can stop you. I have no clue what’s going on inside this shitty bar, but I do know if my father is desperate, it’s bad. The last thing I need is you in there.”

  “I’m coming,” she said, folding her arms defiantly over her chest. “You’re right; if you wanted to you could stop me but you shouldn’t. Whether you want to admit it or not I’m good for you. Mathew told me to get on that plane because I could help you. So let me. Don’t go in there and start a fight or blow up. Stay calm, and together we’ll figure out the right solution.”

  Emmitt checked his watch, and though he completely disagreed with Evie’s argument, he was worried his father would slip away if he didn’t act soon. “Just stay close and don’t say anything.”

  They entered the dimly lit bar room that was flooded with smoke and the smell of stale beer. The floor was sticky, the walls covered in women’s underwear, and pictures of guys holding up fish they’d caught.

  “Nice place,” she whispered as she moved a couple inches closer to him. Every eye in the room spun toward them. They didn’t have slicked back hair or too much cologne on so they looked, and smelled, completely out of place.

  “We’re closed,” the bartender said brashly, never looking up.

  “You don’t look closed,” Emmitt bit back, sizing up everyone in the place. “We’re not here for a drink anyway.”

  “We’re closed. Private party,” the stocky bald bartender said as he tossed his rag down on the bar and flexed his muscles threateningly. With his chin he gestured back toward the door they’d just come in.

  “Where’s the game?” Emmitt asked, not paying the slightest attention to the puffing chest of the bartender. He’d already scanned the room and could see his father wasn’t one of the sloppy patrons slouched over in the dirty stools. Wherever the gambling went on it wasn’t out there. “I’m looking for someone, and he’s in the game.”

  “No clue what you’re talking about, but you’ve got about ten seconds to get the hell out of here before I bust out my bat. And maybe your girl stays here with us. She’s hot as hell.”

  Emmitt grabbed a half full bottle of beer straight out of a guy’s hand and flung it at the wall behind the bartender who ducked. It smashed and rained down like sharp confetti.

  “You have any fucking idea whose bar this is?” the man he’d just swiped the beer from asked frantically. “This is Marc Azeela’s place. You’d better run while you still have both your knee caps.”

  Emmitt cursed himself for letting his anger at his father trump his normal mode of recon. Never would he just march in somewhere without knowing more about who might be on the other side of the door. But emotions make people sloppy. The point he was always trying to make.

  This establishment and the gambling ring in the back of it was owned by a solider in one of the last standing Italian American mafia families in Boston. He was well on his way to becoming a captain and known for his ruthless techniques for collecting debts. His father wasn’t dodging some lowlife loan shark with a heavy hand; he was mixed up with the mafia now. Murderers.

  “Who was it you’re looking for?” a man, standing three inches taller than Emmitt asked, as he blocked the door. Emmitt tucked Evie behind him and readied himself for a fight. This wasn’t going to be his original plan, pummel people until they talk, but now it was clearing a path toward the door. Getting her out safely.

  “I must have stumbled into the wrong place,” Emmitt said smugly. “My mistake.”

  “You did,” the man said, his wide smile making the scar on his cheek more prominent. “But now you can’t stumble out until you tell me who you’re looking for. I’m sure if you won’t, she will.”

  Emmitt had been careless. He broke rule number one: know your enemy. And rule number two: have nothing they can use against you. Evie was certainly a weak spot for him. He was outnumbered and likely out gunned. “Let her go outside, and I’ll tell you.”

  “If I let her go outside you won’t be quite so worried about taking us on. With her in the way you’re not going to do anything stupid.” The man clearly knew what it meant to be in a standoff. He rolled a toothpick between his lips as he spoke and narrowed his eyes challengingly.

  “Promise we can leave if I tell you?” Evie asked, a hitch in her voice that both broke Emmitt’s heart and worried the hell out of him. When describing Evie to someone, the words nerves of steel would never come up.

  “Promise,” the hulking man said, making a little cross over his heart.

  “Evie,” Emmitt said, glaring down at her. There were no promises in this type of situation.

  “My mother is on pills,” she said, wiping a stray tear from her eye. “I gave her money for rehab, but I think she was going to try to make more by gambling. I tracked her phone close to here, and I thought I heard her say the name of this bar before. I’m not looking for any trouble. I just want to know my mother’s all right. Can you tell me if she’s here, please?” Evie closed the gap between herself and the giant before Emmitt could reach out and snap her back. “I just want to help her.”

  “She’s not here,” the man said, his face falling serious. “No women gamble here.” He stepped away from the door and moved back behind the bar.

  “Thank you,” Evie said earnestly. “I’m sorry for the trouble.”

  “Go,” he barked, looking like he could change his mind any second. “Don’t show your face here. Don’t come back.”

  Emmitt and Evie were out the door and jogging to the car before either could speak.

  “You should have let me handle it,” Emmitt grumbled as they fell into the car, and he started the engine. “That was not smart.”

  “You had it so well under control,” she protested sarcastically. “I don’t know what was going on, but it was clear we needed to get out of there. And if you thought you were going to fight our way out, I’ll be honest, I didn’t like our odds.”

  “This all ends now,” Emmitt said, pressing down hard on the accelerator. “I’m telling my mother what’s going on and adding security to her house. My sister isn’t having any more contact with him. Marc Azeela is mafia. They’ll have no problem collecting that money from my father by any means necessary, and I’m not having my family caught in the crossfire.”

  “And your father?” Evie asked with a judgmental tone that grated on him. Those giant blue eyes were staring at him penetratingly, and he couldn’t take it. She knew nothing of the world. She knew nothing of what it meant to deal with these kinds of people.

  “What about him?” Emmitt asked frigidly, matching her presumptive tone.

  “What will they do to him if he doesn’t have the money to pay?” Evie was not just asking a question. She was tossing critical barbs at him. Something he didn’t need right now.

  “Are you really that naïve or are you driving at something? Let’s not beat around the bush. I don’t have time for bullshit.” He sped recklessly around the dark curve of the road leading to his mother’s house, and Evie’s grip on the door frame grew tighter.

  “You’re the one who said how desperate he was and how bad these guys are. What if they hurt him?”

  “They’ll kill him,” Emmitt said, not glancing over to see her reaction. “If he’s here w
illing to deal with me, he owes them a small fortune. And I’m sure he’s far past due. These guys won’t think twice about putting a bullet between his eyes.”

  “And?” she asked, turning her whole body in the seat to face him.

  “Not sure what they’d do with him after,” he shrugged, knowing it would anger her. “I’m sure they have a favorite spot to get rid of bodies.”

  “Are you joking right now? I can’t tell if you’re deflecting with humor or if you actually don’t care.”

  “Then let me clear that up. I actually don’t care.” He raised his brows challengingly at her, daring her to call him out. Emmitt knew Evie couldn’t stand by and let such a terrible thing happen even if in reality there was the only option. The greater good.

  “You don’t care if your father gets killed?” she asked, emphasizing the last word for effect.

  “He hasn’t been part of my life in almost ten years. He’s a tornado. You don’t mourn a tornado; you celebrate the sun when it comes out.”

  “You think my mother hasn’t hurt me? The things she’s done to my family would seem unforgivable, but I’d still do anything to keep her alive, to try to help her.”

  “Is that why you’re hiding in Boston?” As the words launched from his mouth Emmitt was already aware they were the emotional equivalent of a kill shot. The line people are always telling him not to cross never seemed to slow him down. He jumped over it like a runner breaking the tape at the end of a race.

  “You didn’t mean that,” Evie tried, hoping he’d take the out she was offering. But if there was anything he inherited from his father it was the unfortunate decision to double down on something rather than smartening up and walking away while he was ahead.

  “I’m only sorry you can’t see your mother is never going to change. You can keep holding out hope if you want to, at the cost of your own sanity and your family’s happiness. But I’m not that weak. I grew out of that delusion years ago. Whatever you do next, however you figure your shit out to help your mother, it will be wasted time and money. My father will never push himself away from the blackjack table long enough to give a shit about me or anyone else. Your mother will never stop searching for pills, her next fix, long enough to look up and even notice you aren’t there. Stop being so naïve.”