We’d almost lost everything because of them.
Not to mention my mother’s death suspiciously occurred a block from their house, and the bastard who struck her and drove off was never found. To make matters worse, not only was my mother’s life taken that day, but so was the life of my baby sister. Mom was twenty-two weeks along, carrying the little girl they’d so badly yearned for. A “sweet little angel” to round out our perfect family, as my father stated in a camera interview once.
Without warning, nearly everything my father had ever wanted was taken from him.
Forever.
He almost had it all.
To this day, my father is convinced it was one of the Roses. Someone who saw an opportunity and seized it. Someone with good reason to want to inflict the worst kind of pain and loss onto a Monreaux.
Someone like Rich Rose.
Last night, like a true coward and in true Rose fashion, the naked girl ran off before she had a chance to pay her penance. Like she could just wander in here and walk off like nothing happened …
And then she had the audacity to ignore me when I called after her—that’s when I smashed the beer bottle.
All I could think about was how the spawn of the family that destroyed mine dared to waltz her perfect peach-shaped ass onto our property like she owned the place.
The fucking nerve of that woman.
Clarice sweeps up the last fragment of glass, and Gannon heads into the house without a word—thank God. I wait until they’re both out of sight before fishing my dead phone from the deep end with a leaf skimmer, and then I make my way inside to clean up. Not because Gannon told me to, but because I can’t stop picturing the Rose girl’s ripe tits and pouty mouth and I need to get my head straight with an ice-cold shower.
She was a sitting duck.
I knew exactly who she was.
I could have easily made her atone—in more ways than one.
She’s lucky I didn’t.
And if she’s smart, she’ll never set foot on these premises again.
Because I can’t promise I won’t seize the opportunity next time.
Chapter Three
Sheridan
* * *
“I can check you out over here, sir.” I wave to a bearded customer Sunday afternoon who promptly deposits a pair of Air Pods and a wireless iPhone charger on the counter before all but tossing his credit card at me.
I scan his items, ignoring the weight of his gaze on my chest, choosing to believe he’s reading my name tag instead of eyeing my covered cleavage. I’ve worked at this cell phone store six months now, and no amount of training could have prepared me for the assortment of general public creeps who come in. But I suppose it’s to be expected. Par for the course or whatever. Everyone has a cell phone. “Two hundred four dollars and eighty-nine cents is your total today.”
He sighs and nods as if the exorbitant price is my fault, and I slide his card through the reader and wait for the beep.
TRANSACTION FAILED.
“I’m so sorry, sir—” I say until he interrupts me.
“—try it again.”
I run the card once more.
TRANSACTION FAILED.
“Is there another card you’d like me to try?” I force a friendly smile into my tone. These situations can be embarrassing, though something tells me this man has no pride and gives zero fucks.
Eyes glazing over my chest, he pushes a hard, stale coffee breath from his mouth before fishing a different card from his wallet.
The bells on the front door jangle, and my attention flicks in that direction. A tall figure fills the doorway, backlit by the sun. He takes two steps in, letting the door glide closed, and scans the store space.
Our eyes lock from across the room, and in a fraction of a second, my blood turns to ice water.
“Hello?!” The gruff man in front of me snaps in my face. “You still with me?”
His transaction goes through, and the machine spits out a receipt. I hand him a pen and clear my throat, keeping a close eye on August Monreaux with a lump in my throat.
“Welcome to Priority Cellular, how can I help you today?” My notoriously bubbly co-worker, Adriana, approaches him before I have a chance to warn her off so someone else can deal with him. Though what could I possibly say that hasn’t already been conveyed by his ripped jeans, devil-may-care smirk, and the chilled glint in his eye?
Half-distracted, I place the Air Pods and charger in a bag with the man’s receipt. He leaves before I can wish him a lovely afternoon.
From my periphery, I experience their exchange with voyeuristic curiosity. Adriana, forever oblivious, leads him to a display case of phones, plucking the most expensive model from its resting place and handing it off for August to inspect.
“I’ll take it in black,” he says, his voice carrying across the store. They discuss storage for a second before Adriana disappears into the stock room.
Our gazes catch again, and he won’t let mine go. I’m not sure whether or not to care that he saw me naked less than twelve hours ago. I’m sure he’s seen a million naked girls before. At some point, they all probably blend together.
I pull myself out of my own head and wave over the next customer in line. “Ma’am, I can help you over here, if you’re ready.”
Heat creeps up the back of my neck. I don’t have to glance over to know he’s staring at me with that piercing cold glare.
I ring up a purple car charger for a middle-aged woman in leopard-print Lululemons and a melting Starbucks iced latte in her hand. When we’re finished, Adriana makes her way to my register, August in tow.
“Can you start his ticket, Sher? I just have to activate this. I’ll be right back.” Adriana brushes her hand against his arm. “You’re in good hands. I’ll just be a sec.”
The silence is profound. Awkward. Intense. It’s everything heavy, all at once, anchoring me to the floor and shortening my breath.
No one has ever done this to me before …
I scan the empty box of his new phone and straighten my shoulders. “Can I have your number, please? To pull up your account?”
He shifts, jaw set as if he’s attempting to stifle what he truly wants to say.
“Okay, I think we’re good now.” Adriana emerges after an endless moment and hands August his new phone. “Should just take a minute to load.”
“Your number?” I ask again, fingers hovering over the keypad with the slightest tremble.
He hasn’t taken his attention off of me for one second.
“Your brother is Gannon, right?” Adriana asks after he finally tells me his digits.
August arches a brow. “Maybe.”
“He went to school with my cousin. I think they used to hang out back in the day,” she says. To some people around here, running around with a Monreaux gives you bragging rights. “They got busted at a party out at the gravel pit off Highway 50.”
“That doesn’t sound anything like my brother,” he says, monotone.
“Well maybe not now.” Adriana’s overfilled lips curl. “But back in the day, I hear he was quite the wild child.”
August sniffs, gaze still trained on me. “Depends on your definition of wild.”
“What’s he up to these days, anyway?” Adriana continues, oblivious to the fact that he isn’t interested in shooting the breeze about his older brother. “I see him riding around town in that electric sports car of his. The matte black one with the gunmetal-gray wheels.”