I let out a low whistle, shaking my head. “Well, that’s just fucking perfect. The ghost of Christmas past crashes into me—literally—and now I’m supposed to play babysitter?”
He nods. “At least until she claims her inheritance and we know she’s safe.” Mal glares at me, his patience clearly running thin.
“And when is that?”
He blinks a couple of times and shakes his head. “When is what?”
“When will she become our new queen,” I say in a mocking tone.
“Oh that . . .” He shrugs. “I’m trying to figure that out. Need more information, hence why I’m still sticking around.”
“What do you mean, sticking around? Aren’t you the fucking sheriff?” I ask.
“Yeah, but I’ve got more duties than just driving around town,” Mal replies, his tone clipped. He’s clearly over this conversation, but I’m just getting started.
“If you want, I can try to figure that out,” I offer, surprising even myself. Why the hell am I volunteering for anything? I’m not here to play nice or solve Birchwood’s problems. I’m here to check on the company, see if it’s worth keeping or . . . selling.
Not that Mal’s going to let that happen. The almighty sheriff’s dead set against selling it, and me? Well, I’m not exactly here to save the day either. Truth is, part of me just wants to fuck with the fifth element of our fucked-up family: Atlas.
Dad’s bastard. Or as I always call him our bastard little brother.
I don’t even know why Mom left him a piece of Old Birchwood Timber. Maybe she was trying to keep the peace, or maybe she was just too damn kind for her own good. Either way, we’ve already fought the will, and it didn’t change a damn thing. Atlas has his share, and he’s made it clear what he wants: cash.
He wants the money from the sale, plain and simple.
And me?
I want to bury him.
Not literally—though I wouldn’t lose sleep over it—but figuratively? Hell yeah. He fucked with our family by just existing, and now he wants to cash out like he’s entitled to something more than a middle finger.
“Yes, figure out what’s stopping her from getting the company. Convince her that it’s for the best that she takes over—family and all that shit matters.” Mal shakes his head, his expression a mix of exhaustion and exasperation. “You’ve always been good at convincing people to do shit. Can you use your powers for good?”
I smirk, crossing my arms. “I can try to persuade her . . . But don’t worry, Sheriff. I’ll play nice. For now.”
He doesn’t respond, just gives me a long, hard look before turning and heading toward the door.
And as I watch him go, a small, twisted smile tugs at my lips. Because if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s turning something bad into something creative.
Miss New in Town has no idea what she’s gotten herself into. She can glare at me all she wants, spit fire, and pretend she doesn’t remember Italy, but I know better. That spark? That heat? It’s still there.
This time, I’m not letting her slip away.
I’ll start slow—get her to lower her guard, play the long game. Convince her that I’m just here to help, to smooth things over. But when the time’s right, I’m going to have her right where I want her—under me, writhing, begging for more.
I’ll bury my face between those thighs, taste her until she’s shaking, and then do it again just to hear her scream my name. I’ll suck on that nipple she teased me with in Italy, make her arch into me while I bite down just enough to make her gasp.
And then I’ll take my time. Slide into her slow, let her feel every inch of me until she’s clawing at my back, desperate for more.
She wants to play like she’s forgotten me? Fine. I’ll make sure I’m unforgettable this time.
By the time I’m done, she won’t just remember Italy—she’ll never forget me.
ChapterTen
Galeana
I’m notsure who’s knocking at my door, but they’ve got terrible timing.
