She brandishes her left hand, flashing me a huge diamond and gold band on her ring finger. “It’s Reynolds. Bridger and I tied the knot. He’s the mayor now.”
Head cheerleader and star football player. The mean girl and the asshole. A match made in heaven.
“Good for you,” I half-heartedly congratulate her.
Victoria’s smile gets tighter as she squints her eyes. “How long are you in town for?”
I shrug. “However long is needed.”
Her voice is soft, but her words are anything but. “Evergreen Falls doesn’t need more trash, so feel free to leave at any time.” Her eyes drift over my clothing, and she sneers as if it’s the most offensive thing she’s ever seen.
I match my tone to hers. “And they don’t need a bitch either, yet here you are.”
Victoria finally drops her phony pleasantries. “Same old Blake.”
“Same old Victoria.”
Her eyes narrow. “Just stay away from my man.”
The delusions of this woman never cease to amaze me. Bridger was the typical rich kid and acted like he was too good for me until one night when he drunkenly decided that no means yes. I ended up breaking his arm, and he told everyone I wanted it.
As if I’d travel thousands of miles just to see the man who tried to assault me.
I scoff. “That won’t be a problem. Never was.”
Victoria turns her nose up at me and stomps away, shoving open the diner door and leaving.
And now that I’ve given the whole place a show, all eyes are on me.
Now that’s more like the welcome home I was expecting.
CHAPTER 4
SANTIAGO
The sound of a desperate man’s screams echo in the old cabin as the flesh on his shoulder sizzles under my hot iron. When I pull back, he drops his head forward. The only thing keeping him upright is the rope tying him to the support column in the center of the main room. The air smells of burnt flesh, cold ash, and weathered pine.
He pants, on the verge of vomiting, as he begs, “Please, please. I’ve told you everything.”
My boots crush the bits of hay as I circle his pathetic form. I note the burns covering every exposed inch of flesh. Each in the shape of a star with the letters “FS” in the center. “You see, Evan, I’m not so sure I believe you.”
Evan Lockhart begins to silently sob.
Weak daylight filters through the grime-coated windows, casting long shadows across the warped floorboards. A freezing draft slips through the cracks in the walls and rattles the loose panes of glass, but it does nothing to cool the sweat dripping down Evan’s face.
The stone fireplace looms behind him, cold and blackened with soot as dust hangs in the air.
We’ve been at this for hours. I’m exhausted, but I’m not giving up until I’m certain that he’s given me every last detail.
I crouch down and unholster my revolver. Pressing the barrel under his chin, I tilt his head so he can look me in the eye.
“Where are the rest?” I ask again with a growl.
Lockhart’s shoulders shake as his cries become more audible. “I s—swear, there isn’t anymore.”
I study his face, searching for the lie.
Blood slowly drips from his nose. His right eye is practically swollen shut. His lips quiver as I click the hammer of my gun, toying with him.
