Page 22 of Rough Return

“Currently? No.” Her voice wavered as she glanced at Grier.

“Well, you must occupy the same home for the term of two years or the business will be sold immediately and the Screaming Demon Motorcycle club will be dissolved, and all the proceeds from the sale of Max’s house, the businesses, and the other properties Max holds in the name of the motorcycle club will go to the members of the club, excluding the two of you. You will each receive a one-time thousand-dollar pay-out.”

Grier checked Fiona from the corner of his eye. She sat stoic, quiet, unmoving. Part of him wondered if she’d known this all along. The other part couldn’t process the information. Couldn’t understand what this all meant, why Max would want to bind Fiona to him, even if only for two years.

And the lawyer continued. “The grandchildren clause is very specific.”

“Grandchildren clause?”

Oh, Max. What did you do?

“Yes. It states that Fiona, barring medical issues, has one year to get pregnant. Half of the inheritance will be held in trust for the grandchildren.” He picked up his glasses and held them in front of his face rather than slipping them on. “Should Fiona not become pregnant within the first year, the trust will be dissolved and the money held by Kessler and Feinstein, Attorneys at Law.”

“Your firm?”

“Yes. Your father—” He stared at Fiona now and let his eyes wander over her body so that Grier clenched his fist to keep from killing the old fucker. “—was very specific.”

This tied Grier to Fiona, and the quickie divorce they’d discussed only yesterday was no more. He could see it in her face, in the hope written in her eyes. She wanted a baby, wanted to make him a father. The man least likely to be good at it.

And if he worked like a dog for the rest of his life, there was no way he could make enough money to buy her out of this. No way he could match the inheritance or even come close enough to convince her to set him free of this ridiculous bargain he’d struck.

Fiona stood, walked to a table set with a decanter of dark amber whiskey and matching crystal glasses. She poured four fingers into a glass and drank in one long gulp. Then she poured another. “Fi, what are you doing?”

“I am horribly sober and looking to change that. I’d put out the do-not-disturb sign, but—” She snapped her fingers. “—apparently, I have to be disturbed.” She widened her eyes and stage whispered, “sexually.”

“Miss Strong—”

She held up her glass in a toast. “It’s Mrs. Owen, now, Mr. Kessler. Or did Harvard Law not teach reading comprehension?”

“Mrs. Owen, the terms are quite clear and specific, but he also left you both an escape. You lose everything, including the inheritance for the children, but…” He shrugged. “It’s a way out.”

“Which is?” Well, someone had to ask. Might as well have been Grier.

“If Fiona is in danger or abused, she may leave the relationship unscathed.”

“And what happens to Grier?”

Kessler hung his head. “There’s a number that needs to be called by Fiona.” He handed her an envelope. “What happens to Mr. Owen after the call is not mentioned. But considering the nature of the secrecy and your father’s business interests…”

Nothing much to guess there. Grier closed his eyes and tilted his head back. He needed to think, to process, to make a new plan. When he opened his eyes, Fiona held out a drink. The lawyer stood and walked to the door. “I’ll give you a minute.”

Fiona sank into the chair next to him. She chuckled once. Then again. By the time he turned to her, she’d dissolved into almost hysterical laughter.

“Fi…”

Either she couldn’t stop or wouldn’t. She calmed enough to speak, but it took a while. “That old bastard.”

Any other time and under any other circumstances, he would have laughed with her. Would have enjoyed a good chuckle. But now, watching his life circle the drain, along with Fiona’s and a child to be named later, he couldn’t find so much as a smile.

Fiona looked from the man in front of her to the glass of whiskey in her hand. “Drink, Mr. Sedotal?” He shook his head. “All right then. You understand you won’t be a member of the club. I don’t want you looking like one of them or talking like one of them. If I hire you, you’re my man in black, my protector.”

Tyler Sedotal. Ex-Marine. Three tours in Afghanistan. Home long enough to get arrested, sentenced, serve his time, and be released. She’d found him waiting for a ride outside the prison. But the lure of an Italian sports car and the banded stack of bills persuaded him into her car.

“Why do you need protection?”

She smiled because she had pieces to move around the board. Tyler Sedotal was her pawn. “I don’t.”

“My price—”