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Me, of all the people, who would never even owe Dru, my best friend, a favor.
I don’t know how I didn’t die when Conrad issued me a copy of the loan agreement I apparently took out with Gage early last year when we weren’t even in contact and no one could find him. The fucking agreement had my grandmother’s house and restaurant down as security.
When I protested, the asshole pulled a gun on me, along with a copy of my driver’s license, and pointed to my signature alongside Gage’s on the loan agreement, knowing full well I never signed or agreed to anything.
I may be a year out of college and inexperienced in the ways of the world, but I know you don’t fuck with people like Conrad Duncan. Not when they hold you at gunpoint in your own home and leave you begging for your life.
All he wants is his money paid in full with an interest of seventy-five thousand on top because Gage missed a few payments and now he’s dead.
If I don’t pay what is owed by next Friday, Conrad will take my grandmother’s
House, her restaurant, and me.
Me. He’ll take me, too, and threatened to either sell me on the sex market or keep me for himself.
You hear about these sorts of bizarre things on TV shows or read about them in books.
Not many people consider it could actually happen to them in real life. I certainly didn’t.
One word to the police or anyone I could potentially seek help from means death. Conrad threatened to kill the people I care about. Starting with Grams.
My soul shivers at the memory of him saying those words with his fingers digging into my throat and his dark hawk-eyes boring into me.
So, no, I’m not grieving for Gage in any shape or form.
If he weren’t dead, I’d kill him myself.
I’m not even supposed to be in Wilmington, but that evil bastard has managed to screw me over from beyond the grave.
I had so many hopes and dreams for my career that just shattered when I found out just how sick Grams is. And,God, now I feel bad for selfishly thinking about myself when she sacrificed so much for me.
Everything is just fucked up in such a shitty way I don’t know what to do.
Since I have no money and no means of getting anything close to a hundred and seventy-five grand, the bank was my last hope.
I take another swig of my drink, and my throat burns, unlike the last time, but the buzz that comes after numbs my mind, making the scathing discomfort worth it.
Duke returns to me, lowering his brushy brown brows, his eyes filling with concern. At six foot seven his height and bulky frame has always reminded me of one of those depictions of Paul Bunyan.
“How about I fix you a milkshake, like the ones your grandmother used to make?”
I shake my head. “No, I’m not in the mood for milkshake.”
“But it always cheers you up.” His eyes crinkle with a kind smile.
Bless his heart. He still thinks I’m six. Duke and his wife, Marybeth—the town’s busybody who doesn’t like me—are my grandmother’s closest friends. She and my grandfather grew up with them in Charlotte. They moved down here to the coast after Duke and Grandpa got back from serving in the Vietnam war.
Duke and Marybeth never had kids, so they treated me like their own. Duke, not Marybeth. Definitely not when she found out I decided to follow in my mother’s footsteps to design and sell sexy lingerie.
Now she refers to me as a Jezebel filled with the spirit of the devil. Basically on track to ending up just like my mother.
She might be right with that one, except I’m not as famous as Mom was.
And since Grams kept me out of the media after my mother’s death, if I departed from this world tomorrow, I’d barely be remembered as Scarlet St. James’ daughter.
“Could I have a tall glass of whiskey, please?” My request is much to Duke’s dismay. I’m aware his offer of milkshake was a subtle way of telling me he’s worried I’m drinking too much. The small sigh slipping from his lips is another giveaway.
“Gwen, maybe you should go home. I know this past week has been difficult for you, but I don’t want to see you drown your sorrows in alcohol.”
