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Jesus, he makes terms of endearment sound menacing.
“Yes,” I admit. No point in lying. “It wasn’t calculated. Sometimes, far-off things stick in my brain.” Sipping the putrid liquid, I mask my choking. Although my froggy squeak betrays me, which provokes a twitch in Ryker’s lips—the first hint at humanity. Clearing my throat, I add, “That skill of mine is like a late, shiny Christmas gift to you though.”
His features soften in the way marble shines—still hard and cold but reflecting a glimpse of light. “Get on with it.”
Wells barked the same command to Maddox at our wedding.
Ignoring the brick sinking into the pit of my stomach from the flash of my wedding day, I manage a smile. “Here’s the deal: In exchange for the information that will open acasket, I need you to take a necklace of mine to a jeweler here tomorrow. I’m sure there’s one you trust or own. Have them run the serial number and leave them with a picture of Wells and a note. The jeweler should know running the number will beckon a slew of thugs with millions flashing in their eyes. I don’t want anyone hurt. And the note is only for Wells.”
“Why wouldn’t I call Wells, tell him I have you, and let him fuck the information on Montgomery out of you?”
Ahh, that’s one way to go. The thought has me squirming in my seat.
Not now.
“Because,” I argue, “you’d have to wait for it, you’d risk him not letting me share it, and because you and I aren’t so different. We’re both desperate for someone out of our grasp, and this plan of mine clamps down on them both.”
He squints his glacial blues, his finger circling the rim of his glass. “Sounds to me like you’re playing with fire and—”
“I’ve already done that. I literally burned our old life to the ground.” No sense holding back. “You’d be wise to take me seriously.”
He snickers, chugs his whiskey, and rises to retrieve the bottle from the bar. One glass isn’t going to cut it for this conversation,obviously.“I don’t know much about the shit involving you. I can see the appeal in fucking your husband over. But why purposely call out the thugs and hit men after you?”
“I’ll be tapped into the jeweler’s security, letting me see the face of every asshole trying to kill me. And fucking with Wells is cathartic,” I confess. “Two birds.”
That wins me favor.
Ryker cackles, spilling another glass of whiskey into his mouth. “Nothing worse than an underestimated badass bitch.”
Far more endearing thansweetheartout of his mouth.
I clink his empty glass and venture another sip. It’s only mildly smoother, but the burn is strangely satisfying. “So? Deal?”
He combs his fingers through his waxy brown tresses. “Fine. Better be good.”
Since this isn’t the type of deal brokered with a contract, I take him at his word. Something tells me Ryker’s good on it.
“My father had a conversation with a man last April. A month ago, it resurfaced in my mind. The man was distressed because Dalton Montgomery was causing his father, Monroe Montgomery,trouble again. He mentioned that Monroe had helped Dalton bury Hailey Holden in the Dundee Caverns.” Ryker’s eyes darken with a murderous gleam, but I don’t stop. “Here’s the kicker: Monroe was disgusted with his son and said he couldn’t choose Dalton over his grandson. He wanted nothing to do with hurting Mercy or her son, Jett. He’s desperate to have Jett back.”
Ryker drags his fingers across his mouth, processing. His mind is clearly a runaway train, but there’s excitement chugging within it.
I swirl my dwindling caramel-colored liquid, like I’ve seen Wells do with his scotch countless times. “I did a little digging. While I can’t pinpoint the exact location of where Hailey might be buried, I found an area mentioned on the dark web.” Pulling a map from my purse, I slide it toward him, the suspected area circled. “The caverns don’t offer a lot ofburial grounds, so while it might be a jump, it’s not a long one. If you tell Monroe that you know what he and Dalton did to Hailey and that you have Mercy and her son in your possession, he’ll take Dalton down himself in the spirit of saving his grandson and his own ass, and Mercy can return to you. Your hands will appear squeaky clean, and she’ll be relieved that the Holden family has closure.”
“Fuck me,” he mumbles, scrubbing both hands over his face like he’s waking up. “Jesus. Wells is a fucking moron. What the hell happened with you two?”
That begs the question, whatdoeshe know? Or think he knows?
“Sometimes, things aren’t what they seem.” It’s the only answer that makes sense here. The only one I’m capable of offering that isn’t woven with self-deprecation or information I can’t divulge.
Ryker is someone I could’ve been friends with in another life. He’s unabashedly himself, not hiding anything—threat, power, anger, relief. Gratefulness. It reassures me I did this right. I could’ve found another way with the necklace, not risking the Noire brothers calling Wells. But I wanted to do this. For Hailey Holden. For Mercy. For Ryker. And for my father. It’s what he would want, why people trusted him.
That thought seems to coast over Ryker as well—realizing he won the fatter pot in this gamble. He moves to pour me a little more whiskey, but I lift my palm to stop him.
“You can stay the night,” he says. “You’ve earned your place here, separate from Wells’s crew.”
I roll my lips in, the thought of Rena and maybe Ryker being yet one more place I could’ve fit knotting me up.Could have.“I can’t. I’m not safe here, and I’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”
“There’s no safer place for you than with us.” He slings that with a shadow of offense.
