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AUSTEN HALVORSON
I was once a wild child. Brash and even bitchy, I’d grown up feeling special. I was my mom’s beloved firstborn and my dad’s only princess. Money made life easy. My red hair warned people of my troublemaking ways.
I lost my fearless ways and innocence when I was eighteen. Even worse than my trauma was the pain my sister suffered because of me. I decided after that fateful summer to silence my wild nature.
Nothing’s been the same for me since the last summer I spent in the sun-soaked land of Canary Basin, where my father’s power looms large.
I’ve spent years in therapy and tried everything to reconnect with my half-sister, Hunter. I worked hard to do good things to offset the ugly ones I spawned that night.
None of it worked. Not even cutting off my father and brothers or refusing to step foot in Canary Basin again could fix what happened.
I’ve accomplished plenty since that summer. My life isn’t miserable. Yet, the stain from that night lingers on my skin. I often see the dark memories in Hunter’s blue eyes. There’s no erasing what happened or moving forward without accepting how the best of us was ruined.
I found solace with my mother, Suzanne Knutsen. The fiery daughter of old money, she lives life fearlessly. Hunter and I wanted to be just like her. However, we quickly learned embracing our wild sides came with dangers unimpressed by our wealth or good intentions.
Whereas my sister recently bought herself a swanky condo in Banta City’s downtown, I’m still at home at thirty-one. I’ve looked for places before. Every new year, I get it in my head how I’m ready to stand on my own.
The closest I got to taking the plunge was two years ago when my best friend and I decided to move in together. Before we signed any paperwork, Coco found a boyfriend who quickly started talking about marriage. Lured into living with him, she never got the prized ring or her happily ever after. Yet, Coco did end up with his corner apartment when he walked away from the lease to free himself of her presence.
Though some people find my best friend/veterinarian assistant to be a “bit much,” I’m comforted by her big personality.
Picking Coco up for work, I realize how often I live vicariously through her wild ways. She’s a wonderful friend—loyal, patient, and willing to drag me out of my safe space when necessary.
However, the former showgirl is probably the worst driver in Banta City. She even managed to total her rental while waiting for her car to be repaired after the original accident.
“I might need to start taking the bus,” explains the leggy blonde as she settles into my Range Rover SV’s passenger seat. “Except I love to go fast, and bus drivers don’t take requests.”
Years ago, I worried our friendship couldn’t survive working together. I’m probably overly anal about my veterinarian business, and Coco’s always been on the ditzy side. She didn’t really want to be an assistant, but years of professional dancing took its toll on her knees.
Though our work styles might be different, we enjoy caring for animals and spending time together. Coco is a master at pushing me past my habit of hiding from the world. I like to think I’m rather skilled at keeping her financially solvent. I even taught her how to budget.
My job alternates between my low-cost clinic and making house calls to the town’s wealthy and their pets. Today, we arrive at the Kovak family’s large, gated estate—known by the locals as the Thibeaux Mansion.
I’ve heard rumors about how the Kovak Syndicate took control of this house and the empire run by the last crime boss. I’m also aware the family is aligned with the local motorcycle club—Backcountry Kings.
However, my mother insisted her friend Katja Kovak hire me to care for her breeding animals. Today, I’ve arrived to give her prized greyhounds their monthly checkup.
Usually, when I visit my wealthy customers, they have their staff escort me around. Perhaps as a sign of respect toward Suzanne, the Kovak’s youngest son supervises my visits.
Leon owns an effortlessly handsome face and an impeccably muscled body. I suspect he’s seeking a casual look with his black slacks and gray short-sleeved shirt. Or he’s planning to hit up the country club after chaperoning me.
Unlike Roman and Maks who resemble their father, Leon possesses blond hair like Katja. His icy blue eyes reveal nothing while he waits for us to exit the SUV.
Years ago, Hunter nursed a lowkey crush on Leon. I’ve always suspected he’s the reason she originally took her casino job. My sister never showed much interest in poker before she learned Leon was the pit boss at the Kovak family’s flagship casino—Verge. She studied up on card games and had our mom put in a call to Katja.
Now, Hunter is a blackjack dealer during a prime work shift. Gamblers love her, but Leon never showed any interest. Or possibly he did, and Hunter realized he wasn’t what she wanted.
Even if they were a love match, the Kovak family believes in arranged marriages, so Leon would need permission to marry. I can’t imagine his parents disapproving of an alliance between their new world money with my mother’s old world one. However, Hunter likely wouldn’t be interested in jumping through anyone’s hoops. That’s just my guess, though. My sister and I are no longer close enough to gossip.
I avoid Leon’s gaze as I carry my vet bag and walk across the stone driveway to where he waits at the front door. All men intimidate me, but I’m especially submissive around powerful, violent types. Though the Kovak men would view harming me as bad manners, I learned the hard way how few boundaries exist for certain people. I believed I was untouchable back in Canary Basin. I don’t plan to test the town’s power structure by accidentally angering Leon or any other Kovak family member.
Leon doesn’t make chitchat while guiding us around the estate. When I mentioned to my mother how the Kovak men seemed cold, she explained their family originates from Czechia. I don’t know much about the region but assume men there aren’t allowed to smile.
Rather than take us to the kennels himself, Leon guides us to his tall, modelesque mother standing on a stone back patio.
Katja’s leftover accent colors her words as she says hello to me. She pauses to look at her son. Seeing him staring coldly at Coco and me, Katja smiles.
“Ignore him,” she assures us before walking down the steps.
