“But it’s still dangerous for us to know where he is, right?” Brianna pushed away from the table and slammed her napkin to the table. “Where have I heard that before?”
“Brianna, sit down,” Kane said firmly.
“You are not my father. Remember? We’ve already established that.”
“No, but I’m family. Better still, I’m your first line of defense. If you want to save yourself, you’ll start by losing that chip on your shoulder. Then, you’ll tell me who it is you’ve pissed off and why they want you dead.”
“Dead?” Gemma looked at Brianna. “You didn’t say anything about someone wanting you dead.”
Nory covered her small mouth with a trembling hand.
“Are you happy now?” Brianna asked, seething. “You come in here and start all this drama and for what?” She turned to the table, picked up her plate and cup and took it to the sink. Pausing briefly, she wasn’t sure what to say next. It occurred to her then that no one had uttered a sound. In the back of her mind somewhere, she could hear her mother’s calming voice telling her to accept the helping hand reaching out to her. Slowly, she faced her family. “I hadn’t told them.”
“I know.” Kane narrowed his eyes. “I’m not here to help you keep your secrets, Brianna. I’m here because a man took something from you that he shouldn’t have been permitted to have.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Kane.”
“Maybe not, but—”
Before he could finish, Brianna stormed out of the kitchen. Behind her, Brianna heard, “Kane. Wait. Let me talk to her.”
Peyton could blab all she wanted. It wasn’t like Br
ianna would listen. Besides, Peyton was a good one to talk. From what she’d heard about her cousin’s shared wife, she was kinkier than the average broad. She apparently had a police record to prove it.
What could the woman possibly say that would make her feel better?
At the end of the day, women were on this earth for one reason—to make a man’s cock hard. Brianna had that down pat. Apparently Peyton Cartwell had fared all right in that specific department, too, since she slept with three men.
So sure, maybe they could talk about that—one whore to another.
Chapter Five
A few hours later, Brianna bounded down the steps and out the front door. “I’ll be back in a bit. Need anything from the store?”
Peyton rose from the porch swing. “I’ve been waiting for you. Do you think we could talk?”
“Sure, Peyton,” Brianna said, unable to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. “What would you like to discuss? Hmm? Want to tell me how you know what it’s like to grow up without a mother? Want to tell me you can relate to what I’m feeling? Is that it?”
“I only want to help, Brianna.” Peyton sighed. “I understand more than you think.”
“Really? Do ya now?” She snorted at that. “Was your dad a drug lord? Was some madman out to kill you? Did he seduce you first, you know, just for sport? What is it that you’d like to discuss exactly?” Brianna’s gaze bore into Peyton’s. When Peyton didn’t answer her, she smirked. “What? Cat has your tongue now? Well, how about this. Why don’t you tell me how you felt when you were forced to talk to a cop about your most intimate moments?” She tried her hand at a take-that look. “From what I understand, we do have that in common.”
Peyton crossed her arms. “You’re angry.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine, Brianna.” She waved her hand at the swing. “Sit with me?”
“Like I said, I’m going to the store. When I get back, maybe we can chat.” Before Peyton could stop her, Brianna rushed down the cobblestone path to the row of trees where her sports coup was parked. She jerked open the door, took a seat, jammed her key in the ignition, revved up the engine, and peeled out of the driveway.
Before the Cartwells had arrived, she’d been young, wild, and free. The sooner she set the pace, the sooner they’d see. Their help arrived just a tad too late.
Brianna and her sisters didn’t need Kane and Peyton Cartwell sticking their noses in their lives. As she drove to the main highway, she gripped the steering wheel so hard her knuckles turned white. Her mother’s favorite saying was, “The strength of a woman is demonstrated in those who are slow to anger.”
“But you didn’t endure what we endured, Momma,” Brianna said, wiping the tears off her cheeks. The road in front of her blurred as she cried out in anger, true rage. Finally, when she’d cried all she could cry, she pulled off the exit. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she thought she heard her mom’s small voice say, “Brianna, darling, I love you, but you brought this on yourself.”
The rage rolled forward again. This time, she shook it off before it grabbed a significant hold. Her mother’s ghost or her own conscience, whatever it was, could move the fuck on. She knew better than anyone what had happened could’ve been prevented.