Peaches nodded and sent me a questioning look as if I kept a list of backup caterers in my back pocket. “And what does Virgil have to say about this wedding emergency?”
Maisie sighed and rolled her eyes. “Not much, honestly. He got me a list of local companies, but he’s convinced the fire wasn’t accidental.”
Shit. “What reason does he have to suspect that?” Suddenly I was very interested in her wedding problem.
She shrugged. “Because that’s what the fire department told him. They set the fire on purpose, blah, blah, blah. Focus, Charlie. Food. I can’t have a wedding reception without food, and all the caterers Virgil sent my way are booked.”
If someone set the fire on purpose, it was likely The Crusaders or the Black Jacks MC, hell maybe it was Brendan Rhymer still lurking around. Somewhere. “Where is this catering company?”
Maisie groaned and rolled her eyes. “Are you even listening, Charlie, because all I hear is more arson talk when what I need to hear is who can make upscale, delicious reception food in less than a week. Got it?”
I nodded and pushed up off the wooden bench seat. “Yeah, I got it. I get it, but if this was arson, we have to consider that maybe the reason is your wedding.”
Jameson frowned. “Why would anyone give a shit about her wedding? No offense, Maze.”
“None taken,” she said with a weak smile as she brushed off his words. “But it’s a good question.”
I sighed. “Because this looks like a fucking marriage of dynasties.” I emphasized the last word. “We have damn near the whole Opey Chapter of Reckless Bastards in town to watch Gunnar’s little girl marry a fuckin’ Ashby, which could be viewed as a threat in some circles.”
“Looks who’s already thinking like a president.” My dad’s voice boomed loud behind Maisie, startling her almost out of her ridiculously high heels. “It’s something to consider, but weddings are hard enough without food, am I right Sunshine?” He wrapped an arm around Maisie’s waist and kissed her cheek. “I’ll bet Jana or Teddy will know who to call. Come on.” Dad flashed a worried look over his shoulder at me and then Tate. “I’ll catch up with you guys later.”
My uncle Tate, who everyone still called Golden Boy even though his hair was more faded gold and silver than blond, nodded and came my way with a worried frown knitting his brows together. “So, we need to do some digging?”
“Yeah, I’ll talk to Jasper first. See if he knows anything.” Despite Cross’s concerns, the Ashby’s had proven to be effective allies lately, and I planned to continue the partnership for as long as it worked for us.
Both of us.
Chapter Four
Savannah
I hate you. I hate your stupid, ugly face and I wish you would just fucking die already. The reflection that stared back at me with lifeless blue eyes and messy brown hair was unimpressed with my words and my hatred. The tough, cynical woman who stared back at me didn’t care that I hated her or that I wished us both to hell.
She didn’t care about a damn thing.
After sixty long seconds, I spit the nasty gold colored mouthwash into the stained sink and washed it down the drain along with the memories and remnants of another satisfied piece of shit. Just another day at the office.
I hoped the big dude, my new daddy, didn’t come back. He was brutal. I’d came to with my hands zip tied behind my back and his cock pounding my ass. He’d beat me to within an inch of my life, and I wished he’d just end me.
Fuckin’ sicko.
The hotel room was even more depressing with the rumpled sheets and stained pillowcases, but the bottle of vodka that lay broken in front of the lopsided nightstand provided hope. The bottle was small, but the shard was just sharp enough that one quick swipe, across my throat or down each wrist, could provide oblivion in minutes. Possibly seconds.
I looked at the door for several long seconds, waiting for another unwanted intrusion, and when it didn’t come, I scooted across the bed and hid one shard in the drawer, tossing the other in the trash.
If Roadkill found it, he or Blade might assume it was an instrument of protection. A weapon. And since there was no such thing in this world as ‘no’ or hard limits, there was no need for protection. Whatever the client was paying for, he—sometimes she—got.
I didn’t know what, if anything, I’d actually do with the broken glass, but it was nice to have options. Whatever happened next would be on me. It had been months since my kidnap, and it was obvious that Father had forgotten about me. I never expected Brendan to come to my rescue because without me around, he would get everything he ever wanted. Which was everything.