“You married Shooter Sullivan?” my father asked, clearly stunned.
“Yes, I did.”
“She married a Bridgewater man,” Benson told my father. “Do you know what that means?”
I flicked a glance at my father. I’d rather him hear the truth from me than from Mr. Benson. I was proud to be married to both men. I would not diminish it by making it seem tainted. “It means I married Shooter Sullivan and Parker Corbin. Two men. I married both men from the train.”
My father stilled, his face blank. “You… I mean… I don’t understand.”
No, he wouldn’t.
“It means Mr. Benson wants Sully dead. If that occurred, then I’d be a widow. Marriageable. He wouldn’t need your business arrangement to get the Millard money. I’ve been the key all along.”
“Yes, you little bitch, you ruined everything!” Mr. Benson’s eyes narrowed. Sweat beaded on his brow and he began to stalk me across the room.
My father sought shelter behind his large desk.
“Ruined everything? I did nothing. I lived my life how I wanted it. For once, I didn’t do what my father bid, what was expected of me. I married for love, to not one man, but two. They love me and cherish me, and yes, fuck me. But that’s what marriage is, not an arrangement.”
My heart was hammering in my chest and I began to shake.
“I wanted the business deal, yes,” Father admitted. “But I thought Mr. Benson was a good fit for you. Clearly, I was wrong.”
Mr. Benson grinned, his teeth gleaming as bright as the whites of his eyes.
“Mr. Sullivan is dead.” His words held a dark vehemence. He was so sure of himself that my faith in Sully was beginning to waver. What if… “I’ve taken care of him.”
No. He couldn’t be right. Sully was too good at being… Sully. He had Parker with him, the other men from Bridgewater, too. I slowly shook my head. “You’re wrong. You’ve been watched. We knew your men were coming.”
“What men?” my father asked, dropping down into his desk chair.
“Men hired to kill her husband,” Benson snapped.
“With the last of your money?” I asked. “It was wasted. Sully’s not dead.”
“You are a fool. No man, not even Shooter Sullivan, could survive the O’Malleys.”
I’d never heard of them, but that didn’t mean much. I hadn’t heard of Sully’s reputation either and he was so gentle with me. Unless he wasn’t and then he was tossing me on the bed and… oh. I couldn’t think about that. Not now.
“You are coming with me until I have official news of his demise. Then we will wed. No church ceremony, a Justice of the Peace will suffice.”
“I’m not going with you.” I backed into a side table; a porcelain figurine fell to the wood floor and shattered.
His anger radiated from him. “That bastard, Sullivan. He stole you from me! You are mine. The money is mine. Your father will not stop us.”
A horrible sound rent the air and we all spun to look at the door. It h
ad been locked, but now it slammed into the plaster wall with a harsh thud, then bounced off. The doorframe was splintered, ruined.
I jumped and gasped, even Mr. Benson took a step back.
Sully stood, big and brawny, in the doorway. His head almost reached the top of the doorframe. He stepped into the room, gun in hand. “Her father might not stop you, but I fucking will.”
God, he looked so good. I raked my gaze over every inch of him. He appeared whole, healthy. Perfect. He was not dead. Elation and relief made me giddy.
Parker came in behind him, then Kane. The three of them were so big, the room suddenly felt tiny. But Mr. Benson was desperate and quick.
He grabbed me by my wrist and tugged me into him. The thick scent of hair tonic was cloying. With one arm banded about my waist, he wrapped his hand around my neck. Squeezed. His grip was tight, a little too tight. I could breathe, but barely. My eyes bulged and I clawed at his grip with my fingers. Panic set in. Sully and Parker had their eyes sharp and fixed on Benson but didn’t move any closer.