Savage Ending (Savage Trilogy 4)

His rejection is hard and fast. “I’m not pulling you into this. Just in and out, nice and clean. Invisible.”

I want to push for more, but a cellphone isn’t a safe way to extract information. “Where are you?” I repeat. “I’ll bring you money and we can drink to this being over for you and me.”

He hesitates and then says, “I’m texting the address. Thanks, man. If you pull this off, the story reverses. I owe you.”

“No debt. I’m done after this.” I disconnect and slide my phone back in my pocket, wondering how the fuck I’m going to tell Candace I’m leaving days before our wedding.

My phone buzzes with a text, and I glance down to read the locations Max has sent me. I’m headed to Tennessee and then Colorado. I text the private airport Walker frequents and put a plane on hold.

Once that’s done, I walk back inside the building to find Adam’s big-ass self waiting in the hallway. “What was that?”

“You aren’t my mother, man. Back up.”

“But I’m your damn brother from another mother. What the fuck was that?”

He’s right. He is my brother from another mother, which is exactly why I don’t lie to him. And I’m not getting him involved in my bullshit. I blow past him and bump the fuck out of his shoulder as I walk on by him. Because what’s a brother for if not to show love?

Nicolas is waiting on me. “Your tuxedo is missing,” he announces.

I decide right then the universe is conspiring to keep me away from Candace, but it won’t work. If I have to show up to the church in my birthday suit, the way God brought me into this world, I will. Nothing will keep me from marrying my baby girl.

CHAPTER THREE

Candace

Less than one week.

In less than one week, I will finally marry the love of my life.

I stand on a pedestal in the center of the bridal shop’s dressing room and stare at myself in the mirror. My dress is ivory, with a plunging neckline, but the sheer flesh-colored mesh neckline somehow defines it as less daring than it truly is. And the back, the back is stunning, low cut with the same mesh.

“The flowers down the skirt and train are just stunning,” Julie exclaims.

Julie is the blonde bombshell wife of Luke Walker, the middle Walker brother who I’ve spent the last six months getting to know. Her and Lauren, Royce Walker’s wife, have become fast friends who have made New York City feel like home. Julie is also pale and a little sickly today, having just found out that she’s pregnant. “I pray I don’t get sick at your wedding,” Julie says, turning paler and sitting down on a bench.

“If you do,” I declare, “we’ll make the men clean it up.”

She laughs. “That would be entertaining.” She glances at her watch. “Grrr. I have to get to a meeting. Lauren and I have a new client. Someone Royce really wants us to take on.”

Lauren and Julie are the lawyers who support Walker’s clients. It’s really amazing, I think, the way the Walker team has created a circle of work, family, and friends. And now I’m a part of that circle. Well, not the work part. I design buildings, so I’m not exactly their go-to person for Walker cases. But a Walker clan of about thirty did surprise me with gallons of ice cream and champagne to help me celebrate a contract to design a new apartment by the Hudson River.

Julie pushes to her feet. “I’d hug you, but I’m not going to risk messing up that dress. It’s gorgeous and you’re gorgeous. And wear your hair down. It’s such a shiny dark brown, it’s luscious.”

“Lucious?” I snicker. “My hair is luscious?”

“You know it, darlin’.” She blows me a kiss and rushes away, “Call me tonight!”

“I will,” I promise over my shoulder, a smile on my lips.

“How are we doing, Candace?”

My gaze roams to the doorway where Mary, my seamstress, a pretty brunette with lush dark curls, has rejoined us. “Fabulous,” I say. “Thank you. I think those small adjustments you made last fitting were needed.”

“Excellent.” She clasps her fingers together and gives me and my dress an inquiring eye. “I do need to pin a couple of spots here and there for a few more tiny adjustments. I know you say it’s perfect, but it’s not quite there yet. Give me a few more minutes, if you can? It’s insanity in here today and I want to be focused to make your final adjustments.”

“I don’t mind leaving it on just a little longer one bit,” I assure her. “Take your time.”

She smiles a knowing smile, well versed on brides who are enamored with their own dresses. “Let me detach your train so you can sit,” she suggests, and quickly moves behind me, removes the attachment, and then hangs it up. “Now you can enjoy champagne.” She fills a glass and sets it on a table in the corner, near two comfy chairs. “I’ll hurry back,” she promises.