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Trent’s tone was patronizing. “How do you think I know?”
“You — you had something to do with this?” As soon as I said it, I knew it was true.
Trent didn’t answer, but I sensed his gloating attitude over the phone. Worry and nerves collided in my chest. Was this the beginning of Trent making sure he got what he wanted? Did he have someone hurt Asher? Sure, coming off his bike was a minor incident, but it was an effective demonstration of power. Next time could be much, much worse.”
“What a pathetic excuse for a man you are. You think because you’re part of a secret little society of fucking power-hungry losers that you can mess with people’s lives? Stay away from Asher — or you’ll have me to answer to, Trent Fitzgerald.” I sounded fierce. I sounded confident. I was neither, but I was grateful Trent didn’t know that.
“Now, that’s no way for a lady to talk. I see there’s a lot to modify about your behavior…once you’re mine.”
“I swear on my life: I will make you suffer if you continue this. Stop now, before it gets out of hand,” I hissed out.
“Be careful who you threaten, Winter. I’ve already put your boyfriend in the hospital and fucked up your roommate. Who’s next? Your mom, or maybe your dad? Or how about your boyfriend’s sister? Or the hardworking cleaning lady with the heart of gold?”
My pulse thrummed in my veins; I was desperate and scared. Was he blackmailing me? Could he really make good on these threats? If he could, then I’d have no choice but to do whatever he told me to. I couldn’t let Asher or our families be hurt because of me. No way.
I was quiet. I had nothing to say back to Trent right now. My comebacks were all used up. I was terrified.
He sounded satisfied that he’d silenced me. “Now, I’ll be in touch soon. A dinner with my dad will show him we’re on the right track.”
“We’re not on any track. I don’t care what your dad says. I’ll expose The Cove, or whatever you call it, and send you both to jail.”
“We’ll see,” Trent said simply and hung up.
I gripped my phone, fighting the urge to throw it against the wall for a moment. Instead, I took a couple of calming breaths and tried to clear the red from my vision.
“Got a light, sweetheart?” someone with a deep voice and an indiscernible accent asked me.
I spun around, gripping my phone tightly.
“Sorry, what?” I asked numbly.
It was the biker I’d noticed on the Harley. Not Cole Bailey or anyone I recognized from the bar where Asher worked. This guy was older, tattooed to hell and back. He had long dirty-blond hair, held back with a tie, and deep-green eyes. He grinned down at me with the confidence of a man used to getting whatever he wanted from women.
“A light?” Irish. The green-eyed devil was Irish.
“No, sorry,” I muttered and turned away.
“I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation,” the biker drawled, leaning against the nearby wall and tucking his unlit cigarette behind his ear.
“You mean you listened in on a private conversation?” I snapped at him, not in the mood to engage with anyone at all.
He smirked. “Exactly. I have to say, I caught a name you mentioned, and I’ll be damned if it’s not the very thing I’ve been searching for lately. Must be fate.” The guy smiled, but there was a lethal grace to his casual demeanor. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. Everything about him screamed that he was a very dangerous man, despite his lopsided smile and easy charm.
“What name? Trent Fitzgerald? If it’s that name, I’ll give you his address, his schedule, his number, everything…If you want to hurt him, even better,” I bit out.
The Irish guy laughed and raised an eyebrow at me. “I like fire in a woman. Sadly, that wasn’t the name I’m interested in. The Cove. I’d love to hear what you know about it.”
“The Cove? I can tell you everything I know about it, on one condition.” I paused for a moment. “Do you have good intentions?”
He laughed. “Sweetheart, the answer to that is rarely yes.”
Good. I crossed my arms over my chest and eyed him up and down. “In that case, maybe we could help each other. I’m Winter, by the way. Winter DeLaurie.” I stuck my hand out like I was meeting a new business partner.
Irish Guy smirked at me and took my hand. His was huge, and calloused, and absolutely covered in what looked like prison tattoos.
“Nice to meet you, Winter. I’m Bran. Bran O’Connor.”
Winter
