Acres, Natalie - Sex Club [Cowboy Sex 5] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (40 page)

“Tristan!” Ansley squealed.

“Don’t worry, honey,” Jordie Anne drawled, considering Ansley’s passionate scream. Obviously, Ansley loved this fellow. What a shame, she’d planned to only kill Ansley and Kimberly, to make Trixie suffer before her own death. Now, since Ansley had made her feelings clear, she’d let her know heartache as well.

Why not? Killing the hunk might be fun.

By the time Ansley met her maker, she’d have tearstains on her cheeks. “That’s right, Ms. Cartwell. I’ll take good care of him.” Immediately, and without hesitation, her arm propelled to the side. She cocked her gun and fired. Several other shots rang out, and she stared down at the pistol. Had her weapon backfired?

She gasped for air, succumbing to painful wounds. Falling to the ground, she became aware of the blood gushing from her body. Something was wrong. Something was definitely the matter.

In a matter of seconds, she realized she was lying on soft soil. The earth felt cool and mushy, wet and dirty. She looked up at the dark sky. The black night was consuming her.

“Jordie Anne!” someone screamed aloud. Even in the company of enemies, someone was there for her.

“Mitch? Mitch is that you?” she cried out as she strained to see her body. She couldn’t feel her legs. Lying back again, she stared at the black blanket above her, noticing a few small stars winking back at her, laughing at her. “Mitch! Please! Say something! I’m so scared, Mitch! Help me!”

“I’m right here, Jordie.” A large form dropped beside her, touching her arm with a gentle caress.

“I’m dying,” she rasped, spitting up blood. “Mitch! Is that you?”

“Rest, Jordie,” the voice said.

Jordie! No, no, no!
Only Brock and Rory called her Jordie. And Mae, but Mae was dead. She’d killed her. Was this retribution for the crime she’d committed? Oh God, was she dying? Would she leave this world without seeing Mitch one final time?

Sobbing, she thought of her husband. She needed Mitch. She needed to hold him in her arms one last time!

“Mitch!” she wailed, the pain turning to numbness. The bright heavenly stars twinkling in the sky slowly dimmed. “I’m dying.”

“Shh, Jordie.”

“I’m dying!” she spat, seeing the blood spew from her lips as she tried to hang on just a little while longer.

Others gathered around her. She searched their faces, their solemn expressions. No one there really cared. With all the strength she could muster, she finally held her gaze at the one who’d caused all of this. “You.” A trickle of moisture ran down her lip. Maybe it was blood. Maybe it was a tear. “You. Will. Never. Truly. Have. Him.”

No one replied. Her audience never made another sound. The world began to spin. She closed her eyes, realizing she wasn’t among friends. Her actions had caused her to make enemies out of these people.

They weren’t calling for help. They wanted her to die right there in that forest. And perhaps when she entered there, she’d known all along. This was where she’d spend the last moments of her life.

* * * *

“What the fuck were you doing?” Brock asked, rising from his crouched position.

Ansley immediately rushed him, throwing her palms against his chest before he threw a punch. “Brock, wait a minute!”

“She turned that gun on Tristan!” Bailey screamed. “Surely you didn’t expect me to let her shoot him!”

“I could’ve talked her down! Damn you!” Brock screamed, pacing. Running a splayed hand through his hair, he cursed at the wind. “You have no fucking idea what you’ve done!”

“I saved Tristan’s life, probably yours, and definitely Ansley’s!” Bailey screamed. “I won’t apologize for that.”

Brock’s expression was one of fury and disappointment. Ansley narrowed her gaze on his face and searched his eyes. “Brock, he probably saved Trixie’s life as well. Jordie Anne was in town for one reason. She came to North Carolina with killing on her mind.” As gently as she could, Ansley added, “And she may have hurt the children. One never knows what a killer is thinking, what drives them, what leads them to take chances a normal person wouldn’t even consider.”

Brock thinned his lips. He knelt beside Jordie Anne again. After a moment, he spread his fingers and closed her still eyes. A heavy breath fell from his lungs. “Call 9-1-1. I have a call to place.”

Ansley watched as Brock strolled away with his head down, his shoulders slumped. She turned around and slapped Graham’s chest. Startled, he asked, “Mind telling me what that was for?”

“Don’t you ever, ever stand in between me and a loaded gun at point-blank range! Do you hear me?” Tears gushed down her face, and each one burned her cheeks.

“I hear ya, baby. I hear ya,” Graham said, wrapping his arms around her.

Tristan approached them and gently caressed her shoulders. “Let’s get you home, Ansley.”

She shook her head. “The police will want a statement from us. If I leave, they’ll think we’re trying to cover up something. I want to be here for Bailey.”

Turning then, she walked over to Bailey and locked her arms around his neck. When his palms landed against her lower back, he said, “I love you, Ansley. Don’t think I deserted you when I ducked out of sight. I would’ve gladly taken a bullet for you, but we had one chance to save ourselves.”

“I know,” she admitted, remembering right then how odd she’d found it to discover him with a gun anyway. When they’d first arrived there and stripped down to nothing, she hadn’t even noticed his weapon. They were lucky—considering they weren’t prepared and watching their backs—Brock, Tristan, and Elliott arrived when they did.

Immediately, she turned to Elliott. His eyes met hers. Compassion and love spilled from his gaze. Spreading his long, lean limbs, he said, “Come here, babe.”

She ran into his arms, burying her face in his shirt. “I was frightened. For the first time ever, I thought I might actually die.”

“I know,” Elliott said. “You’re safe now, Ansley. You’re very fortunate.”

“How?” she asked, tilting her face toward his. “How is that possible? I’m responsible for Jordie Anne’s death. I should’ve tried to help her in some way. Instead, that first day she called the club, I taunted her. She’s dead because of me. She had a sick mind, and instead of trying to talk to her, I…”

“Shh,” Elliott whispered. “I won’t let you do this, Ansley.” He lowered his forehead to hers and said, “There’s no way I’ll ever let you take the blame for this.” Staring over the top of her head, he quietly added, “Besides, I’m afraid Brock is already carrying that burden as his own.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

While the others talked to detectives and various law-enforcement officers, Brock waited for Rory to awaken Trixie. He’d called them first, deciding he needed his family’s assurance before he tried to reach Mitch.

“Okay,” Rory said. “Trixie’s here.”

“Hi, baby,” Brock said, taking a seat on a nearby log. “I have some news.”

“Go ahead,” Trixie said quietly, apparently able to gauge his tone. She knew him so well. She most likely realized he was calling to tell her about Jordie Anne’s demise. He would’ve handled the situation differently if he’d been required to deliver devastating news about one of her family members.

“It’s a long story, and I don’t have time to give the details, but Jordie is dead.”

She gasped. “Oh my God, Brock. What happened?”

“Like I said, there isn’t time to explain everything. The cops are here waiting for my statement.” A beat later, he said, “Ansley is fine, but Jordie followed her and two of her men friends to a deserted location. She snuck up on them. Graham guarded her with his life. I’m sure you aren’t surprised. And Bailey, he’s one of her bartenders—”

“I know who he is. Are you sure Ansley is okay?”

“She’s okay, yes.”

“So the bartender shot her?” Rory asked.

“Yeah,” Brock replied, watching as one of the detectives approached him. “Listen, I’ll tell you everything when I see you. I need to go.”

“I love you!” Trixie hurriedly exclaimed. “Everything will be all right.”

“Rory?”

“Yeah, man?”

“I’m calling the prison. I’ll try to reach Mitch tonight. His trial and conviction gained a lot of press. I’m afraid Jordie’s death may do the same, since he’s due for a controversial early release. I want Mitch to hear this news from one of us. We owe him that much.”

“You’re right about that. Everyone in the South is always interested in what the Colony family is doing. Jordie’s death could hit the national news.”

“I’m afraid of that.”

“Let me call him, Brock,” Rory volunteered. “He may want to talk to Trixie. She could comfort him in his time of need.”

Brock held up his forefinger, and an approaching detective nodded his head, checked his watch, and paced a few feet away. “You’re probably right.”

“Do you want me to tell him anything specifically?” Rory asked.

“It’s up to you. His name was the last word she spoke, but I don’t know whether you should tell him that or not.”

“We’ll see how he takes this, okay?”

“Yeah, well, let me know how it goes.” Brock realized how this would all unravel. Mitch would look for someone to blame.

Disconnecting the call, he strolled over to the awaiting detective. “I’m Brock Sheldon.”

“Mason Humphries. I’m the lead detective on this case.”

“There really isn’t much of a case,” Brock said, shaking his offered hand.

“We’ll be the judge of that,” Detective Humphries smugly remarked. “Want to tell me why you’re all the way out here?”

He watched Ansley as she spoke to a local officer. He couldn’t help but notice how her four fellows formed a protective circle around her.

“Mr. Sheldon? The reason you’re out this way tonight?”

Brock jerked. “Jordie Anne Colony had threatened Ansley Cartwell, my sister-in-law, and the rest of my family. Ansley’s boyfriends were concerned when she didn’t return to the club. Elliott Killian mentioned they leased this land, so we drove out to take a look around.”

The detective scribbled a few notes down and peered over his shoulder. “You said ‘boyfriends,’ as in plural. Can you indicate to whom you’re referring?”

Brock crossed his arms. He’d dealt with the judgments of others since arriving in the Asheville area. And he didn’t like how the locals often condemned them for their life choices.

“All four of them,” he replied, tilting his head toward the group. “Ansley is involved with Graham and Elliott Killian, Tristan, and Bailey. I don’t know their last names right off, but I’m sure you already have their information.”

The man shook his head and snickered. “I swear, those Cartwells never did have any morals.”

“I beg your pardon?” Rage burned through Brock’s veins. His pulse quickened, and he damn-near trembled all over he was so angry. “I’m married to one of the Cartwells, for your information.”

The detective held his head higher and squared his shoulders. He looked him in the eye and said, “That’s your mistake. Not mine.”

Before Brock thought about the consequences, he threw a left punch and knocked the idiot to the ground. Shaking his arm, he cursed under his breath. “Man, that felt good.”

“Brock!” Ansley screamed, rushing to his side. “What the hell are you doing?”

Several officers rushed toward him, and in a matter of minutes, Brock’s wrists were secured behind his back. When the grimacing agent stood, he read him his rights. “Brock Sheldon, you are under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder, and…”