Acres, Natalie - Sex Club [Cowboy Sex 5] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (48 page)

Peyton’s family loyalty ran deep, and if she thought someone was out to hurt one of her own, she’d move hell and high earth to stop them. That went for her sons-in-law, too. If Brock knew Peyton as well as he thought, the same would apply to those who might join her family at a later date.

There was a lot to tell in a short period of time. Brock had no idea where to start. Soon, the club would be booming. The last thing he wanted to do was follow Peyton home so he could finish a half story then face the Cartwell men and their numerous questions, too.

“You know about the shooting.”

“Yes, and you’re stalling,” Peyton said, sipping her wine. “I’ve heard all about the event. From what I was told, Bailey had no other choice. He had to pull the trigger.”

“That’s right.” After Brock had been questioned for assaulting a police officer, he’d had time to think. At first, he’d blasted Bailey for firing the gun. Brock had been convinced he might have been able to save Jordie. In the end, specifically after he heard a few officers discussing ballistics, he changed his mind. If Bailey had given him the opportunity to talk Jordie down, someone innocent could’ve gotten hurt.

“You don’t seem so sure.”

“I am,” Brock said with more confidence. “Because of Mitch, I wanted to try and intervene. Truth is, I was too late, Peyton. Once Jordie killed Mae Leonard—the woman taking care of her in Marion—police say she developed a blood thirst. According to investigators, she had dozens of pictures taken by a private investigator.

“She wanted to kill Ansley. After she discovered Ansley wasn’t Trixie, she still planned on killing anyone close to Trixie. Who knows, she could’ve gone after the children. There was only one way to stop her. I just wanted to try and help—for Mitch.”

Peyton studied him. “It wasn’t just for Mitch, was it?”

“I don’t follow you.”

“You’re worried about Trixie.”

“And Mitch?” he asked, his voice raising an octave. “No, Peyton. I’m not concerned about Mitch and Trixie.”

“Brock, I know how much Trixie once cared for Mitch.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said, realizing he might as well explain. He would save Trixie the trouble later. “Peyton, Mitch is in love with Trixie, and his marriage to Jordie didn’t change that.”

“Hmm,” she muttered.

“If they decide to be together later, we have room in our lives for him, too. Rory and I have discussed this. Mitch was with Jordie out of duty. He felt responsible for his actions as a teenager. He always blamed himself for what happened to her, and he wasn’t about to leave her alone in the world.”

“Did she have family?”

“Apparently, her father died while she was institutionalized. No one knows where her mother is. I really don’t know all the details about her life. We just didn’t ask a lot of questions. We were more concerned about our family.”

“So Bailey killed Jordie in self-defense?”

“Yes, more or less,” Brock replied. “Jordie blamed Tristan because she was sloppy and the police were aware of her sooner than she’d anticipated. Tristan was here at the club when she visited Clink.

“Thanks to Tristan’s fast-moving efforts, they closed down the club, questioned the patrons as they left, and Tristan put two and two together before anyone was hurt, notifying me and Pete of what he discovered. Apparently, she tipped her hand by telling Tristan she was Mitch’s wife.”

“He sounds like he’s on the ball,” Peyton said. “Now, tell me why I shouldn’t like this Tristan fella. I’ve heard all about why I should be indebted to him. Now, what’s not to like? You’re hiding something, and I want to know what it is.”

Brock nursed his beer until there was nothing more than spit left in the bottom of the bottle. “I don’t know how to tell you this except to just say it. Tristan and Bailey are brothers. Their entire family—father, grandfather, aunts, and uncles—ripped off the mob. They’ve been on the run since they were teenagers, best I can gather.”

“What mob?” Peyton said, showing her small-town mentality. Then again, when he’d first heard their story, he’d asked the same question. Asheville merchants didn’t pay a cost-of-doing-business fine to the mafia. They didn’t have known cartel members dining at the finer establishments. The big-city problems rarely found their way to North Carolina communities like Fletcher.

“Their enemies are from New York and include three crime families, and the reason they’re on the run? One hundred million dollars, and that’s all I know.”

Peyton stared at him wide-eyed and openmouthed. Not a sound fell from her lips.

“Peyton, Tristan and Bailey love Ansley. They were too young to be mixed up in their father’s business, but unfortunately, because of the choices their relatives made, they’ve spent most of their lives changing appearances, moving around, and packing up and relocating on a moment’s notice.”

“And they couldn’t just keep running after they met Ansley? They had to involve her in this, too?”

Brock had thought of that. Then again, he’d been in and out of Clink quite a bit. He’d watched how Ansley acted around them. She was nuts about them. If they had tried to keep their distance, it wouldn’t have been easy. She would’ve pursued them and probably did.

“Do you know anything else?”

“That’s all I have.”

“Well, thank you for talking to me.”

“I’m sure Evan and Kane would’ve filled you in later tonight.”

Peyton smiled sweetly. “I doubt it. They like to keep things from me, but this will be our secret. Kane would be furious with you if he knew you’d upset me.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Hours later, the “last call for alcohol” announcement sounded damn-near orgasmic after Clink’s record-breaking liquor sales. Kimberly rang the cowbell and turned around, beaming from ear to ear.

“Snap damn,” Ansley grumbled, popping the caps off several beer bottles before turning around to take another customer’s order. “I thought closing time would never arrive!”

Patience scooted by her and said, “Complain all you want, but we’re hitting an all-time high in these tip jars tonight. I believe your friendly bartenders with benefits need to let us run the show back here even if they do reappear.”

“Keep running that mouth,” Ansley said. “You’re just jealous because while your boy toys are roaming the country wiggling their asses on every stage they can find, my two bartenders have been dishing up something more potent than liquor.”

“Two wine coolers,” a gal with big breasts said. She leaned over the bar, pushing her boobs up so far, they almost touched her chin.

“For their sakes, I hope they aren’t mixing up something saucy tonight. If they’re giving it to anybody other than you, I’m sure they’ll pay hell when and if they return,” Ansley continued, barely acknowledging the patron.

The jabs back and forth had been rampant all evening. The verbal banter lightened the mood at times, tightened Ansley’s jaw at others.

“We have Mountain Berry and that’s it tonight,” Ansley said, returning to her customer.

“If that’s all you have,” the woman said, apparently annoyed.

Ansley yanked a couple of bottles from the cooler and set them on the bar. That’s when she realized she’d seen the gal before.

Ansley narrowed her gaze as the woman studied Kimberly with one of those “Oh, so you’re the woman who was last in my man’s bed” kind of glares.

Kimberly slid in behind Ansley, ringing up another few sales on the cash register. “I don’t know, Ansley. Your guys may make some pretty good drinks, but I don’t see either of us having several rounds of sex on the beach anytime soon. At least when Patience’s fellas call for her, she knows what they have in store.”

Graham arrived and took a seat on the barstool directly in front of Ansley. “Hey, sweetheart.”

“Hey yourself,” she rasped, trying her best to shoot him a wink. Generally, her winks consisted of two eyes fluttering and crossing at the same time.

Graham winked, too, a broad smile spreading across his face. Sure enough, her eyelash fluttering malfunctioned.

By the time Ansley quit flirting, several other patrons were lined up to place their last order and the buxom gal was giving Kimberly a death stare.

“Seven dollars,” Ansley told her, remembering she didn’t charge her. She’d been too busy gaping at Graham. And he sure was something to see. A new cream-colored Stetson topped his head, and he wore a bright-maroon button-down western shirt which only complimented his dark skin tone. Dressed in tight-fitting denims, he looked good enough to unzip and ride.

“Here’s twenty,” the customer said, pulling the bill free from her wallet as she nodded toward Kimberly. “Give the tip to her. She deserves the money after putting up with the hell Jason Neely dishes out. Rumor has it she’s the only one who can tolerate his lying, cheating, hypocritical ass. She must be something else, too,” she drawled, slurring as she spoke. “Whenever Jason fucks a woman now, he calls her Kimberly. Doesn’t matter how many women he has in bed, they’re all Kimberly.”

Before Ansley could stop her, Kimberly leapt across the bar and stood directly in front of the woman. “Did you want my attention for some reason?”

“Damn. I didn’t know she could jump like that,” Patience said.

“Me either,” Ansley muttered, standing back to watch the show.

“It’s amazing what a well-provoked woman will do,” Jason Neely said, taking a seat behind the women, who were now nose to nose.

“You’re lovin’ this, aren’t you?” Ansley accused.

He shrugged. “I can’t help the fact I’m in high demand. Seems most women in this town want to play in my bed. One of these days, Ansley, you’ll wonder what you’ve been missing.”

Kimberly’s back stiffened, and she’d undoubtedly heard what he’d said. “Rather than talk to my sister, speak to me. If you have something to say, go ahead. I’m all ears.”

“I told you I’d tell her everything. No one kicks me out of bed in the middle of the night. I deserve better, Jason.” The gal harboring bitter grapes peered over Kimberly’s shoulder and directed her words to Jason.

That was debatable, considering her clothes were practically soiled from alcohol and God only knew what else. She’d probably been passed around in the loft. A staggering drunk, she evidently had an abundance of courage due to her intoxicated stupor.

“Ansley, hand me fifteen dollars out of the register,” Kimberly said out of the corner of her mouth.

“You got it,” Ansley chirped, relinquishing the money seconds later.

Clutching the bills in her hand, Kimberly crammed the cash in the blonde’s low-cut top. With a rare coldness in her eyes, she said, “Call yourself a cab. That is, if Jason here doesn’t want to take you home tonight. And don’t let me ever catch you back in my bar again. Clear?”

“I was just—”

“You were trying to hurt me,” she interrupted her. She casually glanced over her shoulder. “But you’re right about one thing. I should’ve been paid for my efforts. Jason was a waste of time, and time is a precious commodity. However, learn from me. Playtime in Jason’s bed may provide an education, but it doesn’t lead to a bright future. There were plenty of subs before me who’ll tell you the same thing.”

“I just thought you might want to know,” she said in a whiny, high-pitched voice. “He obviously loves you. He tells everyone he fucks to tell you that he loves you.”

Kimberly tilted her head to the side. The broad’s statements obviously hurt for a minute. Rather than respond, she dismissed the young woman with a wave of her hand. Then, she faced off with Jason. “Get out of here.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Leave here and don’t you ever come back. One of the bouncers told me how you harassed Ansley while I was gone. You have some audacity.” She faced Ansley. “And you? Why didn’t you tell me?”