Acres, Natalie - Sex Club [Cowboy Sex 5] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (41 page)

“What?” Ansley croaked. “Are you crazy! He was involved with Jordie Anne at one time. He didn’t want to hurt her!”

The agent continued chanting, “Mr. Sheldon, you assaulted a…”

“Please!” Ansley screamed, tugging the man’s sleeve like a child might. “You don’t understand. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

The detective looked at her like he was completely appalled. “Did you fail to see your brother-in-law knock me to the ground?”

Ansley thinned her lips.

Brock said, “It’s all right, Ansley. Call Don Lauderback in the morning. Tell him I need an attorney.”

The asshole smirked and kept reading Brock the Miranda rights. “Get her out of here,” Brock said to Tristan as another officer led him toward the squad car. “Now!”

“I’m not going anywhere!” Ansley shouted, shaking off Tristan’s grip.

“Damn it, Ansley. Come on!” Tristan shouted, practically dragging her.

About the time Elliott and Tristan rushed her to the Killians’ Jeep, Bailey was arrested for Jordie Anne’s murder. As they placed the handcuffs around Bailey’s wrists, the Killians’ vehicle doors slammed in unison.

Brock could see Ansley fighting Tristan in the backseat, using her purse to swat him over the head repeatedly while he tried to keep her inside the SUV. As Brock listened to the angry detective’s threats and promises, he smiled. God love her, Ansley was a carbon copy of her mother more than her sister.

Never one to go down without a fight, Peyton fought for her family, stood up for what she believed in, and refused to give up even when she was clearly defeated.

“Is something funny, Mr. Sheldon?”

“Yeah,” he said, stretching his neck forward. “You.”

As the blood drained from the man’s face, he said, “You people think you’re superior. All of you. It wouldn’t hurt my feelings to see every last one of you under the jail.”

“I’ll remember your words verbatim when I speak with my attorney. Apparently you have a personal vendetta against my family. My lawyer will eat you alive.”

“Are you threatening me?”

Brock twitched his nose and ignored him. Looking out the window, he watched the Killian vehicle pursue the gate and leave the clearing. Ansley was still throwing her tantrum, climbing over the backseat and wrestling with Tristan.

Brock swung his gaze toward Bailey, who was shaking his head and laughing hysterically. Yeah, he knew all about that sense of pride. Bailey’s chest was swollen with pleasure. His shoulders weren’t about to shrink in defeat. He was a proud man, a happy man, a fellow who was clearly in love. These cops couldn’t do or say anything that would take that away.

“I asked you a question. Are you threatening me?” the detective asked again.

“No, honey, but I can do just that if taunting and teasing you will make you feel better,” Brock drawled sarcastically. “See, I love legal foreplay almost as much as I enjoy fucking before breakfast.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

“Thank God,” Tristan grumbled when Ansley finally relented. She was sitting in the back, behind his seat, with her legs drawn to her chest and her arms wrapped around her knees. He swung his arm over the leather. Scowling, he asked, “Are you ready to play like an adult now?”

“Don’t you patronize me,” she snapped.

They arrived at the club a few minutes later. Graham and Elliott left the Jeep and helped Ansley from the back. By the time she was standing on her own two feet, she was clearly ready to give him an earful.

Before she started her rant, he held up his hand. Resisting a smile, he said what he knew would send her reeling. “You’re acting like a child. You refuse to grow up, and I refuse to raise you. But by the time I’m through with you, you’ll know you pushed the wrong buttons in a man who can only be pushed so far.”

A flush of understanding tinted her cheeks, and she backed away as he stalked her. Grabbing her by the hips, he yanked her forward, her small form slamming against his much larger frame. “Now then, Ms. Cartwell, let’s you and I set some ground rules.”

“I’m not in the mood,” she bit out.

“Neither am I, but you will be. Trust me,” he said, lifting her to his shoulder and slapping her ass. Taking long strides toward Clink’s front entrance, he was relieved when she didn’t fight him. Her body relaxed against his as he carried her inside.

Turning toward the Killian brothers, he said, “Kimberly has a room here now. She remodeled the main suite on the second level. The key is behind the bar on a hook next to the row of blenders.”

“We’ll be right up,” Elliott said.

“I’ll have a look around first,” Graham said.

After the night they’d had, he couldn’t blame Graham and Elliott for being on edge, particularly since they now knew something about his past as well.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Ansley asked as Tristan took the back stairs two at a time. “You know, I do have a home. It’s not far from here, and it’s very comfortable.”

“You don’t say,” Tristan drawled, continuing toward Kimberly’s suite. “It’s safer here. Besides, it’s late. You need to rest. I have to drive down to the police station. Bailey’s arrest could bring down a world of heat on us. I need to be there for him, in case anything happens.”

“You’re leaving me?” she asked, her voice shaking with fear.

He set her down in front of Kimberly’s door. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he said, “You aren’t in any danger. Jordie Anne is dead. Graham and Elliott will stay with you.”

“I know that,” she whispered. “It’s just that I’m concerned about Bailey, too.” A beat later, she hesitantly added, “Tristan, I’m not trying to add drama to your life, but there’s something you should know. Mitch Colony, Jordie Anne’s husband, is from a very powerful family. When he went to prison, it was all over the news, and his family tends to stay in the spotlight here in the South. You need to see if you can’t spring Bailey before the news crews swarm the police station.”

“Spring him?” Tristan asked.

“Yes,” she said, nodding her head up and down like a kid might. Dear God, just when he thought he couldn’t find her any more adorable, she touched his heart all over again.

Elliott and Graham appeared. Elliott unlocked the door, and they slipped inside Kimberly’s posh apartment.

“I’ll work on that,” Tristan promised, escorting Ansley inside Kimberly’s suite.

“Wow, this is uptown for a small-town gal,” Graham said, flipping the lights on as he walked throughout the expansive area.

A state-of-the-art entertainment center and expensive leather furniture occupied the floor space. Pricey paintings and mirrors covered the walls. “Your sister missed her calling,” Elliott said, looking around.

“Probably,” Ansley grumbled, averting her gaze away from the far wall. “Tristan, will Bailey or Brock go to jail?”

“That’s where they are,” he reminded her.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” she said, frowning. “Will they serve some time?”

“Are you kidding me?” Elliott asked. “With your family’s power, Brock will probably be released before morning.”

“What about Bailey?” she asked, searching Tristan’s eyes.

“I think they only drove him downtown for questioning. I should be able to pick him up without a problem.”

“That makes sense,” she muttered.

Tristan pressed his lips against hers. “I love you, Ansley.”

“I love you, too. I think I have since the day you walked in here.”

“I think so, too.” He winked at her and then turned his attention toward Graham. “The guys are already here—Baron and the other bouncers are crashed in the office by now. I’ll peek in on them on my way out, but I’m sure they’re fine. Let them sleep. I’ll set the alarm when I leave.”

“You don’t think we need to wake them?” Elliott asked.

“No,” he replied. “Baron’s little sister is dying. She has stage-four cancer, and he’s been moonlighting, trying to stay ahead of the hospital bills since their insurance was shoddy and he had full custody of her. He needs some rest. With Jordie Anne out of the picture, all of you can sleep easy.”

“I can’t,” Ansley protested. “I need to know Bailey is safe and he isn’t going to spend the night behind bars.”

“I’ll tell him you said that,” Tristan said, brushing her lips with a lingering kiss. Before he departed, he said, “I guess that means you boys need to keep our girl busy.”

“Trust me. That ain’t gonna be a problem,” Graham said.

* * * *

Trixie sat next to Rory at the kitchen table in the large oceanfront condo they’d rented. They placed the phone in between them.

“How long before Mitch will call us back?”

“The warden said it might take an hour or two.”

She yawned, stood, and went to the coffeepot. “He’ll be devastated.”

“Yes.”

“I can’t imagine the pain he’ll endure.”

“You’re right. He cared a lot about her.”

Trixie’s hands shook as soon as Rory made the declaration. She understood how much Mitch cared about Jordie Anne, but for some reason Rory admitting it in a nonchalant manner greatly disturbed her. “Of course he did. She was his wife.”

Silence passed, and finally Rory said, “Brock and I always knew how much you cared for Mitch. We can’t hold you back if sometime down the road, you decide you can’t live without him.”

She took her seat again. “I belong to you and Brock. I’ve never felt so satisfied and so completely loved in all my life.”

“But something has always been missing, hasn’t it?” he asked.

“We spent a wonderful summer together,” Trixie reminded him.

“Yes. And you’ve been our wife for a number of years. If anyone knows you completely, we do. You’ve never gotten over Mitch.”

Trixie stared into her dark cup. Taking a deep breath, she inhaled the sweet hazelnut flavor. “Does that bother you?”

“No,” Rory replied honestly. “Never has, because you’ve always been honest about your feelings, but there’s something I think you should know. And I want you to hear it from…”

The phone buzzed, vibrating against the glass tabletop.

Trixie hated disrupted conversations, but at the same time, she was anxious to hear Mitch’s voice, even though the grim circumstances in which she’d soon speak to him brought the opportunity. “That’s him,” Rory told her, glancing at the caller ID.

Pressing the speaker option to answer, he said, “Hey man. It’s Rory.”

“What’s wrong?” Mitch asked, immediately alarmed and for good reason.

“It’s about Jordie Anne,” Trixie told him.

“Trixie? Is that you?”

“Yes, it’s me. How are you, Mitch?” she asked.

Silence filled the line. Rory stared down at the placemat, acting as if he held some great secret, as if he fully anticipated Mitch’s reaction once he heard her voice.

Finally he said, “I’m better, much better, now.”

Rory released a heavy sigh and closed his eyes. Probably saving her the trouble, he said, “Mitch, Jordie Anne is dead.”

Mitch gasped.

Again, the line was quiet.

“How?” he finally inquired.