Elect(45)

It didn’t help matters that Phoenix had walked in on us. I earned a black eye and bloody lip. We ended up in a fistfight while Mil was taken away in a car, never to be seen again. Phoenix and I swore we’d take it to our graves. Guess the secret was out.

With a wink she set her gun on the table and took a seat.

“Who’s the whore?” Tex asked as he charged into the room, gun raised.

“What is with you people and guns?” Trace waved her hands in the air. “Put it down, Tex.”

He glared.

Mo followed close behind and took in the scene. “We going shooting or something?”

“Or something.” Nixon nodded. “Let’s just say ‘or something.’ Unless Chase really wants to shoot Phoenix’s stepsister.”

“I knew you looked familiar!” Tex slapped his leg and let out a laugh. “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, eh, Chase?”

I groaned into my hands and briefly contemplated turning the gun on myself if it meant I would be able to escape past memories, regrets, and embarrassments.

Mo giggled behind him. Oh great. “Does everyone know? Seriously?”

“I didn’t.” Nixon held up his right hand. “Swear. I didn’t know anything until she told me and I’m pretty sure it was the painkillers talking.”

“I plead the Fifth on why y’all have drugs in the house.” Trace groaned, plugging her ears.

Rolling my eyes, I pulled her fingers out of her ears and looked at Nixon. “It’s three in the afternoon. Why the hell are you drinking?”

He shrugged as he took another sip, eying Trace the entire time. What the hell was he planning?

“I need to know you guys will protect Emiliana.” He set the glass down and folded his hands. “Regardless of what happens to me, promise you’ll protect her.”

Trace snorted. “Um, you do realize Chase was just holding a gun to her head five seconds ago.”

“Oh that.” Nixon grinned. “He misfires all the time, doubt he would have met his mark, huh, Chase.”

I gripped the table so hard I’m surprised it didn’t crumble beneath my bare hands. “Seriously? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“So many things.” Nixon took another sip, and his eyes glazed over as he looked out the window. “Just promise me.”

“Fine.” Tex put his hands out between us. “We’ll protect her. We’ll figure something out.”

Something was up. Nixon wasn’t acting like himself, he was acting like… shit, I don’t know, like the world was ending, like we were somehow losing, like he was going to die or something.

“Is that all?” I asked. “All you needed from us.”

“Yup.” He took another swallow of scotch. “She’ll be staying with us for a while.”

“Okay.” Trace sounded confused. She looked between me and Nixon.

“Perfect.” Nixon pushed away from the table. “I uh, have to go see about something. Trace, can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure.” She eyed me before looking back to Nixon.

“My room,” he said. “Alone.”

I’d be lying if I said I wanted her to go. I had no idea what the hell was going on but for the first time in my life, I didn’t trust Nixon to not do something stupid. He had that look in his eyes, the same look he’d had when he was a kid watching his dad beat his ma.

Reluctantly, I watched Trace follow Nixon down the hall and close the door.

“Bet you wish you were a fly on that wall,” Tex mumbled.

“Shut up, Tex.” I grabbed Nixon’s empty glass and the bottle of scotch and poured myself a healthy dose.





Chapter Twenty-seven


Chase


I eyed the scotch on the table and poured myself a healthy dose of liquid and tossed back the contents, all before taking a seat next to Mil’s spot on the floor.

“So.” She tried her best to cover herself with the blanket but failed miserably. I hated myself that I was actually staring. But I was a guy; who would—could—blame me? I couldn’t decide if I was more embarrassed of the past we shared or the fact that everyone else in the room most likely knew about my feelings for Trace, too, and pitied me while I sat on the floor with the girl I’d lost my virginity to. “You look good.”

“I’d say the same”—I cursed and pulled the blanket around her—“but you look like hell.”

She shrugged and pulled the blanket higher, exposing her foot. “Did you get hurt?”

She took the drink from my hand and motioned for me to pour her more scotch. After she took a sip she sighed. “Nixon shot me.”