Page 10 of Violent Little Thing

“You bought her grandfather’s business that she’s been working in for three years, forcing her to get a real job. You’re probably her least favorite person on this planet.” Denver, the Dixie Wardens MC Montana Chapter’s club president, drawled. “If you see her, don’t mention your name.”

“I just bought it. It’s not like I did it because I wanted to kick her out of her place of employment,” I pointed out. “Why did she not buy it if she wanted it so much?”

“She tried, but Pop wouldn’t let her.” Black, the county sheriff, popped a kettle chip into his mouth. “There’s a bit of bad blood there right now.”

I groaned. “Great.”

“On a side note, she’s got a new job that pays her a hell of a lot more,” Boone, another club member, offered up. “She’s working at that new dog food factory as someone’s personal assistant, making twice the amount of money and she doesn’t have to get her fingers greasy.”

“What if she likes getting her fingers greasy?” one of the other men at the table asked.

“Then at least now she can pay her rent.” Boone shrugged. “Didn’t you cover it for her a few times, Beau?”

“Not with her knowledge,” Beau admitted.

I looked at him. “You into her?”

Boone snorted.

“She had a crush at one point,” Beau admitted. “But that was a long time ago.”

“How do you know it was a long time ago?” Black asked. “Maybe she hasn’t gotten over it.”

“Oh, she’s gotten over it.” Beau laughed humorlessly. “She wants nothing to do with my family. As long as Seraphina still calls herself a Vanderbilt, Charleigh will despise us all on general principle.”

“Isn’t Seraphina your sister?” I asked.

At least, that was what I thought I’d heard.

I was new to the Dixie Wardens, but I’d picked up a lot.

You’d be surprised how much information one gains when they listen and don’t talk. It’s like people forget that you’re there and just let loose.

I’d heard Beau bitching more than a few times about his sister, though.

“Unfortunately,” he grumbled.

“Then why does Charleigh hate her?” I pushed.

Black took a long swig of his beer, Beau looked at the scarred tabletop underneath his hands. But Denver? He started talking.

“Years ago, when Seraphina was eighteen and their sister, Sonja, was sixteen, Sonja died in a drunk driving accident.”

I felt my stomach sink.

Visions of my own “drunk” driving accident were at the front of my mind as Denver continued.

“Seraphina was drunk off her ass. Got drunk in the girls’ locker room with a couple of friends, then got behind the wheel to take Sonja and Charleigh home. Sonja was Charleigh’s best friend. Halfway there, Seraphina ran a stop sign and a white SUV T-boned Seraphina’s car. Sonja hadn’t been wearing her seat belt and was ejected from the vehicle. She died at the scene. Charleigh was pretty hurt, too. But she’d lived.”

Glass shattering. Screams. A horn blaring. The tick-tick of an engine. Sirens. The steady drip-drip of a glass of water I’d had in the cup holder dripping onto the windshield from where we lay on our sides.

Your wife is dead.

Drunk.

“Benedict, Beau’s dad, gave Charleigh ten percent of the Condors and the Cowgirls to make up for all the medical bills that Charleigh accrued. Charleigh wasn’t happy with that, though. She wanted Seraphina behind bars. But the judge let her off with barely a slap on the wrist.”

Unlike me, who’d gotten twenty-five years in prison.