The woman sputtered, her mouth working soundlessly as she struggled to form a response.
The room stilled, the silence thick with anticipation.
I stood my ground, refusing to back down from this bitch. A muscle ticked in Emily’s jaw, her eyes narrowing to slits as she glared at me. Finally, she spoke, her voice shaking with rage.
“You have no idea who you’re dealing with. I will not be threatened by some little girl playing in a man’s world.”
I laughed. “Little girl? Take a good look, Emily. I’m a woman, and I suggest you remember that. This‘little girl’runs a multi-million-dollar business and has more money than your trailer park family will ever see. As for Freddie, or should I say, Hunter? Tell him to run. The authorities are closing in fast. Conning the wrong woman was a big mistake.”
Emily’s face contorted with fury, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “You think you’re so smart, don’t ya? Well, I have news for you, bitch. You’ve messed with the wrong person.”
With that, Emily spun on her heel and stormed out of the ballroom, leaving a trail of shocked whispers and murmurs in her wake.
I released a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, my heart pounding in my chest. Rome placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. His eyes filled with concern.
“You okay, cuz?”
I nodded, my mind racing as I processed the encounter. “Yeah, I’m fine. But I have a feeling that woman isn’t done yet. She’s trouble, Rome. Big trouble.”
“Say the word, Josie, and me and my girls will put a beatdown on that tramp like she’s never seen,” Bailey offered as Laurel nodded, standing beside her.
“No one is putting a beatdown on anyone,” King groaned, glaring at his wife as he walked over with everyone else. “The club will deal with her if she tries anything.”
“King’s right, sweet girl,” LeeAnn said soothingly, wrapping me in a hug. “You let the boys handle her. We’ve got enough chaos without adding more.”
“LeeAnn’s right, baby girl,” my dad said, kissing the top of my head. “Screw the tart.”
Chapter Twenty
Georgie
After Granny and the kids were safely deposited at her place—a minor miracle considering the sheer volume of sugared-up chaos that spilled from the minivan—it was just me and the Bourbon Kings. Gator and his surprisingly insightful, if slightly pungent, entourage. Heading for the lodge, it wasn’t long before the Rosewood Ski Resort glittered in the evening moonlight, a perfect picture of an opulent winter wonderland. The long, winding driveway, however, seemed to trigger some kind of primal fear in Gator.
“Nope,” the man grumbled, shaking his head, his voice like gravel gargling with bourbon. “Ain’t happenin’.”
“What isn’t?” I asked, already bracing myself for the usual shenanigans that generally applied when it came to the Bourbon Kings.
“We ain’t stayin’ here. Nope. No way.”
“Where else is there? You’re here for a wedding, Gator, not a goddamn camping trip.”
“Don’t care. We ain’t steppin’ one toe in that place.”
“Gator, the wedding is here!” I emphasized, my patience wearing thinner than a cheap pair of ski socks.
“Yeah, and when my môman walks in, then I will, but not a smidge before her.”
This was new.
Gator, usually a walking, talking embodiment of stubbornness, had a surprising chivalry. Or maybe just a profound fear of his mother.
Yeah. I was going with a fear of his mother.
“Will one of you explain to me what the hell is the problem?” I demanded, already picturing the uncomfortable call I would be making later tonight to King as I tried to explain this nonsense.
“You see, Doc,” Donut huffed heavily, his breath a noxious cloud of stale donuts and something vaguely resembling regret.
I winced.
