Page 59 of Ruthless Wars

I snort. “I think you mean half its value. Seems like it’s been a while since you’ve checked a balance sheet. Or had a drink.”

“No,” he snaps back adamantly. “Twice the value.” Slumping back in his seat, he shrugs. “He knew I’d pay it. Damn, I would’ve paid a whole hell of a lot more.”

Everett takes another sip while I try and fail to connect whatever dots he’s laid out before me. I take a sip myself, wondering if clarity will come better with a big swig.

With a deep breath in, he begins. “Your mother and I—”

“Stop.” My hands press the air between us. I don’t even want to know where a sentence that starts with Your mother and I will wind up. “Just skip to the sale.”

“But—”

When I shoot him a furious glare, he gets the point.

“Fine. Scott found out.”

Found out? Oh fuck. This is definitely everything I never wanted to hear.

“He had photos,” Everett says. “Assured me he took them himself and no one else knew.”

Stunned, I slump back into my chair. “You’re saying he blackmailed you?”

The old man nods. “I was still married. To Elise. And she was pregnant ... with Margot. The media would’ve had a field day, but I wasn’t worried about the company. Hell, back then, I was killing myself making it into something, and frankly, I could’ve taken it or left it. I was worried about Elise. And ...” He hesitates. “And Lily. I told her I’d get her set up. Her own place. Money. Whatever she needed.”

“So, you treated my mom like a whore.” I spit out the words, and the sting of them hits him hard. Harder, in fact, than they hit me.

“Watch your goddamn mouth,” he snaps back. “It wasn’t like that. I ...” He hesitates before admitting more. “I loved Lily. I do to this day. I was a poor ranch hand barely making ends meet when her father hired me. I’ve known Lily since she was fifteen. I would’ve done anything for her. But she begged me to leave it alone, to do whatever Scott wanted and just let her go. I hated it. But she was staying with Scott Byrne, no matter what I had to say about it. So I gave him what he asked for, and then some. Even when he came crawling back for more.”

“And then you made him disappear?”

That’s not heartbreak making me ask the question. The man can burn in hell for all I care. It’s closure. And I need closure.

Everett shakes his head. And again, I find myself believing him.

“Scott had his own way of making enemies. When he was in front of my face, I dealt with him. When he wasn’t, I moved on to more important things. Like clipping my toenails.”

Everett is brazen as fuck—talking shit about my dad—and a chuckle erupts from my chest. I don’t know. Like, it’s a relief to sit and talk about Scott Byrne like he’s the douchebag he is.

“But I never thought of Steele Holdings as my company,” Everett says before tossing back the last of his bourbon. “It was Lily’s. And if she didn’t want it, then it would go to you. Hell, one way or another, it should go to you.”

“My dad’s version of history was a little different,” I grumble, admitting that a few years of hatred and vendetta-seeking might have been based on the tall tale of a compulsive liar, not to mention a raging alcoholic. The same raging alcoholic who took everything out on a wife he called Sylvia and a son he called Liam.

Polishing off my drink as well, I feel strangely lighter in the wake of this news as I stare at Everett Long.

Don’t get me wrong. I still despise the son of a bitch, and maybe that’s just residual hatred bleeding out from wounds that are still raw to this day.

But the pieces line up.

Countering every good rule of business by overpaying for an underproducing company? Like I did? A move like that isn’t fueled by greed or the bottom line, but by pure, raw emotions.

Setting my empty glass aside, I level Everett with a stare. “It’ll still be hardball between us. Through and through.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

“Good.” I chuckle under my breath, relieved that maybe, for once in my life, I could move on. “Glad there’s nothing more to worry you about me and Margot.”

I’m smiling, but Everett’s not remotely close to mirroring my expression. The color has drained from his cheeks.

I’m half freaked out, wondering if he’s having a heart attack, and trying to remember what little I know about CPR. Desperately, I recall the beat of “Stayin’ Alive.” Just in case.

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