Page 56 of Turmoil's Target

“Ha! I’ll believe that when I see it,” Rita retorts, rolling her eyes. “Face it, babe. We’re cut from the same cloth, you and me. Born with silver spoons in our mouths and designer shoes on our feet.”

If only it were that simple, I think to myself ruefully.

The truth is, my entire life has been shaped by my family’s dark history with the Reapers Rejects.

A history that Rita knows nothing about...and one that I pray she never discovers.

Because as much as I adore her, Rita is a wild card.

Loose-lipped and impulsive, with a penchant for drama.

If she ever found out my true motives, I worry that she’d brag about it and then the Reapers would know exactly what we’re doing.

I shudder at the thought, pushing it firmly from my mind.

No, I can’t afford to dwell on worst-case scenarios.

All I need to do right now is focus on my present and the things that are making me happy—like Abe.

Confused by my sudden quietness, Rita leans forward and narrows her eyes.

Her voice is laced with concern. “Hey, where’d you go?”

I force a small grin. “To the moon and back,” I quip, tapping my fingertips on the table in an attempt to regain my usual calm demeanor. “That’s kind of how it feels when you’re starting to get lovestruck, isn’t it?”

Rita throws her head back and laughs heartily. “Ah, love! Such a sweet yet bizarre emotion, right? But honestly, it suits you. The way your eyes light up when you talk about Abe...it’s infectious! It almost makes me wish I had someone.Almost.”

I can’t help but join her laughter, despite the storm of thoughts swirling inside me.

Rita will never be the kind of woman who settles down.

She’s too much of a free spirit, her life studded with glittering parties and reckless adventures.

Still, seeing her so carefree and vivacious, I can’t help but envy her.

She wasn’t convinced to fight for her family, to go after people who hurt hers.

In a way, she’s had it better.

She’s gotten to live her life, while sometimes I feel like I’ve devoted myself to my father.

Have I truly lived, or has my life been dedicated to avenging him?

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Turmoil

I sit on a barstool next to Jolt, the cracked leather seat creaking beneath me.

Dim yellow light from a Budweiser lamp illuminates the scuffed wooden bar top at Idle Spurs in Seven Valley.

The twang of Waylon Jennings drifts from the jukebox in the corner, mingling with the low chatter of patrons.

Damon and Dixon stroll through the door, wind chimes tinkling.

They saunter over, Damon sliding onto the stool on my other side while Dixon stands, meaty arms crossed.

“How’s it hangin’, boys?” Damon asks with a grin, signaling the bartender. “Y’all keeping your noses clean?”

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