Page 94 of Whiskey Kisses

“I never got there with my mom,” I admit.

“You were young when she passed away,” Sloane reminds me. “We’re self-absorbed when we’re young, as we should be. We’re stillfiguring ourselves out, so our parents feel like extensions of us. We know they’re people, but we don’t interact with them that way. We’re too close.”

I nod vigorously, suddenly missing my mother so acutely. “That makes so much sense.”

“Parents can be like this with their children too, though.” Sloane sighs. “Pinning all their hopes and dreams on them, living vicariously. My father was like that.”

“So was mine.” Irritation for the way he treated me mingles sourly with my grief over his death and the horror of knowing he was murdered. “We had a complicated relationship.”

She nods slowly, her eyes flickering over my face. “That’s okay. You don’t have to figure it out anytime soon.”

After showingSloane where the linen closet is, in case she needs anything, she disappears into the guest bedroom we made up for her and Owen. It’s nearly one in the morning, but I decide to take a long, hot bath, luxuriating in the suds. I can’t stop thinking about what happened yesterday, how Cole and his guys took Tristan. Sure, they returned him, but what if they hadn’t? What if they’d held him for ransom, or doled out more than a couple of punches? I’m sure they’re capable of far worse than kidnapping—I’ve been hearing whispers about the Deschamps foryears.

But I never cared because, besides Cole’s annoying advances, they were never my problem. Shitty to say, but true. Now they are my problem. Besides Tristan’s abduction, there’s a good chance they were behind my father’s murder, and now they’re trying to extort money from us. Where does all of this end? Tristan said they weren’t going to pay, but where does that leave him? Is there going to be a war?

Tristan still hasn’t come to bed by the time I get into my pajamas, but I don’t mind. He’s with his people now, figuring out how they’re going to handle the Deschamps from here on out. I’m relieved he has a support system like this. Tristan’s the most capable man I’ve ever known, but there’s strength in numbers.

I know now that there are two sides to the Kellys. Both sides havereputations for getting shit done, just in very different ways. And oddly enough, I’m okay with that. I respect how passionately loyal they are, how they back up their promises to each other with actions. Tristan’s been trying to tell me this for a while, but witnessing the family dynamic with my own eyes has really brought it home.

Tristan’s protective streak and his desire to take care of me isn’t just his nature. It’s a personal code, the way he was brought up. His parents are the same way; they’ve only been here for half a day, but I already feel so safe with them—not just physically, but emotionally. They make me feel like Ibelong, something I didn’t even feel with my own blood. Mama tried, and so did Aunt Myrtle, but we never had a family that looked out for one another.

Anyway, I know Tristan’s in his element right now, hatching devious plots, but I’d like to say good night. Padding out to the hall, I go downstairs. Most of the lights on the first floor are off, but there’s a dim glow emanating from the living room. Tristan’s hushed voice drifts out, giving me pause when I hear him saytotaloverkill.

“How many shots?” Owen’s voice responds.

“Two in the back, four in the chest, three to the head,” he says. “They were making a statement.”

My stomach roils. They could be talking about anyone, but something tells me this is about Daddy. I step inside, finding Tristan in the crowded room right away. His brow furrows when he sees me lingering in the doorway, causing everyone else to follow his gaze. Rising from the couch, he glances at his watch. “Hey, did we wake you?”

“No, I was just going to bed, and I wanted to say good night,” I say, acutely aware of the attention on us as he approaches. “Were you talking about my father just now?”

His face falls, but he nods, taking my hand. “Come on, I’ll take you back upstairs.”

We’re silent until we reach the bedroom. Tristan closes the door behind us and turns to look at me. “We had a friend on the police force back home make a couple of phone calls, see what he could find out about your father’s murder since they’ve been so tight-lipped down here.”

I sit on the edge of the bed, and he follows. “Do you think it was the Deschamps?”

“I know it was,” he says. “Danny basically admitted it to me, and our source confirms.”

“If the cops know, then why haven’t they arrested him?” I cry, aghast. But I already know, deep down. “They haven’t even questioned him, have they? He’s too well-connected.”

“The cops can’t prove it, but people talk,” Tristan says, a shadow crossing his face. “And yeah, he is well-connected. But there are other ways to get to him.”

I wring my hands, sickened. I’m not sure how I’ll ever get to sleep now, not with the gruesome image Tristan described downstairs spinning through my head on repeat. Sometimes I hated my father, but I never, ever wanted him to die. Not like that. “I hate this.”

“You gonna be okay? My mom’s probably got sleeping pills if you want one,” he says. “Or there are edibles in the nightstand, if you’d rather that.”

“I don’t know.” I rub my face, overwhelmed. Sadness, fear. Will they kill us like they killed him if we don’t pay up? “I can’t live my life like this, in constant fear.”

“We’re going to take care of this, I promise you.” He wraps his arms around me, drawing me close. “I don’t want you to worry about it. They might be used to running things around here, but they’ve met their match.”

I nod, remembering how easily Tristan dealt with Cole the night he came after us. How fiercely he’d defended me to my own father that one time, smashing his face into the wall. It was one of the scariest things I’d ever seen, and I know, somehow, that those events barely scratch the surface of what he and his family are capable of. “I know.”

Tristan takes my face between his hands. “You trust me?”

“Yeah.” I give another nod, my eyes closed. “They’re probably waiting for you down there. You should go.”

“Look at me.”

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