Page 18 of Shaken Knot Stirred

“I’m missing 400k.”

“$327,692.” I corrected him.

“Interest.” He cracked a smile.

“Fine. You can have the bar.”

“You’re not leaving my sight till we settle this.” He gestured me into the truck again.

Despite my mouth, we were not on a level playing field here. He had the advantage because he was the alpha. He was physically stronger than I was, probably faster too. And his fucking aura could pull out little tricks and get me to complywith a bark. However, I’d talked my way into and out of situations way worse than this.

With a dramatic sigh, I turned toward the truck. How the fuck did you get into these things? A horse girl would have had no trouble hiking her foot all the way up here, but I wasn’t that flexible. Awkwardly, and with a bunch of unladylike grunts, I managed to find a handhold and haul myself up into the truck. In a flash, Beg was behind the wheel, slamming his door shut.

“Seat belt,” he commanded. I hid my smirk as I buckled myself in.

The truck growled like it was alive and super pissed off.

My head spun, considering all my options. I had no idea where he was taking me, or what would happen when we got there. I’d have to keep my eyes open for an opportunity.

We drove in silence, and it was pretty eerie. Making small talk with your kidnapper would have been more awkward, though.

There had been well over a million dollars in that bag, and I stole it. Funny enough, I had never actually counted it, but I knew exactly how much I spent. Somewhere deep inside me, I always knew I was going to have to pay it back one way or another.

Beg slowed to the speed limit to navigate the twists and turns of this section of the road. He slowed further just as we passed the empty gas station to avoid debris. I squinted. It looked like pallets had fallen off a truck and were shattered to bits on the pavement. Beg carefully picked his way through the middle of the road at a snail’s pace. Awww, his truck was his baby. He didn’t want it to get splinters.

I popped the door latch and dropped myself to the ground, running away from the truck, grinding my teeth against the road rash I was giving myself.

Chapter 9

Alistair

“Who’s got you, Moxie?”I whispered to no one.

I didn’t know what I expected. When Moxie had taken up residence in my brain, never once had I tried to picture where she lived. But this wasn’t it. The trailer was serviceable, livable. A little rundown and completely devoid of character. The polar opposite of Moxie. Everything had been locked up properly. My prowl around the dingy trailer had given me no insights, leaving me only with grimy fingertips from the windowsill. The inside was no better. Well, it was cleaner, not meticulous; “lived in” was the PC term, I supposed.

There should be riots of color, thrifted vintage lamps, a garden gnome for fuck’s sake, or one of those signs that had “live laugh love” or some shit on it. I crushed the dead leaves of a neglected plant between my fingertips, trying to wrap my head around Moxie’s home.

She wasn’t your typical cutesy girl, full of muffin recipes and cross-stitch designs. She had an edge to her. A fucking sexy edge that rubbed me in all the right ways. She could handle herself and rule her little slice of the world. It wasn’t like she was a criminal.

Who the fuck would take her?

The adrenaline and rage were washing out of me, leaving a dull throb of a headache behind. The space felt too tight all of a sudden. I locked the door behind me and left the dull brass key under the flowerpot where I’d found it.

There had been nothing useful here. I had opened every drawer, peeked in every closet, as if I expected to find a neon sign pointing toward her kidnapper.

I took in a breath of cool air. I rubbed my temples as I walked to the car. Was it weird that there was no mail? No tax documents. No old phone bills. It was obvious someone lived there. There were takeout containers on the coffee table. The fridge had food in it. The edge of the shower was packed with expensive hair care products. But there was nothing personal.

Marty had given me the address, so I knew it was her place. Her perfume even lingered in the air. But there was no Moxie there.

I sat in the driver’s seat of my car, willing the bag to go away. I took my phone out and turned it back on, but I sat it face down on the passenger seat. I didn’t need to watch as dozens of texts from my brothers flooded in.

I should just go back to Port Haven. Marty and Helena could fend for themselves. Why was I getting all twisted up about a bartender, for fuck’s sake?

Reluctantly, I picked up the phone. Ah, Payton was unsatisfied with texting and had moved on to voice messages. There were eight. I deleted them one by one. They all probably said the same thing.

Win left a single message. That one I played.

“I told you we would work this out, even if you want to choose the hard way. I already have a guy looking for loopholes in the will. But I can’t help you if you’re not in Port Haven.”

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