Page 51 of Little Did You Know

My pulse throbbed in my temples, each heartbeat a hammer strike. The room seemed to pulse red at the edges of my vision, and my breaths came out like a bull’s before a charge. I could taste copper on my tongue from where I'd bitten the inside of my cheek without realizing it.

"What do you want to know?" Emmett asked through gasping breaths.

"What kind of mess are you in, for starters?”

He took a moment. It was apparent he didn't want to say it out loud.

"Gambling." The word fell from Emmett's lips like a dead weight.

I waited for more, for some elaborate explanation that would make sense of everything. But he just sat there, shoulders curved inward, eyes fixed on his hands.

"Gambling," I repeated, the word tasting like ash in my mouth. "You're telling me you threw away everything—your money, our assets, your sister's future—on what? Cards? Horses?" Each question landed like a blow, but Emmett didn't flinch. Instead, a tremor ran through his hands, and something in his expression shifted.

"It's worse than that." His voice cracked on the last word.

"What?" I growled.

"I've been out of money for a while now and borrowed from some pretty bad people."

"You borrowed money you can't pay back?" I asked, knowing the answer.

"Yes."

"And that's why Olivia is in Florida with me?"

"Yes, they threatened her and me, so I sent her to you. That is also why you can't be here. I sent her to you because we have no connection and no way for anyone to find her, but with you here, it puts her in danger."

"How much?" The words scraped against my throat.

Emmett's eyes darted to the computers, then back to his hands. A muscle jumped in his jaw.

"How. Fucking. Much?"

"Three-fifty." His voice was barely a whisper.

"Thousand?" The room seemed to tilt slightly. Blood rushed in my ears as the number sank in. Three hundred and fifty thousand. Enough to buy a small house. Start a business. Fund a future. Instead, it had bought... nothing but a bad habit. I looked around at the wreckage of his life, searching for any sign that the brother Olivia loved still existed.

"What the fuck is the matter with you?" Anger colored my tone as I ran my hand through my hair to keep from strangling him. "Your sister needed you."

"Nick, she's 21 years old. She needs to take care of herself." I lunged for him. I was going to kill him, but Walker caught me before reaching him.

"Nick," Walker barked. "This isn't going to make it better, and if you kill him, Olivia will be alone."

"She's better off without the selfish bastard," I growled, snatching my arm away from Walker, but I didn't go after Emmett. I knew it would hurt Olivia if I did, and then she would have no one because I'd be in jail.

Olivia's face flickered through my mind—not as she was now, but as she'd been as a girl, looking up at her brother like he hung the moon. The memory doused my rage like cold water, leaving something harder and more calculated in its place. Every instinct screamed to walk away, to let Emmett drown in the mess he'd made. But as long as he was in danger, so was she. And that was the one thing I couldn't live with.

I drew in a slow breath, tasting mold, stale beer, and failure. "Get dressed," I said, each word measured and sharp. "We're paying off your debt."

"Nick, you can't," Emmett snapped. "First, it doesn't work like that. I don't contact them; they contact me. Secondly, if you go, you put Olivia in danger. Right now, no one knows where Olivia is except you, me, and Anthony, well, and I guess Walker too." I looked over at Walker; I knew he knew more about this kind of stuff than I did. Walker gave a slight nod that told me he thought Emmett was right.

"Do you think there's still the possibility of danger once it's paid?" I asked Walker more than Emmett.

"Yeah, there's always a possibility." I understood what he was saying. We had no idea what kind of enemies Emmett had, and it was possible it wasn't the loan sharks after him. Also, there was always the chance he'd run his debt right back up as soon as I left.

My muscles instinctively relaxed, just a fraction. His words carried the weight of experience, not the hollow ring of Emmett's promises. I found myself turning slightly toward him, unconsciously positioning myself so I could catch his subtle head shakes and warning glances—the silent language we'd developed over years of having each other's backs.

"Alright, I'll have the money transferred into your account within the hour." I pulled out my phone, the banking app's clean interface a stark contrast to the chaos around us. "Then you'll have three days to check yourself into rehab."

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