Page 38 of For Cowgirls and Kings
People move out of his way, a path clearing like the ocean parting as he walks toward the exit.
FOURTEEN
MATEO
February 10th, 2025
That annoyingly familiarname flashes across my screen for the third time in thirty minutes. I know I should pick up. He’s only doing his job.
But honestly I still haven’t forgiven him for how he nearly destroyed his brother’s relationship out of some misplaced need to control him and protect him. Especially because he convinced himself it was because ofmyinstructions. Which could not be farther from the truth—my motivation had been singular: protect Dale, my friend of many years, from the man who shared the same blood with a killer.
The devil himself.
I couldn’t imagine why she would be running around with a man who had to be so similar to his brother—violent, vicious, and deathly. Not to mention, he seemed to be more focused on Dale’s friend, and I didn’t like the idea of someone leading her on. The whole thing was a convoluted mess that escalated way out of hand, driven by said devil himself.
Now I know it for what it was, a ploy to make Stetson let Gus in. Dale and Gus had some unspoken, secret agreement on the matter, which was pretty fucking convincing when I waslooking at it. But now I know better, and regret eats at me any time I’m around them. I don’t know how to deal with the fact that Gus doesn’t know:doesn’t know his brother is my family’s right hand enforcer.
Sighing heavily, praying to god for strength, I set back, propping my legs atop my desk and answering the call, “McCrae, what is it?”
“Boss, I have something you might want to take a look at.”
Obviously. Why else would you have called?
“What is it?” I refuse to rush to the casino—three hours away across the Oklahoma border—for some problem that’s most likely nothing. Just because my sister feeds into his bloodlust doesn’t mean I will.
In fact, I hate that about him. But he’s proven himself rather irreplaceable.
And my sister’s obsessed with him, even if she would pull a gun on me for saying as much out loud.
“I’m actually right outside the gate. The men here seem to think you’ve barred me from the property.” His tone is dry, bored even, and I sit up, knocking a pen container off my desk in the process.
I did bar him from the property after dark, without telling him of course. Something about him gives me the fucking creeps, and I didn’t like the thought of him having access to the house while I slept.
Which should be a big enough red flag for me to fire him. But again, Valentina would end me before I have the time to say the words.
“I’ll call out and let them know you’re welcome in. Meet me in the study.” Bending over, I scramble to pick up the pens,and my nerves, off the floor.
“Sure thing.Boss.” And then the end clicks off.He’s pissed—deathly controlled, but angry all the same.Can’t say I blame him. It’s the greatest insult to not be trusted by those who employ you to protect them.
But fuck, even before I knew what he did to Gus, I didn’t like him. Which leads me back to the mess that I still don’t know how to breach with Gus. Will he even forgive me when he learns the truth? How much does he really know about his brother?
Within minutes, McCrae comes sauntering in, his ripped black jeans, holey T-shirt, and leather jacket only fueling my questions about his morality. Why would he dress like a dirty-biker, gangster if he had good intentions?
“McCrae, have a seat.” I motion to the dark leather seat opposite of my desk, but he doesn’t even look at it before heading towards the decanter of whiskey on the counter. He pours a large glass, tipping it back, the muscles in his throat working with the effort to swallow the hot liquid in one gulp.
As he does so, a fresh tattoo—still outlined in a pale red glow—catches my eyes on his neck. It looks like a moth or butterfly, only the wings look funny. I squint, and then turn my eyes away when I notice him watching me.
Eyes.The wings are made of two different sets of eyes—one pale blue, the other dark brown, almost black.
“Curious, Boss?” His voice is so dry, it sends a shiver down my spine. He sounds like what I imagine an evil corpse to sound like:hollow and dead.
“About?” I ask, walking over to fill a glass of my own, if only to show him I’m not scared of his presence.
“They’re forhim.”
I bite my cheek. This is not a topic I wish to ever discuss with McCrae. Business—that’s where I want our relationship to start and finish. But I don’t know how to say that without sounding like a total dick.
He continues, either oblivious, or more likely ignoring mydiscomfort. He likes to see people squirm—one of the reasons I know he’s V’s favorite. “The blue are hers, the brown his.”
