Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 78227 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78227 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
“He can prove it,” Brittany says.
“And how do you think he can do that?” I ask.
“Well, there’s DNA.”
“Which may not be conclusive from half siblings three generations ago,” Dad says.
“He has records. He’s a grandson of William Elijah Steel.”
“So you have heard of him,” I can’t help saying snidely.
“Then maybe you can shed some light on something,” Dad says. “Who the hell is William Elijah Steel’s mother?”
“I don’t know. Why would I know that?”
Dad says nothing more.
He doesn’t want to give much away, but I know he’s thinking of the birth certificate we found in Murphy’s place, under the floorboards. The birth certificate for William Elijah Steel that shows George Steel as his father, with the area for his mother left blank.
Which in itself is very strange.
According to Donny and Dale, our family has a reputation for doctoring documents.
“Daddy,” Brittany says, “can you ever forgive me?”
“Of course. You’re my daughter.”
“I was just trying to protect you. I knew you were into something bad. And I was trying to protect Pat. He’s a Steel, after all, and if the Steels go down for this…then what is left for Pat?”
“You know”—my mind whirls with ideas—“on the face of it, this all sounds altruistic. But do you want to know what I think?”
“What do you think, son?” Dad says.
“I think you want the Steels to go down, Brittany. I think you and Pat both do, because if he truly is one of us? With all of us out of the way, our undivided fortune would be his.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
RORY
I’m an actress. I’m a vocalist first, but I’m also an actress. Still, putting on my game face is more difficult than I imagined.
I still haven’t heard from Brock, and he never leaves my mind. He’s big and strong and is with his father. He can surely take care of himself, but he’s not bulletproof.
No one is.
In the last several weeks, I’ve seen my father—my healthy, robust father—taken down by a heart attack. I’ve additionally seen Talon Steel—also healthy and robust—felled by a bullet.
They made it through, most likely because of their overall strength and health, but both instances reiterated to me how fragile life truly is.
And Brock… Brock is so young. Only twenty-four. We just found each other. We can’t lose each other. Not yet.
Not ever.
Jesse hands me a key card. “Here you go, sis.”
We unload our bags from the car and set them in our sparsely furnished room.
This is not the Carlton, for sure.
Two double beds are covered in threadbare rust-colored cotton, a nightstand between them, and a small bathroom with only one sink, a toilet, and a shower. The walls are covered in tacky flowered wallpaper straight out of the seventies. I inhale. A little musty, but clean.
That’s it. No chairs, no desk, only an old TV. And I mean old. Not a flat-screen TV.
Well, as Jesse said, all we’ll do here is sleep.
We shove our bags inside and then meet the rest of the band back down at the cars.
“Lunch,” Cage says, “and then we go over to the venue, check it out, have a rehearsal. Sound check.”
“Sounds good. And we’re on at what, eight o’clock?” Jesse asks.
“Yep,” Cage says. “Eight o’clock sharp. Two sets. A break in between.”
“Is this one of the venues where agents hang out?” I ask.
“It is,” Cage says.
I nod. “Don’t you find it odd that agents come to a small town outside Salt Lake City?”
“On its face, yeah,” Cage says. “But the guys who own these two places used to work in LA, so they’ve got connections.”
“Okay. Makes sense.”
Cage smiles. “It’s on you, cuz. You need to look the part tonight.”
“Since when do I ever not look the part?”
“I hate to be the bearer of this news to you, you being my sister and all,” Jesse says, “but T and A sells. We may have all the talent in the world, but you’re going to be the one selling this performance.”
I roll my eyes. He’s no doubt right, but it still irks me.
“All right,” Jake says. “Everybody in the van. Let’s go have some lunch.”
“If you guys don’t mind, I think I’ll skip lunch.”
“Sis,” Jesse says, his eyes serious. “I understand, but we’ve got a performance tonight, and there could be an agent in the audience. You need to be at your best, which means you need to eat.”
I sigh. He’s right, of course. “Can’t I just order something in?”
“Does this look like the Four Seasons to you?” Jesse asks.
I sigh again. A couple of nights in a suite at the Carlton paid for by Brock, and I’ve become spoiled. I’m not that person.
“All right, all right. Where are we going?”
“I’ve got a hankering for tacos,” Jake says.
“Tacos sound great.” From Cage.
Dragon stays silent. He’s not a big talker, so that’s not surprising.
“Tacos are fine,” I say.
“Tacos it is, then,” Jesse says. “Let’s go.”