My stomach drops, a cold ripple sliding over my skin. I subtly angle the phone away from Effa and swipe the message open.
Vex:Mercs, your debt is owed. You need to think about your options, son. Soon there won’t be any options left. Choose wisely…
A bead of sweat forms at my temple despite the cool air. Getting involved with Vex and thatSportsharkapp wasn’t my smartest move. I told myself it was temporary, a necessity, and I was using it for the right reasons. But that doesn’t matter now.
Because the debt is real.
And it’s due.
“You okay? You look weird,” Effa says, studying me.
I lock my expression down and force a grin before shoving the phone back into my pocket. “I’m fine.”
She narrows her eyes. “Who was the text from?”
“Tank. He’s asking where to get pie. Why’s everyone so damn hungry around here?” I joke, standing and wiping my damp palms on my jeans.
She stands beside me, rubbing the back of her neck. “Kammie’s?”
“You bet.” I nod quickly. “C’mon, I’ll show you the place I carved my name into when I was a kid.”
Her eyes light up. “Ooh, secrets. Where?”
“In a barricade at Fort Ligonier. Total badass move.”
She gasps. “Isn’t that a war history site?”
“Yep, part of the gateway for the French, Indian, and Pontiac’s War. I etched my name into the woodwork. But no one knows except Shane and me. You’d have to really look to find it.”
She laughs, slipping her hand into mine as we head back toward the house to grab the car. As we walk, she is bouncing beside me, carefree and excited.
All thoughts of the message have erased from her mind.
But not from mine.
Vex wants his money.
And I have no idea how I’m supposed to come up with that kind of cash when the tour’s on hold and there’s no income coming in. I’m going to have to think fast. Because if there’s one thing I know, it’s that I don’t want a bookie sniffing around me, or anywhere near the people I care about.
Vex isn’t a man you ignore.
One stupid, weak decision…
And now I’m buried in it.
Fuck.
Chapter Eleven
EFFA
Family dinners with Kiera and Gran are always a hive of energy. Not the chaotic, bouncing-off-the-walls kind, but the sort of warm, steady buzz that makes you feel like you belong. There’s laughter, teasing, the clink of cutlery, and the comfortable rhythm of people who love each other deeply.
Kiera and I mercilessly teased Mercs about how she and Raoul have been talking, embellishing every tiny detail until his ears turned red.
Gran simply laughed and, in the wise words of Elsa, but also in a sing-song voice, told him to, “”Let It Go.””
Seeing Kiera smiling like that is all any of us wants. But when her energy begins to fade, and her laughter softens into something quieter, there’s a shift in the room. It’s subtle, but we all feel it. There’s an unspoken shadow that hovers over us, something none of us dare name aloud. Kiera knows it too. I see it in her eyes when she thinks no one’s looking.
