straighter. Waving the glass he holds in his good hand at me, causing some bourbon to slosh out, he says, “You hold a lot of power over Beck and don’t pretend otherwise. But you are right . . . I think his mind is made up, but I bet you could sway him if you wanted, and I have a counterproposal that will interest him.”
But I don’t want to sway him, asshole. I want you to suffer.
“What could that possibly be?” I ask, because this is the real reason I’m here. I need to know what JT may have up his sleeve, and it has to be something if he thinks it will change Beck’s mind.
JT downs the rest of the liquor and sets the glass on the bar behind him. When he turns back to me, his eyes are cold and calculating. “I’m prepared to renounce my inheritance rights to the North fortune. I’ve even had my attorney draft up a proposed agreement if Beck will loan me the money to get me out of my current jam and let me retain my rights in The Sugar Bowl.”
I can’t help the sudden gasp of surprise or the way my eyes open wide over JT’s statement. It’s a dead giveaway that Beck has indeed told me all there is to know.
JT gives a malicious laugh. “I can tell by the look on your face you know Beckett North, Sr., is my father too, but more important, you’re stunned I know this information.”
“But how?” I mutter. If Beck’s dad is to be believed, he never told JT.
“My mother,” JT says simply. “She told me years ago. Wanted me to know so I could claim what was rightfully mine one day.”
Holy shit. He knows. He knows Beck is his brother, and by the looks of it, he’s got his sights set on the North money.
“That won’t change his mind,” I whisper, because I know without a doubt it won’t. Beck doesn’t give a shit about his father’s money.
“Bullshit,” JT yells at me, his face turning red underneath the purple bruises. He takes a step toward me and snarls, “You could persuade him. You fucking hold his nuts in your greedy little hands.”
I take a wary step back, clutching my purse tighter. JT’s face is a mask of livid rage as he matches my movement. My pulse skitters away from me as I consider making a running break out of this house. “I think you need to discuss this with Beck. Maybe this will sway him, but I shouldn’t be involved with this.”
I take another step back but JT’s words freeze me in place just by the sheer hatred in his tone as he rasps, “You fucking bitch. This is all because of you. Beck changed the minute you walked into his life, and I frankly can’t understand what in the hell he sees in a whore like you.”
By all accounts, I should turn and get the hell away from this enraged man who had once hurt me so badly I didn’t think I’d ever recover. But instead, anger swells up and I stand my ground with the knowledge I have a gun to protect me if needed. “You asshole,” I sneer at him. “This is all on you. You made stupid decisions and now you need to man up and accept the consequences, you jackass.”
It’s almost as if a pool of red-hot fury fills JT’s eyes and his jaw tightens so hard I’m expecting him to crack teeth. I think for a moment he might tell me to get out of his house, but instead he starts to walk toward me in almost a zombielike fashion, his right hand curled into a tight fist as his chest rises and falls sharply. I know without a doubt he’s overwhelmed with rage at the situation and with me, and he intends to lash out . . . probably physically. Before he can reach me though, my hand dips into my purse and I pull out my gun, holding it aimed directly at his heart.
He stops in midstride and his eyes slowly slide to the gun. I expect him to be cowed, but instead when he looks back at me his lips curl upward and he taunts, “Going to shoot me, Sela?”
“You take another step further, and I will,” I tell him with a quavering voice. “Now I’m going to leave—”
“You won’t do it,” he says softly, talking right over me. His voice so assured,