Strong and Steady - Vanessa Vale Page 0,69

but I related that more to respect than do-as-I-say-or-you’ll-be-shot-in-the-back-of-the-head power.

“Hang on.” I remembered the matchbook Frank gave me and went back to my purse and dug through it. “Here. I was given this.”

Paul took it, flipped it over. “Jesus, you have Quake Baker’s cell phone number. You’re definitely under his protection.”

“What does that mean exactly?” I sat back down and finished tugging the cotton balls from between my toes, added them to the pile of Christy's to throw out.

“It means when you decide to get out there, you get way out there.” He patted my shoulder. “Gray’s not the only one watching out for you. What time tonight?”

I told him.

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

22

GRAY

My dad wasn’t too hard to find since I knew where to look. There was nothing in Wyoming as far as the eye could see. Open grassland, undulating hills, mountains in the distance for a stretch. I loved it. That was why, as soon as I had the cash, I bought a ranch of my own. An escape. I wanted to take Emory there, get her alone. Get her beneath me again. No interruptions. For days.

There were parts of Wyoming I wanted to avoid, like where I grew up. I never wanted to step foot on that land again. I hadn’t been back since I left for the Marines and had no reason to do so now. My father, thank fuck, was at the casino. It was on the reservation only thirty miles from the ranch, and I could feel the tension creeping into my shoulders with each passing mile.

I had to deal with him, and he sure as fuck wasn’t coming to me. The only reason I was doing so now was because of Emory. No one fucked with her.

No one.

The casino could be seen for miles, like a city seen from space, the only thing on the prairie besides the double strips of pavement for the highway. I exited, parked in the large lot and went inside. Even with the powerful ventilation systems, smoke hung thick in the air, and the sound of the slot machines—the digital music, the pinging of the game and the clinking of coins falling into little plastic cups—was quickly going to give me a headache.

He wasn’t hard to find. I knew what he liked. Knew how he wasted his money. The horses. He sat in a plush chair with about thirty flat screens on the wall in front of him, broadcasting races from all over the country, stats and race information a ticker tape across the bottom of it all.

I dropped down in the leather chair beside him and stared blindly at one of the screens.

“I figured you’d show up.”

The man was in his late sixties, his hair long ago gone to white. His skin was overly tan and had the weathered appearance of a three-pack-a-day smoker. Even now, a cigarette rested in an ashtray on a side table by his right elbow, a glass of what I knew to be whiskey and water beside it. It was early to drink, but this was Wyoming—where people did whatever the fuck they wanted—and this was dear old Dad.

“What do you want this time?” I asked.

I’d never given him money. He’d never needed a dime from me, he had enough of it, even with his gambling habit. Instead, he always wanted me to fix a fight or take a fall in one of my own, so he could win. I never did anything he requested. Never. In retribution, he fucked with me, calling me—I’d ditched one phone number for another more times than I could count—and even sent people to my gym to make trouble. It had all worked; I’d wasted time and energy thinking about the guy, dealing with his shit.

It was hard to imagine how an asshole who lived in the middle of nowhere could ruin my life, but he had. Had. Past tense. I had Emory now, and he couldn’t touch me any longer. Not with her in it. My life was just fucking starting.

“Nothing,” he snapped.

I shook my head slightly, wishing I had a drink of my own, so I could dull the feelings this meeting brought out. My jaw clenched. “Nothing? Since when have you wanted nothing?”

My cell vibrated in my pocket. Worried it was Emory, I glanced at the screen, then, when it wasn’t her number, or Paul’s, I tucked it away.

“Don’t worry, that fight that’s coming up? Your guy’s going to lose on