I want that. It wasn’t something I’d ever really thought about before, but now it was on my mind, and I really fucking wanted that.

“Vanessa has known Elle nearly all her life. I’ve only been around her for a few months, but even I know she’s unpredictable. You think she’s going to do one thing, and she does something totally different. She’s not your typical trust fund kid. She’s … I’m not really sure what kind of demons she’s running from, but she seems to cover it up well by employing her own special brand of shock and awe.”

He was right. Elle wasn’t a typical rich girl, as much as she seemed to come off that way. But it was the last part of his comment that caught my attention.

“Shock and awe?”

“She says and does things that shock people, surprise them. Maybe she’s just random, but I think there’s more to it.”

“You a psychologist now?”

“Not even close. But if you want my blessing, you don’t even have to ask for it. Van isn’t going to hold anything against you, and neither am I. If anyone knows about taking a shot at being happy, it’s us.”

It was as simple as that with Con. I nodded. He nodded. And the conversation moved on to something else. Something I didn’t really want to talk about right now.

“How’s business?”

My beer sloshed in my stomach. Con had bought Chains, brought me on to manage it, and I’d cleaned the place up and gotten it to the point where it turned a healthy profit. Within only a few months of me owning it, that healthy profit had evaporated. Between Bree—who I couldn’t even be pissed at because of what had happened to her—and my grand idea to expand into vintage cars, shit was not where it’d been when Con had owned the place.

“Business is good.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t tell me if it wasn’t.”

It wasn’t a question. “I got it covered.”

“You ever need to back off on a payment, all you have to do is say so.”

Con had tried to give me Chains outright, but my pride wouldn’t let me take it for free. “I’m good.”

“Anything changes, you let me know.”

“Sure.”

We both knew I wouldn’t.

We finished our beers and shot the shit, talking about the boys, boxing, and the upcoming tourney until my phone buzzed. I pulled it out and looked down.

Elle.

You busy?

I immediately texted her back.

No. What’s up?

Elle’s response came within moments.

Need a ride. Can you come get me? Like … now?

I glanced back at Con. “Gotta run.”

He paused, beer almost to his mouth. “That her?”

“I’ll see you around,” I replied.

I stood, pulled out my wallet, and dropped a few bills on the table. “On me.”

I headed for the door, texting as I went.

On my way. Tell me where I’m going.

I didn’t know how long it would take Lord to get to my mother’s house, so I decided to seek refuge in the kitchen with Margaux, my mother’s cook and housekeeper.

She hummed as she washed a big roasting pan in the sink.

I pulled out a stool at the center island and made myself at home.

Margaux glanced over her shoulder at me and smiled. “Elle, child, don’t you look beautiful.”

I dropped my eyes to survey the dress I was wearing. Another summery number. This one had come from Dirty Dog—a royal blue A-line with white flowers and boat neck. Yve had picked it up on eBay, and I’d nabbed it before she could even get it steamed and hung up on the shop floor. She knew better than to buy cute stuff in my size and expect that she’d get to sell it. And the best part? It had pockets.

“Thank you. And thank you for dinner; it was delicious, as usual.”

Margaux’s smile was wide and genuine. Probably the most genuine emotion shown in this house except for my disdain for Denton and DJ. I didn’t bother to hide that.

“Why thank you. It’s good to see your face around here again.”

If I were sitting in front of anyone but Margaux, I would’ve wanted to say something like don’t get used to it, but Margaux was good people, and how she’d stayed so sweet despite the iron fist Denton hammered on everyone in this house was a testament to her character.

“It’s good to see you too.”

She patted her hands dry on the towel tucked into the pocket of her apron. “So, you hidin’ out or did ya just come in here to see my smilin’ face?”

“Your smiling face, obviously,” I said.

“Why don’t I believe that for a minute?”

My lips twitched. Margaux didn’t miss much. “Because you know damn well I’m hiding.”

“You got a mode of escape planned, or do you need me to call Arnie?”

Arnie was my mother’s driver.

“I’ve got a ride coming.”

“One of these days you should pick up the keys and start drivin’ yourself around again, child.”

This wasn’t something I hadn’t told myself a bunch of times. And yet I still wasn’t enticed. “I’m good.”

“Mmmmhmmm,” was all she said to that.

I changed the subject to talk about her grandkids—something I knew could keep Margaux chatting for hours. But this time, we only got about fifteen minutes on the topic before the rumble of Detroit’s finest muscle came pulling up the drive.

He might not be a knight on a white horse, but I’d take a tatted-up bad boy in a muscle car over that cliché any day of the week.

Margaux’s eyes shot to the window that gave us a perfect view of the driveway.

“That your ride?”

I grinned at her surprise. “Sure is.” I hopped off my stool, made my way over to her, and kissed her cheek. “I’d say I’ll see you soon, but I don’t know when I’ll be back. Take care of yourself and those grandbabies, Margaux.”

I expected to see her attention on me when I pulled away, but it was glued to the window. I followed her gaze.

“Oh my lord,” she breathed.

Oh Lord was right. When I looked at him, I put myself in Margaux’s shoes. A six and a half foot, solidly muscled man, with a swirl of tattoos running up and down his exposed arms, dressed in ripped jeans and a black T-shirt. I thought of what he’d said about giving me until Tuesday to make up my mind.