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 his own poor skills, your own fuck-all training, and then I’ll win.”
I slapped the armrests of the chair and stood. “Great.” I looked down at him, hands on hips. His eyes held no warmth, no love, nothing. He wasn’t a father. He was just some fucking loser who’d somehow spawned me. “Then leave me alone.”
“And your girlfriend, too?”
My phone vibrated again, but I ignored it. The fact that he mentioned Emory had my fists clenching. I knew how to fight with fists and was used to a verbal sparring match with my dad, but that was over inconsequential shit not Emory. I wanted to beat the fuck out of him, kill him with my bare hands—that’s how much I hated him, but this was a casino. There were cameras everywhere, and he knew it. This was his sanctuary, and he was safe here.
If we were on the ranch, he’d be dead, and no one would ever know. Hell, I’d leave him somewhere no one would ever find him. Besides the coyotes and buzzards.
But this wasn’t the ranch. This wasn’t the ring. This was a mind game. If I made Emory out to be something important, he’d pick at the very idea of her like a scab. So I shrugged it off. “No girlfriend.”
“Oh? She was a bad fuck? She looked pretty limber to me.”
My eyes narrowed, but I kept my cool. Barely. “If you want to fuck with me, fine, but let’s leave everyone else out of it.”
His cell rang. Neither of us would have noticed it in the loud casino noise if it hadn’t vibrated across the small table beside his drink.
He picked it up and glanced at the screen. I watched as his skin paled beneath the fake tan.
My cell vibrated once more but I just watched my dad. He actually looked… afraid.
“Answer your phone,” he said, without looking up from the screen on his.
I sighed, pulling mine from my pocket. “Green.”
“Gray, Quake Baker here. You met my son and grandson. Sorry for getting to you through your dad, but you wouldn’t answer your phone.”
What the fuck? Quake Baker had Dad’s number and had texted him. What the hell did the message say because it looked as if my dad just pissed himself. Besides that, how the hell did Quake know I was with my dad right now? How did he know my number? I looked around. There were people all around but too self-involved to be interested in either my father or me. It was a casino with cameras everywhere. We were two hundred miles from Brant Valley. How far was this man’s reach? Did I really want to know?
“You’ll have to tell me how the two of you are pals someday,” I said.
I heard a chuckle through the phone. “The MC’s got a big reach.”
As if that explained it all.
“What can I do for you?”
“Talked with Emory and invited both of you to the Double-B for dinner. She’s coming with friends. Told me they’re spending the day together. Nice job with the babysitters.”
I was trying to keep up. I knew of Quake and the No Holds Barred MC, knew of their dealings, and it was more than just the Early Bird Special and a slice of homemade pie. From the way my dad was reacting, he knew about them, too.
“If she’s accepted, then I’ll be there,” I replied. I didn’t want to say Emory’s name in front of my dad, so I kept it neutral. I didn’t want him to know jack shit about her.
“Good. Ask your pops if he wants to come too.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. I had no interest, ever, in eating a meal with my dad, but Quake had a reason for it. “Quake Baker wants to know if you want to join me for dinner tonight at his diner.”
Dad turned to look up at me, and he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. This was the first time—ever—I had seen him weak and vulnerable. He cleared his throat. “Tell him thanks, but I’ll be staying at the ranch.”
“He offers his regrets,” I told Quake.
“Yeah, figured. Guessing your meeting’s over, so you should be back in time to get your girl. Later.”
I tucked my phone in my pocket and settled my hands back on my hips, waiting to see if my dad was going to say anything else. He sat there, shoulders slumped, skin orange and pale all at the same time. I saw him for what he really was. An old, pathetic man. He hadn't sent a man after Emory. It wasn't his deal. All he did was taunt, to fuck with me. He didn't have the balls to do more than that. He might be a powerful businessman, might own a huge swath of the state, but he had nothing on me. Nothing. I could deal with whatever shit he tossed my way, but it seemed I had an ally all of a sudden with Quake Baker. I had no idea what the fuck he had on my dad, but I didn’t care. I didn’t care about my dad at all.
“We’re done here,” I said, my voice hard. “We’re done, period. Leave me the fuck alone and you stay away from Emory. You forget she even exists. I’d be happy to beat the shit out of you, and I’m sure Quake will be thrilled to hide your body.” I leaned forward, so he could hear me clearly over the din of the casino. “You think I care what you do? I don’t think about you at all.”