His Southern Temptation

chapter Twenty-Seven


Taylor was not going to give the a*shole the satisfaction of seeing her breakdown.

She sat up on the narrow cot shoved into the former dressing room of the Jolly Gent eyeing Mr. Clean warily. His outstretched hand offered her coffee and a breakfast burrito. This simple act of kindness—if that is what you could call it when given by a man who kidnapped you at gunpoint—brought tears to her eyes. She was tired. She was scared.

This shit was real, and she had no idea what terrified her more. Eddie might kill her—he’d threatened it long and loud last night—but he also wanted to hurt Lucky. Specifically, he wanted Lucky to hurt for some imagined slight to his pride, and the idea of Lucky walking into a trap took her to the brink of losing her mind.

“You need to eat,” Mr. Clean said as he laid the food on the table next to the cot and took a step back. “Your man should be here soon and this will all be over.”

“He’s not my man,” she murmured, wiping the hair off her face and wishing she had a toothbrush.

“Well, you better hope he thinks otherwise, because Mr. Wilkes expects him to show up with the two hundred grand today or you get hurt.” He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms as he regarded her carefully. “What did you do? Dump him?”

She decided to accept the food, praying it wasn’t poisoned as she let the hot, bitter brew slide down her throat and warm her from the inside out. She tested the breakfast burrito, barely biting back the satisfied groan at the taste.

“It wouldn’t have worked out.”

“Ah. You must not have loved him much then.”

“What?”

“When you really love someone you make it work. Nobody walks away. No one ends it no matter what.” Mr. Clean shrugged. “You must not have really loved him.”

He was wrong. She loved Lucky. Taylor set aside the food, her appetite gone with the knowledge of what she’d thrown away. He’d offered her everything and she’d been too scared to take the leap of faith. The long night on this cot had forced her to face what really mattered, and she’d been hung up on the wrong things. She should have believed in Lucky, even if love still gave her the chills at how fickle it could be. Lucky was a rock. Always had been. Always would be.

She stood up, legs shaky from disuse, but her voice was as clear as she could make it through her emotions. “You need to let me go. We both know he’s going to come for me and he could get hurt. I can’t let that happen.”

“So you do love him then.” Mr. Clean smiled briefly, an odd quirk of his lips, but he stood fast. “But you’re not getting out of here until he brings the money and this all ends. Then we can all move on.”

Something in his voice made her pause. Something layered under the determination to keep her here—a personal motive—something more than employee loyalty.

“What’s in this for you? What kind of scene is Lucky walking into?” Taylor felt her blood pressure rise with her fear. Something wasn’t what it seemed.

Mr. Clean opened his mouth to answer, but a knock at the door stopped him. Bodean Taggert’s voice drifted through the door.

“It’s time. Landon is here.”

“No.” Taylor backed up, her knees hitting the side of the cot where she collapsed. “Call this off. Please.” She looked up at the passive face of Mr. Clean, willing to beg if she needed to. “Please.”

“Come on.” He leaned over, grasping her by the arm and hefting her on her feet. “If your man plays by the rules, you’ll be walking out of here together.”

Taylor prayed, knowing it was the only thing that could make this okay.

Because Lucky Landon had never played by the rules in his whole life, and he wasn’t about to start now.

…

“Eddie, I’ve got your money. Let her go.”

Lucky stood in the middle of the Jolly Gent with his gun in his holster. His duffel bag, filled with two hundred thousand dollars, was on the table. He would have brought more if that was what it took to get Taylor out of here safely.

He’d made plans. Mapped out entrances and exits. Opened the trunk he’d stored in the barn at the farm and assembled weapons he thought he’d never use again. He was ready to go in guns blazing, but he couldn’t do it. It was risky and Taylor might get hurt. That prospect was unthinkable.

“I can’t believe you made this so easy.” Eddie reclined in a chair at the edge of the stage with Mr. Clean just behind him. He smiled with the confidence of a man who’d won the game, and Lucky resisted the urge to knock his teeth down his throat.

“Prove she’s unhurt and I’ll hand over the money,” Lucky said, the words gritty in his mouth.

Eddie chuckled, nodding to Mr. Clean, who pushed a remote and opened the curtains shielding the back part of the stage. Taylor sat on a chair, her hands bound with zip ties. She was tired, clothes wrinkled, but appeared unhurt. He breathed again.

They stared at each other across the room and the spark of answering relief in her eyes made his heart squeeze. Brave girl—she was scared but holding it together. He loved her more in that moment than he thought possible, and he was more determined to make sure she walked away from this in one piece. If that meant she walked away from him, then that was how it had to be.

Mr. Clean dropped the remote on the table with a loud thunk and crossed his arms over his chest. Lucky was itching to take this guy down—something about him was off, and he got the definite impression that the truly dangerous one in the room was that guy. Eddie might think he was the puppet master, but this guy was only dancing to the tunes he picked out himself.

Lucky got back to the task at hand. “Okay, Eddie. There’s two hundred grand in this bag. I’m not staying around for you to count it. You’ll have to trust me.”

“Where’d you get that kind of money so quickly?”

“I had savings. What do you care?” Lucky asked, ignoring the muffled “no” Taylor shouted from across the room. It was done. He’d do it again.

“I don’t.”

That covered, Lucky took a step toward Taylor, but Mr. Clean blocked his path, his hand hovering over the gun at his hip.

“Move.” When he didn’t budge Lucky looked at Eddie making sure his “what the f*ck” expression was clear to see. “Make baldie move.”

“Where’s Sarah Morgan?” Eddie asked, ignoring his demand.

“I don’t know. I brought you the money. That was the deal.” Lucky called on his training to keep his voice even. Now was not the time to pick a fight unnecessarily.

“No, I told you I wanted you to find Sarah.” Eddie was so frustrated he was practically pouting. Unease crept up the back of Lucky’s neck. He didn’t need an emotional Eddie. Emotional always equaled reckless. “That bitch made a fool out of me and I’m going to teach her a lesson.”

“What the f*ck lesson do you think you’re going to teach me?” A voice he’d never heard cut across the conversation and every head turned to see who had joined them. A woman stood on the stage next to Taylor, and while Lucky didn’t recognize the voice, the face was imprinted on his memory.

Sarah Morgan was back. Alive. Pissed. Holding a gun.

Apparently the party had officially started.

Eddie jumped out of his chair and raised his gun, his finger on the trigger and the intention to shoot Sarah written on his face in neon. Sarah didn’t even flinch, a smile—the definition of smug—parting her lips and dazzling them all with her pearly whites. The whole thing was surreal, and Lucky scrambled to figure how not to panic with Taylor a sitting duck in the cross fire. He pulled his gun, ready for anything.

“Sarah, you stupid whore. I’m going to kill you for stealing from me. Just who do you think you are to try and cross me, you little bitch?” Eddie said, spittle coating his lips and his eyes wild.

“She’s my wife,” Mr. Clean answered, and everyone in the room shifted to focus on him and the gun he now pointed at Eddie.

“What the f*ck are you talking about?” Eddie asked.

“I’m talking about how you got played, you stupid prick. You got played and you didn’t even know it. It was a pleasure to steal from you.” Mr. Clean raised his gun a little higher and pointed it at Eddie’s head. A clean shot. All he had to do was pull the trigger.

Sarah laughed, the sound harsh and ugly. “And you don’t even know how much we took from you. Two hundred thousand? Ha! Try two million and choke on it.”

“Why would you want to steal from me?” Eddie asked, his question tinged with a little bit of hurt.

“Because I got tired of having you treat me like shit. Because you had it and I wanted it,” she said.

Everything was silent for a few long moments, everyone in static position with guns drawn and trigger fingers at the ready. Lucky scanned the scene and took stock of the players. Mr. Clean was calm, Sarah was smug, and Eddie hovered between outrage and doubt.

This was nuts. He’d been dragged into a personal vendetta among these three. Now he and Taylor were caught in the cross fire, and the outcome would depend completely on what Eddie did next.

Lucky saw the shift in purpose flicker across Eddie’s face and he knew in an instant how it would go down. His heart seized. He could never get to Taylor in time to protect her.

It was like a slow-motion movie with delayed sound.

Lucky lunged forward, pulling his gun as Eddie pulled back the trigger and took aim at Sarah. The shot flew wide as Eddie was spun around by the impact of a bullet in his chest. Mr. Clean took a step forward, assessing whether Eddie was dead and firing two more for good measure. A triple tap. Mr. Clean was a pro. But not enough of a pro to understand how he got played. Poor bastard never saw the bullet coming for him.

Sarah Morgan was a good shot. The first one wasn’t deadly, but the next two pumped into her husband’s body got the job done. Apparently, it wasn’t a happy marriage.

Lucky vaulted the stage and was running toward Taylor when Sarah stopped him in his tracks. A cool little number, she was now standing behind Taylor, shielding herself with her body and holding the gun to her head.

She tugged Taylor to her feet, backing up to the door. Taylor cried out at the rough treatment and Lucky instinctively thought to take the shot. He’d never hesitated before, but this was different. What if he missed? His hands were like ice and he didn’t have the focus necessary to be precise.

“Don’t do anything stupid.” Sarah was calm, in total control. Eddie Wilkes had seriously underestimated this girl. Lucky had seen professional mercenaries who could learn a thing or two from her. “I don’t have any problem with you. I did what I came to do and now, I’m going to go and start living my new life.”

“How do you think you’re going to get out of here? As soon as I get the chance I’m going to stop you,” he said.

“No, you’re not. You’re going to be a good boy, throw down your gun, get in this closet and wait for the sheriff to let you out later. Much later. After I’m gone.”

Taylor whimpered when Sarah pressed the gun against her neck, and he knew he was going to comply. He could think of a million ways to get the drop on this girl and a million and one ways it could go wrong.

Raising his hands to display his actions clearly, he lowered the gun to floor, walked forward, and stepped inside the closet. The seconds seemed like an eternity until Taylor was shoved into his arms and the door shut behind them.

He crushed her to her chest, inhaling the sweet coconut scent of her hair and feeling the rapid tattoo of her heart against his own. She was shaking, the mixture of adrenaline and fear causing tremors that made her teeth chatter loudly. He tugged her onto his lap, removing the gag, chafing her arms and back with his hands to offset the effects of shock.

“It’s okay. You’re safe now.” He pressed his lips against her silky hair, so grateful she was alive and unhurt. He blinked back tears, refusing to let her see him lose it. He’d never been so glad of the dark. “I’ve got my phone and I’ll have Sheriff Burke here soon.”

He loosened his hold on her body, intending to reach for the phone in his pocket, but Taylor clutched at him, her arms wound tight around his neck.

“Don’t let me go, Lucky. Not yet. Not yet.” Her voice broke, her tears soaking his neck and shoulder where she rested her head. “Don’t let me go.”

He knew it was the shock talking. The release after a terrifying experience. But he wound his arms around her and held her close. Just for a while he’d pretend she meant something else with her words. Pretend she wanted him and not just comfort.

He’d pretend. Just for a while.