“But… can’t we—”
Worth shook his head. “You can’t risk the babies by having them close to Ford. I can’t do it, the officials will know it is me and I won’t leave you and the babies.” Worth pressed his hands on his temples, as if attempting to keep his head from exploding. “I’m giving Bernie money and they’ll leave the state and head west. We may never be able to see either of them again; that will be up to Bernie’s discretion. One thing I know, Ford is not safe here and neither are we. We have no choice. I need you to agree to this, Auggie. It will take both of us, working together to keep all of our children safe and happy. To do this, they must be apart. Do you agree?”
I wanted to scream “no” but found myself nodding. It seemed my brain wanted to work even when my heart was dying. “That will make Bernie a kidnapper.”
“Yes, it will. I may have them leave the country entirely.”
I looked into Worth’s eyes, finding strength there. I swallowed hard. “What can I do?”
“You can forget this conversation ever took place. Never speak of it to a living soul; not even our parents. As far as we’re concerned, Ford escaped and his location is unknown. We never had that phone call and never spoke to Bernie.”
I leaned into his chest, needing his comfort, needing his warmth. “I trust you, Worth. They can’t put us all in jail.”
He kissed my hair. “We have no choice, Auggie. Ford is running the show now.”
THE END
Continue on to read BOOK THREE of The Bluegrass Billionaire Trilogy: Bluegrass Rebellion.
Bluegrass Rebellion
THE BLUEGRASS BILLIONAIRE TRILGOY
BOOK 3
Alice Ward & Jessica Blake
BOOK DESCRIPTION
The LaViere men – wealthy, controlling, self-centered and willful. Although generations separated them, they retained their legacies of power. Magnetic and perpetually driven to excel, their appetites for dominance over their women was unrelenting. While their wealth set them apart, the cost of those they destroyed was greater than any fortune imaginable.
Auggie, the copper-haired beauty who mentally jousted with her handsome Worth paid her price and yet asked for more. Liane, the sensitive creature with intuitive empathy sought to conquer her Hawk and paid her price as well – yet neither of them could deny themselves their men.
A saga of generations where wealth was measured by the foes they conquered. Psychological swordplay left only a few standing. Who would they be?
Bluegrass Rebellion is a standalone novel with an HEA and No Cliffhanger.
CHAPTER ONE
Hawk
Standing in the stirrups of my beloved Diablo, I gained a few precious inches to look down upon the rolling hillside of Carlos Acres.
Home.
I shook my head, cursing my nostalgia, and sat down on the horse, leaning forward to scratch his soft neck. They say you can’t go home again. It’s an expression generally meaning that time changes all that’s familiar while our memories are filed like so many images arranged in place but locked in time. For me, however, it wasn’t an expression — it was a reality.
From my vantage point, I’d never thought my adopted name to be more fitting. As a child, I’d longed to be a hawk; the hunter who surveyed his prey from gliding heights, ready to drop and kill with neither conscience nor warning. When it became necessary for me to choose a new name, Hawk came immediately to my lips. Sansabri was just as easy. It meant homeless in French — a fitting name for a man who had none.
Born Worthington LaViere, IV, I was the firstborn son of Worthington, III and Auggie LaViere — the very people whose estate upon which I now overlooked. Carlos Acres wasn’t my home, and for the time being, the LaVieres couldn’t be my parents. Not after what I’d done.
***
Many years ago, my sanity seemed to be in question. I can’t say that I blamed them for their diagnosis. In fact, I remembered only a small part of what went down, so I had little defense. My mind was like an old black and white silent film I saw once; flickering images that lacked depth and sound, leaving gaps that left you unsure of the ending.
A few salient facts left their impressions on me, like claws still digging under my skin. The first was that I wasn’t welcomed at home or in my family. Bernie did his best to shield me, but there were only so many excuses he could use before the bullshit bucket was empty. I knew he walked more than one line, as a man himself as well as an intermediary between my father and me. He was always tentative as if his responses to my questions could calm me or trigger a far different response.
Looking back, I thought he was afraid of me. Now that I was older, it’s more likely he was afraid of what life would deal him. He’d left so much behind in order to protect me. I remembered that much. Given his options and the world to which he’d belonged, he’d chosen to become my surrogate father.
The second fact was that Mexico was not where we belonged. It was a good idea for a few years until things calmed down and people forgot about me. Even though we moved around quite often, we were still targets. Bernie was too good looking, and I was too rich. How strange to be exiled to a land where your strongest qualities became your handicaps.
I didn’t retain that handicap for long, however. One night when Bernie was asleep, I sneaked out to investigate a group of young guys I’d watched from the window for weeks. They’d catch me watching and motion for me to come out and be with them. I was too na?ve to realize their intentions had nothing to do with anything but the money they thought I had.
I caught up with them that night, and they dragged me into the shadows, stripped me and razor-slashed my face. Once they’d left, I managed to stagger to our door, naked and bleeding badly. I screamed Bernie’s name and beat my hands against the thick wood. He found me collapsed on the doorstep and carried me inside where he bathed and stitched my face as well as he could. He didn’t dare call attention to us by getting a local doctor, and I eventually passed out from the pain. Bernie stitched slowly and cautiously, applying disinfectant as he went. I finally awakened, my face wrapped in the torn strips of a white cotton sheet. When at last the bandages could stay off, he and I were forced to accept the disfiguring scars left behind. That was when I’d begun wearing sunglasses — always. I think it was my effort to hide my ugliness from an even uglier world.