The growl of the Chevelle’s engine is exactly what I needed, but instead of driving around aimlessly, it takes me somewhere I haven’t been in a while, and that’s something I need to rectify. The majority of my life is lived in the shadows. People whisper my name, as if afraid saying it out loud will bring me to their doorstep. Sometimes, it does.

But luckily for me, there are a few places that border the shadows where I can go without being bothered and still make the connections necessary to continue to expand my empire. The Jackson Club is one of those places.

It’s rumored it was started by Andrew Jackson himself in the early 1800s, but I couldn’t care less about the club’s history or pedigree. All I care about is that the membership is exclusive, and there’s a known rule that it’s neutral territory. A hitman could see his target in the club, and if he made a move, the penalty would be death. Every member has the right to enforce that rule. It’s the only way to maintain order in the club and allow some of the most powerful men in the world to feel at ease behind its hallowed doors.

I’ve heard the waiting list to be granted entrance is years long, but a few things get you to the top in a hurry—like a shitload of money, a blueblood pedigree, or some kind of celebrity status. Luckily for me, I own this town. They would never deny me entrance. In addition, the current manager is an acquaintance. Quade Buck keeps this club running efficiently, and no matter how many times I’ve tried to lure him away to run my casino, he turns me down. I can’t blame him. I wouldn’t want to work for me either. One major fuckup can easily cost someone their life.

Quade greets me from behind the bar as soon as I enter the dark-paneled room. The club is updated annually, and our dues reflect it. It’s a masculine refuge from the outside world. Heavy wooden furniture dominates, and a tinge of cigar smoke not captured by the air-filtration system hangs in the air. Although I see plenty of familiar faces as I scan the large room, I choose to head in Quade’s direction behind the bar first. A drink is definitely in order.

“When are you going to quit pulling shifts behind this bar? If you worked at my place, you wouldn’t have to serve another drink as long as you live.”

Quade’s gruff laugh is the same response I get every time. “I don’t mind slinging drinks. I’m not too proud to work. Besides, this way I get to keep my finger on the pulse of the club and what’s happening with everyone in it. You drinking tonight?”

“Absolutely.”

When Quade turns to grab what he knows is my preferred brand of Scotch, a bottle on the shelf catches my eye. Seven Sinners whiskey.

Fuck, she even followed me here.

Quade follows my gaze in the mirror toward it, missing nothing. “You changing it up tonight?” He shifts his hand to wrap around the neck of the Seven Sinners bottle, his eyebrows raised in question.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to say that I’ve already had the best Seven Sinners has to offer tonight, but I bite it back. “No. I want exactly what I always have.”

Quade eyes me with interest as he grabs the Scotch and pours three fingers, neat. When he slides it across the bar, he leans against the thick, aged wood. “What brings you in? It’s been a few months since you’ve been around.”

“Been wrapped up with a few issues.”

He pushes off the bar and crosses his arms. “Issues? Thought men at your level didn’t have those.”

A huff that’s half laugh, half grunt escapes my lips. “Wouldn’t that be nice. I’ve got them handled. No other option.”

“Scorched earth, right? That’s what you’re known for.”

“Doesn’t work all the time.”

Quade tosses the towel in the sink and watches me for a few moments before speaking again. “Word around the club is that V has been spending a lot of time driving back and forth between your compound and a certain distillery in town.” He nods to the bottle of Seven Sinners whiskey on the shelf, as though his statement needs clarification.

J’s warning was right. People are noticing and talking, and that’s not good.

“Who the fuck cares where he’s driving?”

Quade crosses his arms again. “Plenty of people, apparently. It’s not like you’re known for putting your mark on a local.”

“What are they saying?” I need to know, because maybe scorched earth will become necessary to shut down any gossip.

“Everything from blackmail and extortion to kidnapping and indentured servitude.” He eyes me carefully. “When it comes to you, I don’t have a hard time believing any of it.”

Relief surges through me because my obsession hasn’t become part of the conversation.

When I don’t reply, he asks, “You gonna tell me what’s really going on, Mount?”

I lift the glass of Scotch to my lips and take a sip. Immediately, I wish I’d picked the whiskey.

What the hell is she doing to me?

“Does it matter?”

He shrugs. “Call it curiosity. No one could believe when Brett Hyde conned his way into that family. There’s been more than one guy in the club who definitely wasn’t sad to see her come back on the market.”

I bite back the urge to tell him she’s not on the fucking market, and won’t be anytime soon. Before I have to come up with some suitable reply, a broad-shouldered man takes a stool one down from mine.

“I’ve been waiting for you to come out of your compound so I could talk you into selling me a piece of property you own in the Quarter. I don’t do all that secret handshake and password bullshit it takes to track you down, but waiting isn’t my forte either.”

I turn to see Lucas Titan push his empty glass toward Quade.

“I’ll take another, Buck.” Turning back to me, Titan says, “So, what do you say? You willing to entertain offers?”

I don’t have a damn clue what piece of property he’s talking about, but it doesn’t really matter. “Pretty sure you know I rarely sell anything I acquire.”

“I get the what’s mine, I keep mentality, but this is for my wife, so I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Which property?”

Titan accepts the refilled glass from Quade and takes a sip. “Don’t worry, it’s not part of your block. It’s a couple streets over.”

“What the hell does your wife want it for?” It’s not vitally important to know, but in my position, more information is always better than less.

Quade disappears to the other end of the bar before Titan answers.

“She doesn’t know she wants it yet. But she will. Her store’s kicking ass. She’s going to need to expand, and when she realizes she needs the space, I want it already lined up. It’ll make for a hell of a surprise gift, but I know she’d never ask for it.”

Titan’s wife sounds a lot like one particular woman I know. I dig through my memory to dredge up what I remember hearing about them when they hooked up.

“This is the wife you surprised with a wedding so she had no choice but to marry you on the spot?” I ask. The story made the rounds for months after it happened, since Titan might be the only man in this town with remotely close to as much money as me.

He takes another sip, but the grin on his face is clear. He answers when he finishes. “I did what I had to do to lock that woman down. She’s stubborn as hell, and I’ve got no regrets.”

“Clearly, it worked.” I nod at his wedding ring. “Doesn’t sound like a half-bad plan.”

Titan eyes me with new interest. “Thinking about trying it yourself?”

“She’d just as soon murder me in my sleep at this point.”

“Lachlan Mount with woman problems.” Titan leans back on his stool, looking arrogant as hell. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Fuck off.”

Instead of dropping the subject, he laughs. “Let me give you a piece of unsolicited advice. Check your ego at the door. It isn’t going to help you win this battle.”

“You’re right, definitely unsolicited.”

I take another sip and make a snap decision. Fuck it. It’s not like he’s gonna talk. He’s got something to lose if he pisses me off.

“Say I was having problems, and I check my ego. Then what?”

Titan gives me a nonchalant shrug. “Figure out what she wants and then give it to her.”

“Like it’s that fucking easy,” I reply with a harsh laugh.

“It is if you listen. She’s gonna tell you. Maybe not outright, but you didn’t get to where you are without being able to read between the lines.”

I consider what he says. It sounds too simple.

Listen. Figure out what she wants. Give it to her.

Nothing with Keira could be that easy. Or could it? What the hell does she want most?

My inner voice wastes no time shooting back answers that piss me off. Her freedom. Not to be tied to you by that debt. Well, that’s too fucking bad, because I’m not willing to give her either of those, so it has to be something else.

“So, you gonna sell me that building or what?”

By the time I leave the club, I’ve reached a deal with Titan to sell him the building, and my brain is already working out the answer to the million-dollar question.

How do I figure out what else Keira wants?

No matter what it is, I can get it for her. She’s never seen the advantages of what my boundless resources bring to the table.

It’s time to change that.