No, she’s not looking at the kids as a whole. She’s staring at Max.
Dread pools in my stomach as a thought crosses my mind and realization hits me like a bat to the chest.
No. It can’t be.
She places her sunglasses atop her head. “As a matter of fact, there is something you can help me with,” she says. “I don’t know if King has told you about me, but I’m Tricia. I’m Max’s—”
“You’re not Max’s fucking anything,” I interrupt as blinding rage clouds my vision and makes my fists clench at my side.
She frowns, then straightens her shoulders as her lips flatten and her eyes grow wide with determination. “Oh, but, in fact, I am her something. A very significant something as it turns out. And by the looks of it, I think you know exactly who I am.”
“I’m her mother. I have papers that will back that up and a gun that will back them up. So, why the fuck are you here?” I manage to grate out.
Tricia touches the tip of her sunglasses to the corner of her mouth. “Why, I’m here to see Max, of course. My baby girl.”
Inside, I’m shaking. My heart is pounding. My protective nature kicks in, and I swear if I had a gun on me, I’d have leveled this woman on the gravel by now. Outside, I remain as cool and calm as I can.
I make my way slowly to the bottom step one slow step at a time until I’m eye to eye with the bitch. “You want to see my kid?” I chuckle because this will be the only warning I’m willing to give the bitch. “Over your dead body.”
* * *
“We had a visitor,” I tell King the second he pulls back up the driveway. My words tremble as they fall from my lips like grenades ready to explode at my feet. I feel my face pale. Speaking the words make what happened real, and it hits me that this woman could try and take my daughter from me.
“Who?” King asks, searching my eyes and gripping my shoulders.
I can’t breathe. I can’t fucking breathe. “Tricia. Max’s…” I pause, not wanting to say the word mom as bile spins in my already upset stomach.
His fists curl around a piece of notebook paper in his hand, crushing it in his grip. “That would fucking explain this,” King says, the veins in his forearms angrily protruding.
I unfold his fingers from the paper. “What is it?” I unravel what looks like a note.
King runs his hand through his hair and sucks in a deep breath. “Some fucking bullshit that was nailed to the garage door when I pulled up. A shipment was stolen from Pike and Nine a few days ago. A shipment I funded.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You’ve got a lot on your mind lately. I didn’t want to worry you.”
I want to be mad, but that would make me a hypocrite since I’ve been protecting King by keeping my troubles to myself as well.
King clears his throat. “I think it’s safe to say that whoever is responsible for jacking the truck is the one who wrote this note. Too much of a coincidence with Tricia showing up like that. She likely brought it here herself.”
I look down at the note.
King,
Your reign is over. There’s a new King of the Causeway. I’ll continue to make business in Logan’s Beach impossible for you. I can take everything you have or you can hand it over. Give up your business in this town or give up the girl. The choice is yours.
Long live the King.
“I don’t get it.” I say, shaking my head. “Of course. The threat seems a little off.”
“Yeah, I picked up on that too. Anyone who knows me knows that business means shit to me compared to family and I’d give it up easily. Whoever sent Tricia is using her as a pawn to so they can claim Logan’s Beach as their own. I don’t think their end game is Max. It’s the money. Whoever it is, they’ve got a big fucking pair of balls crossing me like this.”
I lift my eyes from the threat in my hand and look to King. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to start by telling everyone bringing business in or out of Logan’s Beach to cease operations on whatever pays up to me. At least until we figure out who is behind this shit and slit the fucker’s throat, we’re at a standstill.” He cups my face in his hands. “Don’t worry. I can’t and won’t risk losing our daughter. I’ll keep her safe. No matter the cost.”
I turn the letter over in my hand as if there’s more to read when the few words on the page say more than enough. “How are you going to find out who sent it?”