“I’ll find who did this.”
Kinsley glanced at Rhett, not realizing he’d joined her. “Do you think the motorcycle gang from last night would be capable of this?” she asked.
He paused to consider her question then finally acknowledged her thought with a nod. “Capable? Definitely. It’s easy to go to that conclusion, but at the same time, what could possibly drive them to do this?” He gestured toward her ruined bar.
She snorted. “You pulled a gun on them last night. Isn’t that enough of a reason?”
“To come after me, hell, yeah,” he answered, shoving his hands into his pockets. “But why would they take what I had done out on you?”
“Because they’re pricks,” she offered.
Last night had proved that enough. And she didn’t blame Rhett’s strong reaction. There were three of them, and Dalton had squeezed her wrist hard enough that she was surprised she didn’t have a bruise this morning.
Rhett nodded again, obviously to appease her, considering he didn’t look convinced. But suddenly, something caught his gaze and he abruptly left her side. Kinsley followed him to the bar. There, two words were carved into the wood: SHUT DOWN.
“Okay, that’s an odd warning,” she stated.
Rhett stood eerily still before he gave her a sidelong glance. “Got any enemies you need to tell me about?”
The answer was all too easy. “Nearly every weekend, we end up having to kick people out of here if they’re too drunk or something, but we haven’t had any big incidents until the one last night.”
The door suddenly slammed open, and her father strode in, a deep frown on his face. “Christ sakes, look at this place.” He scanned the room from left to right then quickly walked over to Kinsley, taking a brief look at the wood carving before addressing her. “Who have you pissed off lately?”
She rolled her eyes. “Why do you both think this has something to do with me? Rhett’s the one who pulled the gun last night.”
Dad’s nostrils flared before his face went flat. “Explain,” he barked at Rhett.
“Red Dragons showed up here last night,” Rhett reported, arms folded over his chest. “Can’t speak as to their motive, but Dalton latched on to Kinsley’s wrist and refused to let go.” He hesitated, seeming to consider his words, then added, “He may have resisted letting go because I told him to, though I can’t be sure what would have happened had I not arrived.”
Dad studied Rhett for a long moment then gave a firm nod. Rhett wouldn’t have acted without being provoked. Even Kinsley knew that.
Her father crossed his arms, turning his focus wholly on Kinsley. “Did you say anything that might have rubbed them wrong?”
Kinsley didn’t take offense. Her loud mouth could, and often did, get her in trouble. “A couple months ago, you know I totally would have probably lipped off to them.” She placed her hand on her belly. “Now, definitely not.”
She sensed Rhett go unnaturally still. She looked over to him and found him staring at her hand on her belly. For a split second, his expression went utterly soft and melted her bones, but then all emotion was erased from his face when his gaze met hers.
“All right,” Dad drawled, bringing her attention back to the hard lines of his mouth. “Let forensics do their thing and we’ll go from there.”
“I’ll need to call the insurance company,” Kinsley said, again staring at the disaster around her. She wasn’t even sure where to start.
Dad nodded, enveloping her into his warm hug. “So sorry about this, kid. It’s the last thing you need right now.”
“You’re right, it is,” she agreed, clamping down on the emotion threatening to rise, letting the rage and fury burn in her belly instead.
“They’re going to do what they can,” Boone said, sidling up to them as Dad let her go, “but Tony doubted they’d get much, considering there are thousands of fingerprints here.”
“We’ve got the security footage,” Rhett injected. Boone nodded, and then a dark shadow crossed over Rhett’s expression. “We should consider that this may be King.”
Kinsley gulped. That name registered and scared her.
“What about King?”
Asher’s voice was hard and hinted at unsettled business. He wore a mask of boredom, but beneath that lay controlled rage. She didn’t blame him for that one bit. A few months back, Remy got a personal introduction to Joaquin King, the son of the incarcerated crime boss, Stefano King from Whitby Falls, when she’d unknowingly spent King’s money and he wanted repayment. Remy had paid King back his money, which seemed to conclude the bad business between them, and everyone hoped that was the last time they’d see King.
But maybe not?
Heaviness sank into the room, and Kinsley wasn’t sure what was worse, having a motorcycle gang break into her business, or King. Both were