He frowns.
“The con,” I sigh. “The game you’re playing, it’s called a shell game. You’re putting everything through a trust so you look legit, and then bullshit companies owned by you suck it dry.”
“Yeah, and?”
I wince. “Well, if you’re married, the fund dissolves, and the donations go back from whence they came.”
You fucking idiot, I manage to refrain from saying out loud.
Paul starts to laugh. “No shit, Gabriel. That’s why you’re marrying us. Because you’re a bullshit fake preacher, but everyone thinks you’re the real deal. It means the town clerk will push it through, and I’ll get joint access to her accounts. And then the trust stays right where it is because we’re not really married, since you’re a phony piece of shit.”
I say nothing, and I just look at him.
He grins triumphantly.
“You’re going to help me, Gabriel. Or I tell this whole goddamn town what you are. And it won’t hurt you, I know that, asshole,” he sneers. “You’ll just do what you always do and leave and never come back.”
His smile widens.
“But it’ll kill Delilah. Twice—once when you leave, and then when the whole town hates her for harboring and abetting you, knowing full well that you were a con man.”
My mouth stays shut, and my eyes hold his as he chuckles and waves the gun at me.
“I don’t care what you’re doing with my sister, Gabriel. I mean, my dad might, and he’s probably legitimately going to kill you when he finds out. But before then, you help me, and you might have a shot of making the Mexican border before he runs you off the road. So what do you say, asshole?”
“You’re making a mistake,” I growl thinly.
He shakes his head. “Get my fucking money, Gabriel. Or I’ll nail you to a fucking cross.”