Page 19 of For Cowgirls and Kings (The Trauma Bonded #2)

FOURTEEN

MATEO

That annoyingly familiar name flashes across my screen for the third time in thirty minutes. I know I should pick up. He’s only doing his job.

But honestly I still haven’t forgiven him for how he nearly destroyed his brother’s relationship out of some misplaced need to control him and protect him.

Especially because he convinced himself it was because of my instructions.

Which could not be farther from the truth—my motivation had been singular: protect Dale, my friend of many years, from the man who shared the same blood with a killer.

The devil himself.

I couldn’t imagine why she would be running around with a man who had to be so similar to his brother—violent, vicious, and deathly.

Not to mention, he seemed to be more focused on Dale’s friend, and I didn’t like the idea of someone leading her on.

The whole thing was a convoluted mess that escalated way out of hand, driven by said devil himself.

Now I know it for what it was, a ploy to make Stetson let Gus in.

Dale and Gus had some unspoken, secret agreement on the matter, which was pretty fucking convincing when I was looking at it.

But now I know better, and regret eats at me any time I’m around them.

I don’t know how to deal with the fact that Gus doesn’t know: doesn’t know his brother is my family’s right hand enforcer.

Sighing heavily, praying to god for strength, I set back, propping my legs atop my desk and answering the call, “McCrae, what is it?”

“Boss, I have something you might want to take a look at.”

Obviously. Why else would you have called?

“What is it?” I refuse to rush to the casino—three hours away across the Oklahoma border—for some problem that’s most likely nothing. Just because my sister feeds into his bloodlust doesn’t mean I will.

In fact, I hate that about him. But he’s proven himself rather irreplaceable.

And my sister’s obsessed with him, even if she would pull a gun on me for saying as much out loud.

“I’m actually right outside the gate. The men here seem to think you’ve barred me from the property.” His tone is dry, bored even, and I sit up, knocking a pen container off my desk in the process.

I did bar him from the property after dark, without telling him of course. Something about him gives me the fucking creeps, and I didn’t like the thought of him having access to the house while I slept.

Which should be a big enough red flag for me to fire him. But again, Valentina would end me before I have the time to say the words.

“I’ll call out and let them know you’re welcome in. Meet me in the study.” Bending over, I scramble to pick up the pens, and my nerves , off the floor.

“Sure thing. Boss. ” And then the end clicks off. He’s pissed —deathly controlled, but angry all the same. Can’t say I blame him. It’s the greatest insult to not be trusted by those who employ you to protect them.

But fuck, even before I knew what he did to Gus, I didn’t like him. Which leads me back to the mess that I still don’t know how to breach with Gus. Will he even forgive me when he learns the truth? How much does he really know about his brother?

Within minutes, McCrae comes sauntering in, his ripped black jeans, holey T-shirt, and leather jacket only fueling my questions about his morality. Why would he dress like a dirty-biker, gangster if he had good intentions?

“McCrae, have a seat.” I motion to the dark leather seat opposite of my desk, but he doesn’t even look at it before heading towards the decanter of whiskey on the counter.

He pours a large glass, tipping it back, the muscles in his throat working with the effort to swallow the hot liquid in one gulp.

As he does so, a fresh tattoo—still outlined in a pale red glow—catches my eyes on his neck. It looks like a moth or butterfly, only the wings look funny. I squint, and then turn my eyes away when I notice him watching me.

Eyes. The wings are made of two different sets of eyes—one pale blue, the other dark brown, almost black.

“Curious, Boss?” His voice is so dry, it sends a shiver down my spine. He sounds like what I imagine an evil corpse to sound like: hollow and dead.

“About?” I ask, walking over to fill a glass of my own, if only to show him I’m not scared of his presence.

“They’re for him .”

I bite my cheek. This is not a topic I wish to ever discuss with McCrae. Business—that’s where I want our relationship to start and finish. But I don’t know how to say that without sounding like a total dick.

He continues, either oblivious, or more likely ignoring my discomfort. He likes to see people squirm—one of the reasons I know he’s V’s favorite. “The blue are hers, the brown his.”

I hate that he’s telling me this. Because it only complicates how I see him, how I feel about him.

It’s a lame gesture, and I have no fucking clue why a creepy tattoo would be a symbol of…whatever it is he feels for his little brother, but I know that it means something .

And that’s what’s fucking confusing.

I pour a large glass, slamming it back and relishing in the burn as the liquid filters through my body. “What did you have to show me?”

He sighs, and when I’ve had enough whiskey to feel like I can meet his eyes, I’m met with a look of disappointment.

Not the kind of disappointment that someone gives you when they don’t like what you’ve said or done, but the kind of disappointment that’s deeper, darker.

Like he’s disappointed to still be alive.

And it makes me feel sad for him. For a second anyways.

“It’s about your girl.”

I nearly snort whiskey out my nose, the burn almost too much as it hits my nostrils. Coughing, I walk back to my desk. “What about her?”

I won’t deny it. Especially to McCrae—I don’t want him to get any ideas that she might be free game.

I’m not a violent man, in fact, I know I’ve disappointed my family in more ways than one with my refusal to be violent, but I would kill McCrae without a second thought if he even got near Dale.

Which were the exact same thoughts I had when I first saw her at the Steakhouse sitting across from Stetson, and next to a man I recognized but didn’t.

A man with crazy curly hair, a muscular arm that rivaled my own slung across her shoulders, and a face that was far too similar to the one haunting my nightmares.

I’ve still never told Gus about my involvement, and I pray I never have to. Gus doesn’t come off as the forgiving type, and I enjoy his friendship. I enjoy who I am when I’m with him. And I enjoy that with him and Stetson on my side, I might just have a chance with Dale.

Someday, somehow.

“I was checking out the camera’s you had me install outside of her home a few months ago—” He pauses, eyeing me like he’s waiting for me to get upset for checking them.

I don’t trust him to be a good guy, but I do trust him to do as he’s told.

Not that he’s needed to watch them much because I’ve been watching them every free minute to just catch glimpses of her.

I just want to protect her— or something like that.

“Are you going to tell me what the fuck you saw?”

He huffs, and shifts his legs, putting both of his heavily tattooed hands in his jacket pockets. “Wasn’t sure if you’d already seen it or not.”

“Obviously not McCrae. What, the fuck, is it?” He really knows how to push a person’s buttons. No wonder Gus hates him.

“There was a man outside this morning, looking in the windows.”

I bolt out of my chair, rushing him. “Why the fuck didn’t you say something sooner?” I hiss, now only inches from his face.

“I just saw it. I’ve only been checking that camera once a day because I know you check it some. It was quick and he was wearing a mask, obscuring most of his face. But Boss, he looked right at the camera, like he knew it was there. He fucking smirked, and then left.”

Ice clogs my veins, my heart stuttering to a stop in my chest.

I’d love to punch him, but I know it’s not his fault. Not really. So instead I pull out my phone and dial Dale with shaky hands.

How I’m going to explain any of this, I don’t know, but I have to hear her voice. I have to know she’s fine.

It rings and rings, my heart hammering wilder with each unanswered turn. And then it clicks on. “Mateo?” Dale’s confused and hesitant voice fills the line and I sag, nearly crumpling to the floor.

“Dale—” My voice is choked, and I don’t even have enough willpower to be embarrassed about it.

“Mateo, why are you calling me? It’s late.”

“Just um, are you alone?” Smooth Mateo, real fucking smooth.

Now that I have her on the line, I don’t know what to say.

If I tell her about the cameras, she’ll not only be pissed, but most likely freaked out, and insist I take it down.

I also haven’t had a real conversation with her since Christmas—the run in with her students not included.

There was so much I wanted to say, so much I wanted to ask.

Starting with: are you enjoying your Christmas gift?

I’ll admit it was a very bold, out of character move for me.

I just, after watching her like a fucking creep, masterbate, and come up unsuccessful, I couldn’t stop the need to help her.

Any way I could, because that’s what friends are for—lending a helping hand.

I also have this weird need to be the one who fulfills her, a new facet to my relationship with Dale that I don’t yet know how to reconcile.

I don’t want her to need anyone else. Only me.

When I ran into her at the Stock Show, the tension was a living breathing thing around us.

So much so, I could tell even the student’s were picking up on it.

And so instead of demanding we speak and potentially messing up her day with her students, I swallowed my tongue.

I’d been so happy to see her, but she had acted anything but. A fact that still guts me.

She grumbles unintelligibly on the other side, and then hisses, “Why is that any of your fucking business, Mateo? You can’t just keep popping in and out of my life whenever it suits you.

Friends don’t do that. And certainly not people who are more than—” She stops, like she can’t believe what she just said, and I hold my breath.

“Don’t call unless you have something important to say. ”

She hangs up before I can tell her, what? What can I even say?

“That went well.” My eyes snap up to McCrae’s humorless face, his eyes icy and piercing into me like he’s trying to read my thoughts.

I hate how much he sees.

“You’ll look into this person who was outside her house and let me know if you find anything out.

In the meantime, you’ll check her camera often—like once an hour often.

I’ll also keep an eye on them, just in case you miss something.

” It’s not a question, but his brows still lift as if he’s confused.

“Don’t you have someone, lower, who can keep an eye on your girlfriend's camera, Boss?” I hate that he thinks he’s above any task I would give him, much less the one that might just be the most important one to me. Not bloody enough for him no doubt.

“Have something better to do, McCrae?” I challenge. Instead of arguing he sighs, shaking his shaggy blonde hair, and walks towards the door.

“Why doesn’t anyone just tell them how they feel instead of stalking them these days?

I know you’re besties with Gus now, I keep tabs on my little brother just like I always have, but you’re crazy if you think this will end how it did for him.

That girl is much darker than yours; had a far more traumatic, fucked up upbringing that clouded her ability to make good choices when it comes to her love life.

Happy, sunny, untraumatized people don’t end up with people like us. ”

He leaves, his presence settling like an icy blanket over the room. He’s right. Dale shouldn’t end up with someone who comes from a family like mine; who’s had to make choices like I have.

What if I could be different though?