Page 59 of The Bad Brother

“Don’t apologize. I don’t want to hear it because I don’t care.” Pulling her purse from the bottom drawer of her desk, Dr. Ragnar slings it over her shoulder, holding up a hand to silence my apology before I can even give it a voice. “I let the fact that your ex-fiancé was here, causing problems yesterday, slide because I sympathize with your situation and I understand that his bad behavior is beyond the scope of your control.”

Bracing her fists against her desk, she leans into me over the top of it with a stern look. “Your mother, however, is very much within that scope and given the fact that you assured me I’d heard the last of her, I was both surprised and irritated when she called me, on mypersonal cell phone no less, to tell me that you canceled your lunch appointment with her—a lunch appointment that you assured me you would make.”

“I didn’t cancel,” I try to explain, even as I silently tell myself to shut up. “I just asked her to?—”

“I know.” Lifting her hand again on a weary sigh, Ragnar shakes her head. “Your mother told me everything,ad nauseum. For the good of this hospital and the good of your career, you’re taking tomorrowoffand you’re meeting your mother for lunch—end of discussion.”

Even though taking the day off is the last thing I want to do, I give her a stiff head nod. “Okay.”

When I say it, Ragnar’s shoulders sag slightly. “Everything I said to your mother was true. You are one of themost gifted surgeons I’ve ever seen and an invaluable asset to this hospital—but the next time I have to give you time off to deal with your personal life, it will be permanent. Am I making myself clear, Dr. Merrick?”

In other words, the next time my dumpster fire of a personal life interferes with my job, I’m fired.

I give her a nod while I fight back the sudden sting of humiliation and the tears that come with it. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” Pushing herself upright, Dr. Ragnar flips her hand at me. “That’ll be all. Close the door on your way out.”

ETHAN WASN’T EVEN OUT OF THEparking lot before I had my phone in my hand and the number for the security company I use, ringing on the other end of it. Two hours later, I had a six-man team upstairs, installing hidden cameras and motion sensors that cover nearly every square inch of the loft. The only space I left uncovered was the bathroom.

On a whim, I added physical security—another six-man team, this one dressed in Wranglers and cowboy boots—to mingle with the normal Friday night crowd with the sole objective of keeping an eye on River and Sera while they run around the bar delivering drinks as fast as Cade and I can make them.

“Where are all these people coming from?” I gripe, shoulders tense while I watch River disappear into the crush of people crowded around the bar, tray of margaritas and tequila shots held high while her personal securitydetail—an unassuming-looking man with a belt buckle the size of a dinner plate and strict orders to hurt anything that even looks at her funny—follows after her. Even Colt is here, sitting at the end of the bar, nursing a longneck while he scans the crowd like he’s waiting for something to happen.

“Someone took a shot at the king,” Cade tells me, his voice raised over the twang of live country music. “People are curious to know if they missed or not. Probably hoping for a front row seat for when it happens again.”

Fucking vultures.

I must’ve said it out loud because Cade laughs. “Get used to it. The longer this shit goes on, the busier it’s going to get.”

Which means there’s no end in sight because Ethan is completely off the rails. He’s got the taste of blood in his mouth and he’s not stopping until one of us is dead.

“Then we’re gonna have to hire another weekend bartender and a waitress or two to keep up,” I say while scooping ice into my shaker for a round of margaritas. “Because we’re in for a long summer of Pryce family bullshit.”

Shoveling ice into a rocks glass, Cade gives me a quick glance while he pulls a bottle of well vodka from the rack. “From what I hear, Gemma Pierce is looking for work.”

“Gemma Pierce?” I say the name on aare you kidding?snort. “Seriously? Is she even old enough to work in a bar?”

“She’s twenty-six,” he tells me, his tone going irritable. “Plenty old enough.” Topping the vodka with soda and a lime wedge, he passes it over the bar in exchange for cash.

Doing some quick mental math, I come up with thesame age, even though it still doesn’t sound right. “I thought she was busy taking care of her grandfather.”

“Not anymore. He died a few weeks ago,” Cade says while popping the tops on a couple of longnecks. Passing them over the bar to a pair of moon-eyed Creekers—a blonde and a brunette—who’ve undoubtedly come to gawk at thehot bartender at the Millwho also happens to be a convicted murderer.

“Is it true you killed someone?” The brunette blurts out while the other looks like she’s about to pass out. When she asks, I watch the line of Cade’s jaw snap tight for a split second before it goes lax.

“That’s what the jury said,” he tells her while slipping his bottle opener into his back pocket. “That’ll be seven dollars.”

Pulling a fifty out of her pocket, the Creeker slaps it down on the bar, keeping it covered with her hand while she looks at Cade like she wants to ride him like a rented mule. “I heard it was your wife—that you came home and caught her fucking someone else so you bashed her brains in with a tire iron.”

Leaning into her, Cade looks her in the eye. “She wasn’t my wife,” he tells her, a cruel curl to his upper lip. “And it wasn’t a tire iron. It was a baseball bat.”

Jesus Christ.

Mouth open to tell the both of them to get the hell out of my bar, I’m cut off when the brunette is yanked off her barstool by her hair and thrown to the floor.

“The fuck you just say to my brother?” Sera hisses down at the stunned brunette, a massive clump of dark brown hair clenched in her fist. Catching the eye of her securitydetail—a burly no neck in a beat-up Stetson and a black T-shirt—I give him aget her the fuck out of herechin jerk.

“What the fuck, you hillbilly psycho!” The blonde, who up until now hasn’t said a word, lunges at Sera, beer bottle in hand. Before my guy can get his hands on her, Colt sweeps in and hooks an arm around his little sister’s waist and starts hauling her away.

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