Page 263 of Remorseless
He rocked on his heels, the spitting image of his grandfather, right down to the manbun Big Joe favored and those piercing blue eyes. “Open it.”
Clearing her throat, she did as her boy instructed. She flipped through the pages. Squinting. Reading.
Gasping at each new revelation.
“You know a chick named Marion, Mama?”
Names jumped out at her. Cee Cee Caldwell. Sharper Banks. Joe Foy. Kaleb Paul Andrews. Wally Bart. John Peter Donovan. Christopher Caldwell. Logan Donovan, who had been a special kind of evil.
MeganFoy.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
She saw it as plain as day. What Bash wanted. What Logan Donovan and Sharper Banks set up.
Meggie’s death.
Why the fuck would Boss risk his girl by putting the fucking club, bank accounts, and all holdings in her name?
Ugh.
“Mama?”
“Hmmm?”
“Marion? You know her?”
“Er, Marion?” She searched her memory. “The name doesn’t ring a bell. Probably a long-forgotten Dweller girl.”
“Remember Kendall?”
Annoyed, Seraphina snapped the folder closed before she reached the end. “What the fuck is this? A trip down memory lane or a guessing game?”
Randolph fidgeted with his phone.
“I hope you’re fucking happy.Youopened this can of worms.”
“This is the address to Kendall’s law office.”
“So? On Meggie’s death, Big Joe said everything goes back to the club.” She rubbed her temples. “Fuck, I thought he loved her. He signed her fucking death warrant.”
“There’s a note on the last page. In the event of my death, contact Marion for my legitimate will.”
“Is there an address for her?”
“No. That’s why I say we send it to Kendall. She’s still a Donovan and I looked on the club’s website, Johnnie and Outlaw are still officers. Send it to her because she’s the attorney.”
“Let’s send it directly to Outlaw—”
“No! He might find a way to trace us. A postmark can give our general location away.”
They lived in a cabin in the woods of Michigan, miles from civilization. It was an hour’s journey to the closest town. If Randolph hadn’t gotten bored and fucked up the apple cart, they could’ve lived the rest of their days in peace.
“We’re off the grid—”
Randolph nodded to her prescriptions. “You went to a fucking doctor. They will trace us.”
“Kendall will tell them—”
