Gypsy King (Tin Gypsy, #1)(24)

A trait that would have been irresistible had she been working on my side. Even as an enemy, she was damn tempting.

“Threatened to ruin her reputation. That backfired. But I’ll handle her.” I just had to figure out how.

The more I pushed, the more she pushed back. And Bryce was a strong-willed woman. I’d learned from my mom at an early age that most men didn’t stand a chance against a strong-willed and stubborn woman.

“Just be careful,” Dad said. “We both can’t be in jail.”

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to do something to land me in jail. I just . . . I have to find something to hold over her so she’ll back off.”

Fear used to be my weapon. My favorite tool. In my twenties, I’d used physical violence to make people afraid. But then I’d learned that extortion and blackmail were usually more effective. None would likely work on Bryce, certainly not getting physical. I’d never harmed a woman in my life and wasn’t about to start now. The idea of hurting her made my stomach turn.

“You could figure out a way to get her to work with us. Not against us,” Dad suggested.

Not a bad idea. Was there a way I could get Bryce to become an ally? If she were a friend, not a foe, I’d be able to feed her information about the Gypsies, not worry about her digging behind my back. And then I could control the information she put in her precious newspaper.

“Smart. That could work.”

“Maybe we should have been more open about why we shut down,” Dad said, staring out his window. “I’ve been wondering if it was going to put a target on our backs.”

“What would we have said? There was no way to explain it without bringing up a bunch of shit that needs to stay quiet.”

“You’re right.” His shoulders sagged. “Just been a long week. Lots of thinking about the past and the wrongs I’ve done. I fucking hate jail.”

“Most do.”

I’d only been in jail once, when I was nineteen. I’d been hauled in as a suspect for an assault and battery. Guilty as the night was long, I’d beaten the hell out of a man who’d cheated me at poker and pulled a gun on me when I’d confronted him about it.

Bastard should have shot me.

I wasn’t sure what Dad had done to get the guy to drop the charges, but they’d been dropped and the guy had moved out of town the next week. After that, I’d learned to be more verbal during a fight. Before I knocked anyone unconscious, they knew that if they talked to the cops, they’d pay with their life.

How many people saw my face in their nightmares?

Doubt had become a familiar feeling these past few years. Doubt. And shame. I’d been proud once. Proud of the man the club had made me. We’d lived our lives by following a set of rules not born from society, but from brotherhood. I’d been so sure of those rules, so steadfast in following them.

Then I’d begun to question them all.

That was the beginning of the end for the Tin Gypsies.

Years ago, after Emmett’s father had been murdered in the parking lot of The Betsy, the club had voted in change. Too many men had been lost, too many loved ones. It had taken us almost six years to unwind the club’s illegal dealings. To change the mindset of an old and outdated legacy.

We’d spent that time building up the garage so it could provide enough income to cover what we’d made illegally. No more drug protection runs. No more underground fighting ring.

Thanks to a lot of work and a little luck, the garage was more successful than any of us had imagined it would be. And when it came time to decide whether the Gypsies stayed a law-abiding club or parted ways, in the end, we were all ready to put the past to rest.

I wasn’t the only brother who’d looked in the mirror and hadn’t liked the man staring back.

Most of the club’s members took the money they’d stashed away and moved to new towns and into new homes. They left old demons behind for a fresh start. Those of us who stayed formed a new family, this one centered around the garage. Dad, Emmett, Leo and me.

I craved this normal life.

I’d thought the norms of society would be suffocating. Turns out, life was easier on this side of the law. It was nice to have people make eye contact when they passed you on the sidewalk. Nice not to see mothers grab their child’s hand when you looked their way. Nice to not be constantly looking over my shoulder.

At least, it had been until Bryce Ryan had shown up with her yellow notepad and goddamn curiosity.

I wouldn’t let her ruin this new life we’d built. I wouldn’t let her threaten my family. The only way I could protect us was by getting the information first.

“Tell me about Amina Daylee.”

Dad blew out a long breath. “Not today.”

“Dad—”

“Please. One day. Give me one day. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

I frowned but nodded. Then I changed direction, driving him home instead of to the garage. We didn’t speak as I wound through town. When I parked in the driveway of my childhood home, I stayed in my seat. “Tomorrow.”

He opened the door and nodded. “Tomorrow.”

With his head hanging low, he walked to the side door of the house and went inside.

We only used the side door at Dad’s place. The front door hadn’t been used in years. Even the mailman knew to drop packages at the side entrance.