When We Fall (Take the Fall, #2)(63)

“Furthermore, I’ve been informed of my inheritance—the specifics, that is—and I don’t require anything from the two of you ever again. I’ll have my BMW delivered to you as soon as possible.”

“That’s not all,” I say, taking Piper into my arms. “As a wedding present to your only daughter, you will help her deal with Mark Williams and his family. You will make sure that he is punished.”

“And you’ll leave my husband and his family alone,” Piper adds. “I don’t want anything to do with either of you ever again.”

“Done,” her mother says, and then looks at her husband. “Right?”

“We’ll take care of Mark.” His jaw works. “Hard to believe that he—”

“Fuck off, Ross.” I steer Piper toward the front door and she doesn’t resist. “Don’t listen to him. We know the truth and that’s all that matters.”

Piper tips up her chin, her eyes clear. “Exactly.”

“So damn proud of you for sticking up for yourself.”

I open the passenger-side door and she gets in. “I had you to stick up for me, too. I’ve never had that before.”

Leaning down, I give her a hard kiss, full of promise, then shut the door and jog to my side of the car, sliding in.

I take her hand and kiss the back of it. “You’re my wife. I’d do anything for you.”

—

Another week passes by without a word from Piper’s parents. The police haven’t been sent to my house, either, and mysteriously the notices from the health department have stopped coming, too.

I’m not positive that it is merely a coincidence. What I do know? None of it is Piper’s fault. She can’t help who her parents are or what they do.

The only downside to our rather hasty marriage and impromptu honeymoon is that when we get back, Piper learned that she lost her job at the women’s shelter. Their policy doesn’t allow anyone who works there to be married to someone convicted of a violent crime, even if it was a crime of circumstance.

Ginger hadn’t wanted to tell Piper up front because she wanted us to enjoy our honeymoon. Ginger is classy like that. I like her.

Piper took the news better than I expected, but I made it up to her by going to Aristotle’s Closet and buying back every pair of shoes and every stinking purse I could find that she had sold in order to pay for my lawyer…at all four locations.

She actually cried over seeing the hot pink ones with the tiny bows. So I did what any guy would have done in that situation—I handed her the inhaler I kept on me, just for situations like this, had her put the shoes on, and bend over the kitchen table so that I could get rid of those tears.

Worked like a f*cking charm.

My phone vibrates, taking me out of my very hot memories of watching my cock sink into Piper’s wet * over and over again. Her heart-shaped ass jiggles so good when I pound her in that position. And the sounds she makes…

Another buzz and I snap out of it. Pulling out my phone, I glance at the screen. It’s a text from the PI. My heart slams against my chest.

Please let him have good news. No matter what Piper and I demanded from her family, I don’t trust them.

“Be right back, Monisha,” I tell our newest artist. The woman’s skills are sick and she’s a wicked fast piercer. Very popular with our clients, too. Especially the moms who don’t want to go to the mall for their kids’ first ear piercings.

She pushes back her dreads and gives me a thumbs-up, then goes back to piercing the ears of a ten-year-old. The kid barely makes a sound and I smile.

When I get to my office, I run my thumb across the screen to bring up the message.

PI Magoo: We’ve identified MW’s attacker.

I’m pretty sure no one gets the joke over what I call the PI but me. However, I’m a firm believer that you have to find laughter wherever you can. Pretty sure Piper taught me that.

Me: Who?

PI Magoo: Emmett Dunning.

I almost drop the phone. “Son of a bitch.”

Emmett chooses that moment to walk in, and I take a good look at his hands. They’re bruised as f*ck and he has scratch marks in various stages of healing. I’ve been in enough fights to know that beating the shit out of someone with your actual hands will f*ck them up for weeks.

“What’s up?” He goes to the file cabinet and opens a drawer.

“Bro, we need to talk.”

“Can it wait? I got some hotties—”

“What did he do to your sister?” I ask.

Emmett’s face pales. “Who?”

“Mark Williams.”

Tears actually well in Emmett’s eyes. “He put his hands on her…and that’s not all.” His jaw works. “He…that monster raped my baby sister. She came home one night…clothes are ripped and her face…looked like she went head-to-head with Holyfield. I took her to the hospital—she didn’t want to go, but I took her anyway. They helped us contact the police.”

I understand his rage, felt it myself when Mark put his hands on Piper, and channeled it into my fists, but I can’t imagine the pain he must be in over his little sister. “Then what happened?”

“Filed a report. Kinsey refused to name Mark, but I knew it was him. If it wasn’t, she would have said so when I told her I was going to make him pay.”