Wicked Need (The Wicked Horse Series Book 3)(35)

I give a cold, bitter laugh, and shake my head. “I’m not rid of her. That woman became a leech on me once I married Samuel.”

“Come again?” he asks with a head tilt.

“She saw in the society pages that I got married. Not two days later, she’s at our house, asking for money.”

“Did you give it to her?” Rand asks.

“Yeah, I did,” I admit to him, but without shame.

“Why?”

“Because it made me feel superior to her. Is that bad?”

Rand gives a chuckle and squeezes my hand. “You were already superior to her, Cat. That money didn’t prove anything.”

I squeeze his hand back. “Maybe not, but I couldn’t say no. She was my mom, after all.”

“Amazing,” Rand murmurs as we fly down the highway. “That you would still have any empathy for a woman who treated you so badly throughout your life. I think that makes you absolutely and perfectly amazing.”

“Or stupid,” I mutter, and Rand laughs.

“Maybe a little foolish, but never stupid,” he offers.

“I’ll take that,” I tell him with a grin. “Of course, she called the minute she heard Samuel had died. I’m sure she saw that in the paper. I figured I’d be hearing something from her, asking about my inheritance, and that’s exactly why she called. You’d be proud. I put her off and told her I didn’t have time to deal with her. Ironic it wasn’t but a week later and I was all but homeless. Good thing she’s not asking for money now, huh?”

“Yeah, well, you better not give her one dime of that money you got for your jewelry. You earned that the hardest of ways and that’s for your future, not hers.”

“Agreed,” I say as I see a looming sign growing closer.

Las Vegas - 56 Miles.

Almost there.

And then I’ll hopefully find out what my future really holds.





Chapter 13


Rand



“Big step up from my little trailer in the desert, huh?” Cat says on a low whisper as we stand before the front portico of one of the biggest houses I’ve ever seen in my life.

The house Cat shared with Samuel is monstrous. She had told me it was eleven-thousand square feet. To be that big, it comes in three chunks with a main center section and two wings that flank at a slight angle inward. Done in taupe stucco, brown brick, and red tile, it fits into the desert scenery well.

It’s nine AM. We decided that if we were going to enter the house, we were going to do it as if she belonged there. Without really knowing what Samuel’s will truly says, it’s more than plausible that Cat has every right to be here. We thought it would look far less suspicious if done in the bright light of day.

Thus, we got to the hotel yesterday afternoon, a lower class, budget hotel Cat chose that sat on the outskirts of Vegas. Since she was insisting on paying, I had to let her choose. Rest assured, if it was in my hands, we’d be at the Bellagio, but I’m honoring her need to do some of this on her own. It’s important to her pride.

“Ready to do this?” I ask as we stand side by side on the bottom step. Before us stands double doors made of solid wood, and either her key will work or it won’t. Same for the security code.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” she says firmly, and then reaches out with her hand to take mine. It feels natural. It makes me remember how much I missed being part of a unit.

Together, we walk up the steps.

Cat told me on the way here that Samuel bought this house about twenty years ago after his first wife died. Because she was the love of his life, he couldn’t bear to stay in the family home where they raised their two sons. Since he moved in, Cat had been his fourth wife, the other two before her outliving their usefulness after they reached the age of twenty-eight. Cat told me she wondered if Samuel did to them what he did to her.

I didn’t offer an opinion because I think we both know he did.

When we reach the front door, Cat releases her hold on me and digs into her purse slung crossways over her chest and resting at her hip. She pulls out a set of keys, flips through them, and chooses a gold-colored one that doesn’t look much different from the others.

With a deep breath, she reaches out and slides the key in. Twisting her wrist, she lets out a huge sigh of relief when the lock turns. She looks at me, her lips peeling into a wide grin and her eyes sparkling with excitement. I smile back at her, relieved of course that her key still works, but knowing deep down that it doesn’t mean shit. She may have still been cut out of Samuel’s will, but the locks just haven’t been changed yet.

Cat pushes the door open, and we both step into a cavernous foyer aglow with natural light from the huge, arched window above the door. A beep from the security panel beside the door catches my attention, and I watch as Cat puts in the code. It shuts the alarm off, and we both let out an audible sigh of relief.

The house is sparsely decorated—minimalistic. It would be easy to say that was so because Samuel was a bachelor for a long time and didn’t care what his house looked like, but I’m going to guess it’s because Samuel didn’t get much pleasure out of life and didn’t care what his house looked like. From what I know about the *, he derived pleasure from watching his wife be degraded, so I doubt fancy artwork and priceless knick-knacks would do much for him.