Get You Back: Part One: Revenge

1

Rye

The first thing to know about me is that I'm a McAllister. To the people of Chicago, that name means wealth, ambition, or maybe insane financial risk-taking. But to us McAllisters, it means survivors.

Family legend says the Saxons tried to kill us off back in medieval Scotland but we were too hard-headed and wouldn't surrender. If the McAllister laird hadn't married a Norman heiress who saved his ass, our line would be extinct by now.

My father used to say that being a McAllister man means you never give up. He also claimed, during late-night whiskey sessions, that for us McAllisters a woman will either be our downfall or our savior, and you don't know which until it's too late.

Which brings us to the Blakewell women.

The first time I laid eyes on Lauren Blakewell, she was twelve and I hated her on sight. Not her fault. She was a cute, awkward pre-teen who wore blue nail polish, licked her braces when she was nervous, and turned pink whenever I looked at her. I hated her because my father was about to marry her mother, Glee. Let me repeat the name.

Glee.

We should have seen through her like a wet paper towel. But none of us did. All I knew was that I didn't want a new stepmother and I sure as hell didn't want a new sister.

Yeah, I was probably being a selfish teenager. I was sixteen and frickin' owned my world. As a McAllister, I was part of Chicago's uppermost echelon of rich kids. Prep school, quarterback, girls all over me. Vacations in Italy. Skiing in Vail, the works. I was money. Top of the dogpile. I had it all.

Until I didn't.

If I'd known the truth, I would have hogtied my father before letting him walk down the aisle with Glee. I would have sicc-ed a lawyer on her, or the FBI. I would have run to our accountant and had him lock up the family funds and everything we owned.

But my father was in love, and love makes you stupid.

The last time I saw Lauren, before all the crap went down, we played Ping-Pong in the basement game room at our place on Lake Shore Drive. We had an Olympic-size table down there, along with billiards, miniature golf, a punching bag, and state-of-the-art Wii. My father, Ian, loved any kind of game. He always wanted us to have fun, and we did.

Lauren seemed nervous, but then she always did around me. Probably her guilty conscience. She kept sending the ball in crazy directions, like the overhead light fixture. Then my chin. Ouch. I put down my paddle and rubbed my jaw while the swinging chandelier sent weird shadows flying across the room.

I'm sorry, Rye, she said, in an awkward squeak of a voice.

Her eyes were swimming with tears. Even then, Lauren had eyes that could stop you in your tracks. Like tiger-striped marbles, green, brown, even gold sometimes. Hazel, I guess. Relax, doofus. It's just a Ping-Pong ball.

She went pink. Like I said, she did that a lot. And she hated it when I called her doofus. I didn't catch what she said next, but it sounded something like, see if I care.

My serve. Ten to eight, I answered smugly and sent the ball across the table.

She fucking smashed that thing. One thing I'll say for Lauren. She was competitive as hell and hated to lose. If she'd been a football player, she would have sacked me without mercy.

Come to think of it, she did. Or at least her mother did.

After that Ping-Pong game, things happened very fast. Three days later, Glee and my father had a massive screaming argument. That night, the Blakewell females disappeared. Also that night, my father had a stroke. My uncle Chris, suddenly put in charge of the family funds, discovered that our finances were a disaster. We had depressing meetings with his lawyers and accountants. Then the housekeeper realized that my mother's jewels were gone. All signs pointed to Glee being a thief and a con woman.

He sold off everything he could, including the Lake Shore Drive house, and moved my dad into an advanced care facility. My brother and sister and I were shell-shocked. Our entire world was crumbling around us. No parents, no home. Uncle Chris invited us to move in with him.

My little sister Annabelle didn't want to. She hated Uncle Chris. But she was outvoted, two to one. Until I visited Papa in the hospital the day he regained consciousness. He took my hand and with one shaky finger he spelled out three letters in my palm.

R.

U.

N.

We trusted our father more than anyone in the world. So the three of us kids—me, Elijah, and Annabelle—scraped together what money we had and ran away.

Crazy shit. No one would ever expect to see the three rich and privileged McAllister kids hopping a Greyhound bus to Texas. Or finding work on Parker Ranch, where Annabelle had gone to camp. But we did. We kept our little orphaned, broke-ass family together. For safety’s sake, we used the name Parker and stayed out of sight. Less than a year later, we read in the that Papa had died. We had no more reason to go back to Chicago then.

On my twenty-first birthday, I went to Las Vegas with five years' worth of hard-earned savings. I won enough at the craps table to keep us going for a year. But even though Elijah and Annabelle fought me on it, I put it all into the stock market. I remembered everything my dad had taught me about high-risk investments. I'm a McAllister; it's in the blood.

And it paid off. I hit my first million at twenty-five. The second came much quicker, followed by more. I was driven by the need to survive. To take care of my brother and sister. To redeem the McAllister name. To honor my father. The money did all of that.

But it didn't get me the one thing I wanted most. Justice.

Who was I kidding?

Revenge. I wanted revenge. Revenge against the woman who had broken my father and ruined our family. Revenge against Glee.

So that's where things stood the day I saw Lauren again, twelve years later.

It was a sweltering Friday night in June. I walked into the Tex -Mex Grill, still sweaty from helping fix the fence line out at Parker Ranch. Even though I'd made my millions on the stock market, my loyalty to the Parkers would last forever. Elijah and I still helped Ben Parker out whenever he needed anything. The only thing he wouldn't accept was money. He was a stubborn old man but I loved him. All three of us did.

I slid onto my usual stool and smiled at Sunny, the bartender. She and I had a casual thing that suited us both. She had big Nashville dreams and didn't want anything serious. She called me her six-hour man because that's how long we usually spent together. And about five hours and fifty minutes of that was sex. Sex and I got along great. Me and love—not so much. Women always told me I had trust issues. I didn't disagree. Wouldn't anyone have trust issues, with my history?

Hey, beautiful. I beckoned to her, and she landed a kiss on my cheek. I tugged on the lobe of her ear with my teeth. She shivered, her silky blond hair brushing against my cheek. I got hard right away. Sunny and I had a good thing going on. We understood each other, especially in bed. She didn't mind my edgier side. In fact, she liked it.

What's shakin', bacon? she asked me, drafting me a tall glass of my favorite local brew.

Same old, same old. Any news from that promoter?

Sunny's bright blue eyes got all starry. He says it's looking good for the showcase.

Way to go, babe. I tipped my glass to her on its way to my mouth. You'll blow them away. If you need a friendly face along, say the word.

She grinned. Your face is a lot of things, but I wouldn't put friendly at the top of the list.

I shot her a scowl that would make young kids cry. The big changes in my life circumstances were scrawled all over my face. My nose got broken on that first bus ride across the country. Some druggie at a rest stop shoved Annabelle into the bathroom. Elijah and I beat at that door until our hands were bloody. Then the dude opened the door and broke my nose. I also had a slash across my temple from a metal grinder malfunction at the ranch. I could have lost an eye, so I count myself lucky. The first couple years of working the ranch, I was sore all the time. Bruises, broken finger, torn muscles.

Basically, I look a hundred times rougher than I would have if I'd stayed in Chicago.

Sunny laughed at my expression. Good thing I know you're a sweet guy under all those muscles.

That's all for you, babe. You're such a ray of sunshine you think everyone's like that. I don't mind, so long as you throw a few smiles my way.

Just smiles? She winked suggestively, then whisked away to tend to a new customer. Again, my cock stood up and took notice. When Sunny winked like that, good times followed. I took a long gulp of beer, letting the cool, sharp taste slide down my throat.

Life wasn't too bad, after all the tough years. No more money worries. Elijah was doing good. You'd never guess he wasn't born to be a cowboy. Annabelle was busy breaking every heart in South Texas. And I had a sweet-natured, gorgeous girl who liked it when I tore her clothes off and fucked her all night long. I'd come a long way since Chicago, and I took a moment to let that happy thought settle in.

That's when I happened to glance up at the TV set mounted in the upper corner of the bar. It usually showed sports, which I didn't bother with. Reminded me too much of my lost youth. But today, it was tuned to the news. A reporter was talking to a young couple at some kind of political rally. They stood at the edge of a stage, with a backdrop of waving signs and sunburned faces. The couple had that slick, polished, fake look, as if someone had encased them in hair spray before they faced the public. Both were a little younger than me, the guy in a blue button-down shirt and khakis. Very country club.

But it was the girl who drew my attention. There was something familiar about her, but I couldn't place her. She was tall, with perfect posture, except for a slight slouch in her shoulders. It gave her a wary look that made me wonder what she was afraid of. Her rich brown hair was caught in a low ponytail at the nape of her neck. The simple style was elegant and classy. She looked cool and unapproachable. The kind of girl who would either be a chilly bed partner or a sexual hurricane when she finally let loose.

Both were smiling at the reporter, although the man's expression was much more relaxed, as if he was used to this. Which made sense, based on the banner that scrolled across the screen. Senator Clayton's son Brian announces engagement to teacher's aide Lauren Gallatin, who some are calling America's answer to Kate Middleton. The news has given the senator a boost in the polls and he now leads in his bid for reelection.

The name didn't sink in at first. I hadn't thought much about Lauren over the years. She was just a kid. It was Glee who dominated my revenge fantasies, especially after my father died. I despised her, although my rage had taken a back seat to basic survival.

And then, as if I'd conjured her with my vengeful thoughts,