Love in Xxchange: Rory's Last Chance by Bailey Bradford (poetry books to read txt) 📗

“I know, if I step one foot back on the property, the ranch goes to Art,” Rory said, confirming part of the reason for Chance’s confusion. “But Ian won’t leave the ranch to Annabelle anyway. There’ll be a clause, either requiring her to be married, or pretty much leaving control to Art even if the ranch is, on the surface at least, left to Annabelle. There will be a hitch—there’s always a hitch. That won’t change with Ian’s death. He’ll still try to manipulate everybody even when he’s six feet under.”

Chance thought that Ian was every bit a bastard that Art was, and every bit as evil, just in a different way. Or maybe it didn’t matter—a sadistic fuck was a sadistic fuck.

“Maybe she could contest it,” he suggested. “Or you could.”

Another snort, and Chance found himself tempted to tug at Rory’s silky hair. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Rory tipped his head back, meeting Chance’s gaze. “Trust me, the old man will definitely have his lawyers draw up the proverbial iron-clad will. His hatred and manipulation know no bounds.”

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“Maybe he’s the one I should have a little chat with.” In his own way, Ian had hurt Rory every bit as bad as Art had—probably worse. Chance wouldn’t mind trying to teach the asshole some compassion. Or at least hearing him beg for some.

Rory thumped Chance’s belly, not hard, just enough to get his attention. “There’s no point in banging your head against a brick wall, Chance. All that would do anyway is cause more trouble. Somehow or another, Ian would find a way to make it so.”

Not if he never saw who kicked his ass. Chance saw the narrowing of Rory’s eyes and knew his lover was reading him too well.

“So, what were you planning to do, send Bo to Art as bait?”

Chance squirmed under that penetrating stare. He stopped petting Rory’s hair and buried his fingers in his own instead. “No, not…not exactly.”

Rory continued to look at him, waiting patiently while Chance battled back the flush stinging at his cheeks. “I was gonna see if Bo would call and make an offer on some cattle, you know, arrange to meet up with Art to discuss prices first, then go see the stock.”

“And was Bo ever going to be meeting with Art?” Rory’s lips compressed to a thin white line when Chance shook his head. “So what was the brilliant plan?”

Chance flinched at the sarcastic bite in his lover’s words, but now that he’d been busted, even he had to admit it had been a stupid plan. Despite the potential for it being a satisfying one, if Art became confrontational like Chance suspected he would.

“I just wanted to talk to him, and it wouldn’t have been Bo meeting with that son of a bitch. It would have been me, waiting in the hotel room—”

Rory pushed himself up on one arm and rolled his eyes. “And you really think Art would have showed up? That he wouldn’t have got suspicious?”

Now Chance felt a flicker of anger. He scooted around until he was sitting . “It isn’t completely uncommon to conduct business in a nice hotel room. I would have thought of a reason for the meeting to take place there; that’s what I was going to discuss with Bo.

He’s…creative, you could say.”

“Oh, no doubt,” Rory agreed. “But it was still a stupid idea. Art would have walked away when he saw you, or, more likely, he’d have come into that room and taunted you until—”

Chance only thought Rory’s narrowed eyes earlier was a glare—now he knew better.

This was definitely an angry glare, Rory’s dark eyes snapping with temper as red streaked RORY’S LAST CHANCE

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his high cheek bones. Chance had to fight against the impulse to apologise and create a bit more space between them.

“That was your whole plan, wasn’t it?” Rory’s voice was rough and low, nearly vibrating with anger, and Chance found himself with a hard on in seconds. Not that he’d mention it, not right now, anyway. That blazingly pissed-off expression his lover was wearing made it clear there was only one subject being discussed right now.

“Well, I admit that I knew Art might—”Chance began.

“Might? Might?” Rory stood up and paced before turning back and pointing at Chance.

“You knew damn good and well that Art would definitely go off when he saw you!”

Chance didn’t bother denying it. “I knew there was a good chance, yes, but I wasn’t planning on doing anything about it unless Art became violent.”

“Which he would,” Rory growled out.

“Which he would,” Chance echoed. He caught one of Rory’s hands and pulled, halting his lover’s pacing. “Can you blame me, Rory? Really, do you blame me?”

Rory clasped Chance’s hand and sat beside him on the couch. “I don’t blame you, Chance, but you can’t just…you can’t just do something like this. I don’t need revenge, but I do need you. And together, we need to take logical steps to prevent Art from doing anything like this again.”

“And what would those logical steps be?” Chance was getting a bad feeling about this.

Rory rolled his head against the back of the couch and looked at him. “We need proof.

He took pictures, I doubt he got rid of them. They’d be his trophies, right?”

Chance’s stomach heaved. He didn’t want anyone seeing those pictures of Rory being violated and used. That was what Rory was talking about though, wasn’t it?

“What happens if we manage to get those pictures, and pictures of whoever else Art’s,”—Chance couldn’t push the word ‘raped’ past his lips—“hurt?”

Rory shuddered then stiffened beside him. “Then, I guess, we…we have to go to the police, don’t we? Or should we do that first?”

At least Rory wasn’t talking about doing this alone, Chance thought. He shouldn’t have tried to handle it by himself, either, but he’d been so angry…

“I don’t know if there’s a statute of limitations,” Chance mused, “and if we contact the police, do