Ricochet (Renegades #3)(73)
Author: Skye Jordan

Rachel didn’t hear the rest of Tommy’s sentence. She dropped the phone and stood. Through the office’s glass outer door, she saw Nicole’s red BMW sports coupe pull to a stop.

“Shit.”

Dread spiraled through her chest, kicking up anger. And by the time Rachel walked out and met her sister halfway to the office, she was on the verge of turning into a raving lunatic. Nicole’s gold hair was down, brushing her shoulders in a sleek cut. She wore a short black skirt and a hot-pink wraparound blouse that made her boobs look even bigger than they already were. Her fancy black heels were trimmed in pink leather, matching the deep shade of pink painted on her toenails, and she looked ridiculously out of place.

Rachel stopped five feet away. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? How would you like it if I showed up at your office in New York unannounced?”

“You’re always welcome, Rachel,” she said, her voice level and sincere. “You know that.”

Maybe, but that was only because Rachel hadn’t stolen Nicole’s fiancé. “You’re not welcome here. And you know that.”

She let out a breath and dropped her arms to her sides, her smooth brow wrinkling in distress. “You know this is killing Mom and Dad, don’t you?”

That stabbed at Rachel’s conscience, just the way her sister knew it would. “I guess you should have thought about how fucking Dante would screw up other people’s lives before you did it.” She was so furious, she was shaking. She took a step closer to her sister. “You have no right to come here.”

Nicole licked her full lips. “We need to talk.”

“No. We don’t. There is nothing you have to say that—”

“We’re getting married,” she blurted, yelling over Rachel. When Rachel couldn’t find her voice to respond, her sister continued in a softer voice. “Dante and I are getting married, Rachel. I didn’t want to tell you over the phone, dammit.”

She couldn’t breathe. She felt like she’d been kicked by a horse and couldn’t draw air. She managed to pull up all her shields, clawing back her emotions inside those barriers. “How thoughtful.”

“Look,” she said, appearing truly stricken. “You know I’m sorry about how this turned out. You know we didn’t mean to hurt you—”

“This is what I know, Nickie,” she said, her voice coming out hollow and dark. “I know your selfishness hurt the people who have always loved you and supported you, no matter what. I know your narcissism has divided our family. And I know, given the chance, you’d do it again. So don’t you dare stand there and expect me to pretend it’s all okay. Because that kind of betrayal is never okay.”

Her sister’s big brown eyes—the only thing she and Rachel had in common—glassed over with tears. Her brow crinkled in distress. And Rachel felt nothing—no pity, no guilt, no remorse. She was doing what she should have been doing her entire life: taking care of herself.

“I don’t understand…” Nicole sputtered.

“No. You don’t. And you never will. You and Dante will do whatever the hell you please, regardless of what I say or how I feel. So go do it. Just don’t expect my blessings, my acceptance, or my acquiescence, because it won’t happen.”

Rachel turned and started back to the office. Her head swam with confusion and adrenaline. Pain ripped at her from shoulders to hips. She felt torn from her family. Her very foundation yanked out from under her feet.

“Rachel,” Nicole called at her back. “Can’t we talk about—”

Rachel slammed the office door, stepped to the side, and pressed her back against the wall, where her sister couldn’t see her. She dropped her head back and closed her eyes. Tears spilled down her cheeks and anger rose in her throat.

She was sick of crying—over losing Dante, over his and Nicole’s betrayal, over her parents’ willingness to forgive at Rachel’s expense. She was sick of caring about other people so much. It wore her out, and when she needed the energy to stay strong, for herself, she didn’t have it.

The office phone rang. Nicole’s snazzy BMW passed by headed toward the exit. Instead of feeling vindicated or relieved, Rachel just felt empty.

She stalked into her office and plucked up the phone. “Rachel.”

“Hey, Rach.” Ray’s voice came over the line. “I need to get some information on tomorrow’s delivery’s to Ryker, and I can’t get him on the—”

“I have no damned idea where that man is, Ray.” The very last filament of her patience snapped. “But you can bet I’m going to find his ass and give him a ration for being out of touch.”

She disconnected and turned toward the door with a new target for all her frustration. Outside, she scoured all the main buildings—the dining room, the kitchen, his bunkhouse. No Nathan.

Turning toward the trail leading past the stockyard and up to the bridge, she muttered, “If I have to go all the way up there, Nathan Ryker, your fine ass is dead meat.”

She started that direction, eying the vehicles in the lot. She could take a truck around the back roads to get on top of the bridge, or hop a Kabota as far as it would take her along the back trail. Just thinking about tracking him down pissed her off—only adding to her fury.

At the stockyard fence, she jammed her hands on her hips and stared up at the trail. Frustration and futility sat in her chest like a rock. Movement in the stockyard caught her eye, just the flash of a white T-shirt, and she walked to the gate, peering toward a supply shed.

Nathan strode out with a roll of det cord, tossed it into the back of a pickup, and disappeared back into the shed. Her anger whipped up again. When she reached the shed, he turned with a bundle of four-foot long linear charges on his shoulder. He wore a hard hat, dark gray cargo pants, and a T-shirt—every part of him covered in dirt.

He caught sight of her by the door and stopped short. “Hey.”

That wasn’t a particularly friendly “Hey,” but what the hell did she expect after what she’d said to him last night?

“Where is your phone?” she started in. “And why aren’t you answering your radio?”

“Wait, what…?” His expression turned hopeful. “Were you trying to call me?”

“No. But everyone else in this place was.”

His eyes shadowed again, and his mouth firmed. Guilt pushed in. She was so damned sick of feeling guilty.