Yup, whatever control I had has snapped. I charge over to him, and my fist flies before he can register what is happening and falls back onto the couch. “You hit me!” His hand comes to his nose that is now pouring blood. “You broke my fucking nose!”

“Be happy I didn’t break all your fucking teeth, you worthless piece of shit,” I hiss, then turn to my father, who looks shocked by my behavior. I’ve always been the calm son. The son who did what his father said and never asked questions. “And, you.” I look at my father, shaking my head. “You’re even worse than he is.”

“Tread lightly, son,” he orders me. “I would hate to have to do something that you would regret.”

“Fuck you,” I tell my father, and he just glares at me. “You think you can stand in front of me and threaten me?”

“She is in default of her NDA agreement,” my father says calmly, thinking he has an ace up his sleeve.

“Good. Fucking sue her then. Let the whole fucking town know that my drunk and sorry excuse of a brother fathered a good kid. That she blackmailed you”—I point at him—“into keeping her silence. I’m sure the town would love to hear all of the secrets that you have buried in your closet, Father,” I say with disgust. Before I can say anything else, there is a knock on the door.

“Come in,” I say, looking at my father. “This is my office after all.”

When the door swings open, Jacob stands there, and I can see the rage on his face. “Savannah’s bar was vandalized,” he says, and I turn to look at my father, who stands there saying nothing.

Chapter Six

Savannah

I knew something was off the minute I got out of Jacob’s truck and saw the two potted plants that I keep beside the door tossed over. “What the heck?” I say, getting out of the truck and walking through the gravel parking lot. Only when I get close enough to the front of the door do I see the red spray paint.

TOWN WHORE

“What the fuck?” Jacob says from beside me. I look over at him, then I see what looks like a broken window at the end of the bar. I bought this bar seven years ago. It was half the size and in disrepair. When the owner asked for ten thousand dollars, I knew he didn’t even make that in revenue that year. But I saw things he didn’t, and I had a plan for the small twelve-by-twelve bar. He sold the land to me for an extra ten thousand and thought he was robbing me blind. But little did he know that five years later, I would be raking in close to half a million dollars a year, and that my country bar would be the place to be.