“Dead?” I ask, lifting an eyebrow. “How?”
“Auto accident. His Harley hit an ice patch in Colorado and his head bounced off a Winnebago, with no helmet. The report includes pictures and the autopsy, if you’re curious. Also shows there was a false bottom in his gas tank, and he was riding with two kilos of crystal meth, so nobody was really crying over his death.”
I nod. “What about the other?”
“Steven Valentine,” Thomas says, more cautiously than before. “He’s still around, changed his name though. Now he goes by Simon Bulger. You might have heard of him?”
I shake my head, and Thomas continues. “Butcher Bulger?”
I blink, surprised. “Yeah . . . head of the Devil’s Forgotten Demons.”
Thomas looks to Mia, who likely read the data card information first but is letting Thomas be the bearer of the bad news. “It looks like both were bikers before the incident with your brother. The intel says they might have been probies for the hit.”
I scrub at my mouth, the five o’clock shadow rough under my palm as I think. “I don’t work with bikers. They usually handle their own shit and don’t have a need to outsource, but I’ve dealt with them a time or two. Before they allow a probie to get patched, they have you do a crime and turn the evidence over to the club to hold over you. So Jeremy’s death . . .”
“I don’t know,” Thomas says with a shrug. “But Bulger’s still around. The file included his last known whereabouts, but he’s in the wind right now, hiding out with his motorcycle brothers as security to distance himself from recent club shit. The FBI wants him on a list of warrants longer than my arm.”
“Thank you,” I tell him honestly.
Thomas’s head tilts and his face is carefully blank. “What will you do with this information?”
I pause, thinking how to say this even as everyone at the table holds their breath impatiently. “Before, my answer would have been easy,” I finally answer. “I would have gone to war with all involved and left a river of blood behind me, retribution and revenge mixed with savage bloodlust, my reputation for preciseness be damned.”
And still, no one breathes. “And now?”
“Right now, my only concern is making sure that Bella’s safe and that Blackwell doesn’t go fucking around in her life anymore. I have to believe Jeremy would understand that.”
Bella’s smile is sad but understanding. “He’d want you to live, not be dragged further into the dark. You’ve spent long enough there.”
I give her a kiss, sweet with emotion and salty with the few tears she can’t hold back, knowing that I’m choosing her over everything I’ve lived for over the past years. It’s one thing to say I’ll do that when the opportunity to make my brother’s killers pay is a hazy, indecipherable possibility. It’s quite another to choose a life with her when the other option is so readily laid out before me.
But still, I choose her, and I’d do it time after time.
Mia and Char croon in sync, “Aww, he loves her.”
And I can’t help but smile at the blush that washes over Bella’s face. She’s not used to being the center of attention, even with her friends. I think she’s been hiding, to some degree, most of her life. She says she’s been ‘asleep at the wheel’, just going through the motions like a hamster on a wheel because she had to keep on keepin’ on or risk the house of cards she lived in falling to pieces.
But she’s slowly relaxing into our new reality, where there’s food in the refrigerator, the bills are comfortably paid, and she doesn’t have to work herself to the bone just to keep her head above water.
I appreciate all the things her friends have done for my princess before I met her, sneakily helping when they could, checking in on her, and just generally being her best friends.
“You guys are second on my list because Bella cares deeply about all of you. Bulger’s dropping down on the list to at least third.”
It’s a hard thing to say, but I’m a hard man. I have made decisions to end others’ lives multiple times, but this time, I’m deciding to live mine.
I do think Bella is right. Jeremy would want this for me, would be happy I’ve found someone, and I daresay, I think he’d like Bella and the way she keeps me panting after her like a horndog.
Never thought I’d see the day, Jeremy says in my mind, miming a whip. Pussy whipped fucker.
I grin, mentally talking back. Oh, but what a pussy it is.
Even saved, I’m still no Prince Charming with sweet words, but Bella never seems to mind my dirty thoughts, especially when I share them with her.
Before I get a chubby at the dinner table, though, and sweep her off her feet to run to the guest bedroom, I try to focus back on the conversation around me.
I ask Thomas, “I’m doing my part to keep Bella safe, but you said you wanted some time on the Blackwell issue. Any updates or anything I can do to help?”
I’d truly wanted to kill Blackwell myself, rush into his fancy tower and take him out. Or wait for him to come out and kill him in the streets of the town he thinks he owns.
But the reality is, since I sent him Jericho’s head, he’s gone hermit, virtually living 24/7 in his tower, rotating between his office and his apartment there. And always with a full army of security. It wouldn’t be the most difficult assignment I’ve ever taken on, but I don’t trust Blackwell to not have some type of plan to sell me out if he were to disappear or die. He’s a smart man, knows I’m here and gunning for him, so it would behoove him to plan accordingly.
So I’ve had to back off and wait in the wings while Thomas wages war in a very different style from my own.
Mia answers, “Definitely making progress. I’ve been doing a full analysis of Blackwell holdings and investments, evaluating which legs of his business hierarchy are most vulnerable, either financially or personally. I found several options for strategic takeover or flat-out destruction.”
She begins talking in facts and figures, and I lose the train of her thought process around the fourth decimal point of a percentage of some company’s quarterly profit-loss report.
Thomas smiles at her like she’s reciting romantic prose or filthy sex talk, neither of which makes any sense to me because math is basically the ninth ring of hell to me.
Finally, he takes over and I understand what he’s saying. “Long story short, I made a successful hostile takeover bid for Danver’s Aluminum this morning. They’re now under the Goldstone umbrella.”
“And that matters why?” I ask.
Thomas takes his turn then, launching into some story about how his company had bid on the contract for Danver’s years ago but had lost out to a Chinese consortium, effectively making Danver’s go commercial instead of keeping their military contracts.
Mia found out that Blackwell has a considerable share in the company, likely directed their decision away from Goldstone, and was in fact double-dipping in profits by also holding a voting percentage of the corporation in China that buys the airplane parts. It’s like a complicated version of a shell game, shifting monies in and out of the country and companies to maximize the profit margin.
“But now, I own the majority of Danver’s, and the first order of business is to cut all ties with foreign entities and reapply for the military deal,” Thomas wraps up.
“Other than the contracts, this doesn’t sound like you’re waging war on Blackwell, but rather like business as usual for you,” I argue. “We need to act quickly to keep us all safe.”
Thomas‘s lips press together in a thin line. “I disagree. Blackwell has waged a years-long war on me and my company, going so far as sending in spies and trying to kill my family.” He looks at Bella, who jolts at the label before her eyes soften.
He tells me, “Your style is swift, decisive, and that’s warranted in certain situations. Hell, if you get the chance, take him out, for fuck’s sake. But in the meantime, I need to play this smart, be methodical. Taking back a company that he actively worked to keep fro
m me is a strategic first move, a sign of what’s to come.”
Thomas’s voice has gone cold. “Blackwell will be destroyed one way or another, but his legacy, the thing he covets most, will also be decimated. That’s what I want.”
Char raises her hand like we’re in elementary school, telling Thomas, “You realize you sound just as maniacal as he does, right?”
Mia defends Thomas. “But he’s doing it for the greater good, not because he’s an asshat in a tower with a narcissistic God complex. Like some Evil King of Roseboro.”
Char laughs. “Fair point.”
Thomas looks at Mia, and she sighs. “There is something though, Charlotte. We think you need security. Thomas and I already have it here in the tower, and take guards with us when we go out. Izzy has her own personal protection in Lover Boy over there who follows her everywhere she goes. Gabe is right that we don’t know what Blackwell is plotting next, and the last thing we need is him coming after you the way he did Izzy.”
Charlotte shakes her head, and though I already agreed with the plan to get her a guard of some sort, I let Mia and Thomas talk her into it.
Thomas adds, “The bakery building will have a top-notch security system, including cameras. But that won’t keep you safe in the moment if something happens, won’t protect you on the way to work and home, or anywhere else you go.”
Though the rest of our dinner conversation has flipped between lighter and heavier subjects, this moment is what truly sets the tone. Acknowledging the elephant in the room with us, the very real risk looming over each and every one of us, but none more than Thomas. The pressure that responsibility adds to his shoulders must be back-breaking, but he withstands it like Atlas, only fighting to keep those around him safe from an unpredictable adversary he never saw coming and that will stop at nothing in his plan for destruction.
“I’ll think about it,” Charlotte yields. But looking at Thomas’ eyes, I can see that whether Charlotte agrees or not, she’ll have a protective detail. I make a note to give him a short list of possible options, good men that will blend into her daily life without notice, but can be deadly and decisive when needed.
Changing the subject, she adds, “And on that note, can I suggest we revisit the taste testing of my recipes? I have a Kahlua-infused chocolate cake with coffee frosting and shaved coffee bean garnish I’m dying for everyone to try.”
Bella holds her belly. “Good lord, Char. I will never sleep again if I eat that.”
But I tease, “I’ll stay up with you and keep you busy, Princess.”
The blush on her pale cheeks and the way she bites her full bottom lip tell me she likes that idea almost as much as I do.
Chapter 41
Blackwell
Silly boy.
He thinks he’s making strides against me, playing at buying companies like this is some game of corporate Monopoly. As if hitmen are the worst I can sic on his pathetic life. Using the Fallen Angel had been a calculated move, and while I’m disappointed that play didn’t come to the preferred conclusion, it was but one of my planned attacks.
The Golden Boy has no idea what he’s up against, the depths I’ll go to demolish him and insure my rightful place as the creator of Roseboro for all time.
Especially now that he can sense the target I’ve had on his back for years. I pray to any god that may be listening to a monster like me that the laser dot burns him hotly, feels weighty with the very real threat I wish to carry out.
He may not be a worthy adversary, not remotely on my level, but no one truly is. But as far as I’m concerned, the game just got interesting.
He’s waging a war, thinking like the business man he has always been, from point A to B, with possible sidetracks under consideration. I’m plotting nuclear destruction of his entire existence, a devastation he could never fathom and could certainly not recover from.
And plans have already been set into action, I think with a pleased smirk.
My messy to his neat. My chaos to his order. My sovereign reign to his democratic leadership.
My strength to his weakness, the one he doesn’t even know he has yet. But I’ll be sure to remedy that. As soon as the last puzzle piece falls into place.
Epilogue
Gabriel
I unroll the hose, pulling it to the front yard and setting up the sprinkler to water the newly planted sod and flowers. The house is looking good. It looks like a home where people are proud to live.
The door across the street opens and Mrs. Petrie steps out slowly, lifting her hand in a wave. Her lined face lifts. “You coming over here next, Gabe?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, already heading out of our gate and crossing the street to hers. “I’ll get your sprinklers all set up.”
It’s not a role I ever thought I’d be in—helper, friend, savior, especially not when my soul was destroyed so long ago—but it’s growing back from the tatters, seeds taking root and blooming just like the rosebushes Mrs. Petrie begged me to plant because they reminded her of her own mother.
Shortly after I moved in with Bella, Russell came poking around again. He’d been high and more desperate than I’d ever seen him, and that’s saying something. He’d fallen to his knees on the porch, begging tearfully for money, saying even a few bucks would help. At first, I’d thought it’d been so he could buy more drugs, but the truth had been so much worse.
We’d denied him, and then he’d gone after Mrs. Petrie. I’d defended her too, telling him to get off her porch. I’d intervened and protected the small group of people all up and down the street since I was the only thing Russell seemed to be scared of in his panicked mania.
He got desperate enough to rob a store in town, and his sins finally truly caught up to him, something I can understand and pray never happens to me.
Any loyalty the cops felt to Russell’s parents had been worn away by his continued bad behavior, and they’d arrested him. Russell put up the last thing he owned as collateral for the bail and attorney fees, his house and the land the mill houses sit on. But before he was bailed out, he was killed by another inmate.
The typical thinking is that dead men don’t pay debts, and Russell was in deep to his dealers and loan sharks. But the consensus is that they were more afraid Russell would rat them out to lessen his sentence, and the money and Russell were acceptable losses in that equation.
When he died, the land and Russell’s house went to auction and I bought them for a steal. So now, Bella and I own the land for the row of mill houses, and we treat our neighbors properly.
The fees have dropped to a bare minimum, the sense of community has returned, and the homes are slowly but surely being updated and cared for. I help out where I can and act as landlord for Russell’s house, which we’ve converted into a rental property after renovating it.
“All set, Mrs. Petrie. I’ll be back in a couple of hours to shut it off and put everything away,” I call out to her. She stays on the porch, not able to come down the steps very much anymore. When I come back, I’ll be sure to sit with her for a bit and see if she needs anything from the store this week.
But for now, I go back across the street because my princess is sitting on her throne on the small porch we added. Okay, so it’s more of a porch swing than a throne, but she looks regal in her purple tank top and denim shorts, one bare foot lazily pushing the swing.
I sit down beside her, throwing my arm along the back of the swing, and Bella snuggles in closer to me. I reach down and pet Vash, who’s sitting in Bella’s lap. The ornery cat has finally decided I’m an acceptable food-giver and will usually let me pet her as long as Bella is around.
Bella sighs happily, a soft smile on her face that makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside, which is a feeling I thought I’d lost the ability to experience. Her voice is music to my ears. “You saved me, you know. Hunted me down, woke me up, and brought me to life.”
It’s maybe a bit dramatic, but it’s also a bit true. “Maybe, but you saved me right back
, from loneliness and dark hatred, by bringing in your light and stubborn hope that everything would be okay if we just kept fighting for it.”
“With a smile and a song, and some hard work,” she says, then whistles cheerfully. I told her once that she reminded me of Snow White, with her dark hair and pale skin, and her endless optimism and kindness, even when life had been cruel and most folks would’ve fallen into bitterness, so now she likes to quote the movie to me. Thankfully, she doesn’t sing the songs often. For a Princess, she’s not the best with staying on pitch.
“I love you, Princess,” I say, not her Prince Charming but the hunter who stole her away to save her. “Let’s go inside.”
I scoop her into my arms, Vash jumping down and following us like Bella is the damn Pied Piper. I carry her through the new cozy living room, with warm wood floors and cream-painted walls, to our bedroom. Bella had dreamed of a canopy bed, but the room is too small, so she’d settled on a scrolled iron headboard with fabric layered behind it.
I toss her to the bed before ordering her, “Naked. Now.”
I follow my own command as well, and she grins, hurrying to beat me as she says, “I love you, too.” Then she turns over, getting on her knees and elbows, her hands gripping the ironwork. Her left hand is fine now, healed with a pink scar I always tell her makes her a badass, but mostly, she doesn’t even seem to think about it anymore.
“Fuck, Princess,” I growl, my voice rough as sandpaper as I look down the line of her curves, from her heart-shaped ass to her narrow waist, with her dark curls curtaining over her back. I kneel behind her, laying kisses down the bumps of her spine until I bite the apple of her ass.
She arches, pressing herself to my mouth, and I lick her, tasting her sweetness from behind. I use my thumbs to spread her slick lips open and dip into her, fucking her with my tongue the way I desperately want to fuck her with my cock.
Not So Prince Charming: A Dirty Fairy Tale Page 30