by Cat Mason
When I flung open the door and spotted a full on brawl, part of me wanted to sit back and let it play out. Ro needed to show her that she wasn’t going to take any shit and Miracle needed to be put in her place. Then, Miracle’s dress hitched up, and I spotted her hand moving for the blade she had in her garter belt.
I made a promise to Roanne that no one would touch her, and I meant every word. I would kill anyone that even tried to hurt her, without batting an eye.
Then, Roanne shocked me again by coming to Miracle’s defense. Her plea, and the look in those deep green eyes, are the only reasons I allowed that trouble making piece of ass to walk off my lot breathing.
Though the club does good things for the community, I am not a good man with a compassionate and forgiving heart of gold. Inside my chest is a black void where nothing grows but rage and resentment. Life has left its scars on me. Pain shaped me into the man I am today. I have been burned, beaten, pressed, and molded into who I am now, like a piece of steel, all by the past that I can never escape.
I have never apologized for taking a life. Never asked for forgiveness for anything I have done and never will. My actions are, generally, for one of two reasons: in the name of protection for what we have built or revenge for what has been lost. When my hand is forced, I feel nothing but justification and immense satisfaction in whatever I have to do, whether it right or wrong in the eyes of the law. If anything, after all I have had ripped away from me in this life, it has become very clear to me that right and wrong isn’t always as simple as black and white.
Sometimes, justice requires bloodshed.
It also requires patience and planning.
After Roanne has calmed down, we head back upstairs to grab some food from the kitchen, then check in with Jinks. The room Jinks converted a few years back looks more like the electronics section of a department store than an office. Several large screens are mounted on the walls, the entire system running twenty-four-seven. A big black corner desk houses two large Macs along with shelves of equipment that he swears are vital to everyday life as we know it.
“Roanne, this is Jinks,” I say, gesturing to the back of his bald head. He grunts in acknowledgment, but his fingers continue rapidly clicking away at the keys. “What’ve we got?”
“Brandon Earl Wright was twenty-seven and part of the Hywood Brotherhood. There’s three-hundred and eleven dollars in his checking account. He’s three months behind on his court ordered child support payments, and is currently wanted by Knoxville police for assaulting his ex-wife, Tia Marie Wright. His father, Hank, is one of the Brotherhood’s founding members and owns—”
“Wright and Sons’ Construction and Electrical out of Knoxville,” Roanne finishes for him.
“Yeah,” he replies. Spinning his chair, he faces us and arches a brow at Ro. “You know ‘em?”
“I’ve heard the name a few times,” she says, nodding her head.
“Brotherhood’s a real nasty bunch of fuckers,” Jinks continues, his eyes moving to me. “Most of the big players are in Kentucky and Mississippi, but they have been recruiting this way the last several years, thanks to Hank. Looks like Wright is making some solo moves to increase numbers closer to home. He’s got guys with records for arson, distribution, assault, money laundering. One member is doing life for a fire at an apartment building eighteen months ago. Killed four and injured twice that.”
“The fuck would Al be doing getting mixed up with people like that?” I ask, looking over at Ro. She looks shell-shocked, barely breathing as she hangs on to every word.
“My guess,” Jinks replies with a shrug. “He didn’t get into bed with these fuckers willingly.”
“I remember that fire. It was Divine something… Or Divinity. Divinity Rose.” Roanne swallows hard and meets my eyes. “Dad donated money to the victims’ families and even paid for funeral costs.”
“Why?” I ask, curiously. “It’s not like Frazier Stone was responsible for the fire. Was he handling work on the building?” I ask. “Or own it?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe?” she shrugs, meeting my eyes. “But I do remember him being tied up with liability lawyers for weeks.”
“Negative,” Jinks says, smugly. “He didn’t own it.” Spinning around, he begins typing furiously. “My screens don’t lie, baby.” The monitors flash as he bypasses firewalls, hacks into databases, and scans through numerous files simultaneously like a machine. “Aha!” he shouts, victoriously. “According to county property and tax records, the Divinity Rose Apartments were owned by Decadent Bliss Inc. A badly put together dummy Corp that, if I cross check the names and peel back the layers like a cheap prom date’s dress, traces back to Olivia Malcolm-Rose, formerly of Springfield, Kentucky.”
“That name sound familiar?” I ask, looking to Ro.
“No,” she replies, shaking her head. “Should it?”
“Not a clue. Sure as shit doesn’t add up, though,” I reply honestly. Stepping forward, I clap Jinks on the shoulder. “Time to start diggin’, but somethin’ tells me whatever the connection is between Olivia and Alfred, it won’t be on the books.”
Looking up at me, Jinks smirks and taps the screen in front of him. “If there’s a connection, I’ll find it. For now, we have an address for a penthouse apartment in a building that is owned by Alfred.”
“Great,” Ro says, heading for the door. “I’ll get my purse.”
“No.”
“Excuse me?” Stopping cold, she glances at me over her shoulder.
“Uh oh,” Jinks sings out, spinning around in his chair to watch the show. Propping his arms behind his head, he leans back and gets comfortable. “This is gonna be good.”
“I said no,” I reply, waving him off, but keeping my eyes on Roanne. “You’re not going. I mean it.”
“I didn’t ask for your permission.” Facing forward again, she starts to move.
“And this isn’t up for negotiation.” Closing the distance between us quickly, I grab her arm and spin her to face me. Her eyes widen as she stares up at me. “You’ll keep your ass right here and let me handle this. You can get on the phone and work on funeral arrangements.”
Narrowing her eyes, she squares her shoulders. “I’m not negotiating, Stone,” she growls, her green eyes burning with rage. “You want to bury an empty casket? Knock yourself out. But I refuse to plan a funeral, real or fake, for the sake of appearances, for a man who isn’t fucking dead. Bait your own goddamn hook. I’m going to find out what this woman knows. Whether I get there on the back of your bike, or on my own, is up to you.”
“I don’t appreciate being challenged, Duchess,” I bite out, staring her down. “Remember who’s in charge here. You don’t want to draw the fuckers out with a funeral?” I ask, shrugging my shoulders. “Fine. But don’t, for one minute, think you’re pulling my goddamn strings like some puppet. I don’t take orders, babe. I give ‘em.”
“I don’t mean to wound your fragile ego, Sweetheart,” she purrs, yanking her arm free of my grip. “But I think you should let me take the lead on this.”
“Is that so?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. “And what in the hell makes you think I’d do that?”
“Because,” she smiles, tapping her temple with two fingers. “I use my brains. I’m not hiding them behind intimidation and the threat of bullets and bloodshed. If my father taught me anything, it was how to gauge a situation for a beneficial outcome. Trust me on this, I’ll get more out of her than you ever could.” She arches her brow. “And I’ll bet you I won’t even need to raise my voice.”
Staring down at her, I silently weigh my options. Of course, I can see that she has a point, but the fuck if I want to tell her that. I also know that I can’t keep fighting with her right now, no matter how much I seem to enjoy it. This tension building between us will only end to me dragging her down to my room and burying my cock inside her, or yanking one out in the bathroom so that I can focus on something other than how good she will feel beneath me. Rig
ht now, I don’t have time for either. “Fine. Arguing with you is only wasting time.” Blowing out a breath, I nod my head and move for the door. “Get your shit. I’ll be outside.”
Chapter Nine
Roanne
When I demanded to come along to speak to Olivia myself, I had no idea what I was going to say or what we would hear. When the man at the front desk called up to announce us, I expected her to either not be home or refuse to see us completely. But, to my complete and total shock, she didn’t. Now, as I stand in the elevator with Jensen and Schrader, heading up to her Penthouse Suite, I desperately try to get my head together. I have racked my brain the entire drive into the city and cannot remember ever hearing my father mention her name.
As we step out of the elevator, a door opens at the end of the hallway and an older woman with long blonde hair smiles at us. There is not one wrinkle on the perfectly pressed red silk blouse she has tucked into her slate gray pencil skirt. From the soles of her black peep toe heels, to the top of her flawless blonde curls, she looks more like an ad for a high-end boutique rather than a woman lounging around at home. “You must be Roanne,” she says softly, pulling me out of my analyzation. “I’m Olivia, but I suppose you know that already. I had always hoped to meet you. Your father spoke so fondly of you.” Her smile falters.
“I wish I could say the same,” I reply, attempting to return a smile of my own. “Thank you for seeing me.” Olivia’s eyes shift, looking over my shoulder to the guys. “These are my shadows,” I mutter, gesturing behind me. “Jensen Stone and—”
“Mr. Jason Schrader.” Shoving around me, Schrader grabs her hand and presses his lips to her knuckles. “I get why Al never mentioned you,” he says, whistling through his teeth in approval. “I don’t like sharing my toys either.”
Olivia laughs nervously. Yanking her hand away, she looks at me. Shifting her body, she backs away from Schrader. “Why don’t you come in so we can talk? I think it is safe to say that you have some questions for me.”
“Of course,” Jensen interrupts, pressing his hand to my lower back. His eyes shoot to Schrader, narrowing in annoyance. “You keep your ass out here, Mr. Schrader.” Gesturing the both of us inside, Jensen closes the door behind us as Olivia leads me into the living room.
“I was very sorry to hear about your father,” she says, taking a seat in a brown leather, wingback chair. “I cared for him very much.”
“How long have you been sleeping with my father?” I ask, sitting on the sofa across from her, the words leaving a sour taste in my mouth.
“What I shared with your father wasn’t some silly fling,” she replies, sounding offended. Crossing her legs, she straightens the front of her skirt. “I have loved Alfred for over half my life.”
“You’re lying,” I fire back, shaking my head. “He loved my mother. I’ve never heard of you. Why, if he loved you so much, did he never even mention your name? My mother has been dead twenty years.”
“He had his reasons,” she breathes, sounding defeated. “Much to my heartbreak, he never gave me that part of him. When you were born, I came to terms with that and ended our relationship. I moved on, married, even had a child of my own, but I could never deny Alfred when he’d call and ask to see me.” Shaking her head, she stops and laughs sadly. “It was silly and fool hearted, I know that now, but I held onto hope that someday that would change. I was wrong. Even after Christine’s death, she still had a hold on him that I could never break through.”
“You don’t get to talk about her,” I ground out, my blood boiling at the mention of my mother. “You expect me to believe that you’ve had an affair with my father for decades and no one knew about it?”
“Your father felt it best,” she replies, nodding her head. “I could hardly disagree. I never wanted to hurt anyone. I only ever wanted his love.”
“I can’t fucking believe this shit.” Pushing to my feet, I start for the door. “Coming here was a mistake. I’m leaving.”
“Ro,” Jensen says, stopping me. Tipping up my chin with his fingers, he meets my eyes. “Remember why we’re here, babe. Use those brains and gauge the situation,” he whispers quietly. “Let’s hear what she has to say.”
“Right. Okay,” I breathe, exhaling roughly. Slipping his hand into mine, he laces our fingers as we make our way back over to the sofa and sit. “I’m sorry,” I say, looking at Olivia. “I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around all of this. It’s not what I expected to hear.”
“Please,” she replies, holding up her hand. “Don’t apologize. This must be very overwhelming.” Standing to her feet, she walks across the room to a floor to ceiling book shelf built into the wall and removes a large white photo album. “I knew what came along with being a part of Alfred’s life. I accept my share of the blame in it all. I knew he was married, I knew about you, and that didn’t stop me; though it should have. Not even my own marriage was enough to keep me from giving in to Alfred. Your father was a special man. It was impossible for me not to need to be near him” Opening the album, she places it on my lap. “I know this is difficult, but I think, if you’d let me explain, this album may help with that.”
“No disrespect, Olivia.” Closing the book, I slide it off my lap onto the cushion beside me. “I don’t want to understand your relationship with my father,” I bite out through gritted teeth. “It’s none of my business. I’m not here to confront my dead father’s mistress. I’m here because I want to know everything you know about the Hywood Brotherhood.”
Olivia blanches, her eyes widen as she clears her throat uncomfortably. Turning her back to us, she moves across the room again. Stopping at the window, she presses a hand to the glass and stares out at the city. “It was them, wasn’t it?” she asks, bringing her other hand up to cover her mouth. “Those bastards killed him.”
“It wasn’t him in the car,” Jensen replies, his hand slipping from mine as he pushes to his feet. “We believe they’re holding him. What we need to know is why.”
“I don’t know.” Her hand moves down to her chest as she chokes on a sob. “But I know they don’t negotiate. If they have him,” she says, her voice cracking with anguish. “He’s as good as dead the moment they get whatever it is that they want.”
“When they burned down your building,” I begin, standing to my feet. “Was that an attack on you or my father?”
“Me,” she replies, her shoulders slumping as she lowers her head. “They didn’t know about my involvement with your father until he stepped in to help, after the fact.” Turning to face us, Olivia walks over and retrieves a handkerchief from the table beside her chair and dabs at her tears. “I was about to start the remodel on the third floor of the building. Hank Wright put in a bid for the job, but we decided to go with another company. A week later, it burned to the ground while I was away with your father. The people who lived in my building weren’t just tenants who paid rent every month,” she informs us, her voice filling with emotion. “They were family. Losing them took a toll on me. I was beside myself with grief and guilt so your father stepped in. Oh God,” she gasps, pressing the handkerchief to her lips. “This is because of me, isn’t it?”
“No,” Jensen assures her, shaking his head. “There’s got to be more to it than that.”
My head is reeling from the bombshells dropped on me. Though I know I should, I don’t say a word to ease the guilt I see in her pain filled eyes. I am more than happy to let her hold onto everything she is feeling. My eyes focus on the piano in the opposite corner. A photo resting on top of Olivia and my father sitting on the same sofa Jensen and I were only moments ago catches my eye. Instead of his usual suits, Dad looks happy and relaxed in a pair of jeans and a green and red Christmas sweater.
My chest tightens, the room oddly feeling, both too big, and too small at the same time. “I can’t be here,” I choke out, bolting for the door.
“Ro!” Jensen calls, but I ignore him. I won’t give him the opportunity to try and convince me
to stay in this damn room with this woman one more second.
“You know you’re my favorite, beautiful girl,” Schrader purrs into the phone as I storm into the hallway. His head pops up, his eyes widening the moment they meet mine. “Gotta go, babe.” Shoving the phone into the front pocket of his jeans, he pushes off the wall, keeping pace with me as I head for the elevator. “Whoa there, fast feet,” he says, draping his arm around my shoulders. “Where are we goin’?”
“Anywhere, but here,” I reply, slapping the call button for the elevator.
Angling himself between me and the elevator doors, he smirks. “Just one problem with that,” he begins, glancing over my shoulder. “And he’s headed this way.”
“Perfect,” I reply as the elevator dings and the doors begin to open.
Jensen’s arm wraps around my middle, yanking me back against him. “You’re going to have to calm the hell down,” he warns, shifting our bodies away from the elevator. “Gonna need a minute here, Brother.”
Schrader nods, a smile spreading across his face as he makes his way into the elevator. “See you downstairs.”
The moment the doors close, Jensen spins me in his arms and pins my back to the wall. Crowding me, he stares down into my eyes. “You can’t run away from everything that makes you uncomfortable, Duchess. This is real life. Shit happens. It doesn’t apologize when it gets dirty or painful, and sure as shit doesn’t hand out a warning before it fucks you.”
“Thanks for the pep talk, Dr. Stone,” I bite out, wanting nothing more than to claw his eyes out. I am beyond angry and since my father isn’t here for me to direct it at, Jensen is the next best thing. “If I wanted to discuss how I feel about my father and his secret penthouse pussy, you’d be the last person I’d be talking to. After what I’ve seen at the clubhouse, I’m willing to bet your dick probably has its very own rewards card program.”