Chapter 12

Maurice Daley stood at the window of his penthouse suite, peering out at the bleary sky. The weather mirrored his mood. The man had been on his mind since Flynn had stopped by unannounced and rudely interrupted his meal. If he was honest, he had always been obsessed with him.

Flynn had come into his life at the lowest point, and they had bonded. Maurice admired him. Even when he was as church as the proverbial church mouse, the man had shown a particular style and leadership that impressed everyone around him.

He had a flair and a fearlessness that should have made him reckless and arrogant. He had been arrogant but never careless.

His old man had taken off when he was little, and although it had made him bitter, he had never allowed it to define his life. Maurice's old man had stayed, making his and his mother's lives miserable.

He had prayed every day for him to meet with an accident or just take off, but the man had found a particular morbid pleasure in giving them misery. His only out had been the friendship that had been struck between him and Flynn.

He had looked forward to seeing Flynn every day and listening to him talk about the future and what he wanted to accomplish. Flynn had insisted that he wanted to do it the ‘right' way.

"I don't want to hinge my success on other people's misery. I want to stay within the law and accomplish the American Dream. I want when I reach the top, no one has a reason to point a finger at me." He had stared at Maurice with those unnerving amber eyes, which made him feel he could accomplish that, too.

But Maurice had never been as book-smart as Flynn. Even as a teenager, he would fly through the topics without much effort. He was also a very accomplished athlete and excelled at all the sports. People looked up to him, disregarding his hand-me-down clothes. They had looked past all of that and shown him respect.

Maurice had been shown grudging respect because of Flynn, and he had never forgotten that. When they decided to carry out harmless little pranks, it was Flynn who led the way. When they were caught with the goods and given a stern talk, Flynn decided that enough was enough.

The others agreed with him, but Maurice had come to like the danger, the easy way they could take things without paying for them, and had not wanted to stop.

That was when the falling out between him and Flynn had started. It was Flynn who had encouraged him to take martial arts to protect himself from his old man's fists, and after only months of doing so, he had gotten more assertive and started returning punches. Taking a sip of his pricey scotch, he frowned out at the dismal weather.

He had come a long way since being the puny son of a drunk and a weak and pathetic mother. He was a man of substance now and someone to be reckoned with.

Flynn Zimmermann had voiced his disapproval when Maurice said he wanted to go on to bigger and better things. "I know you want to do things the right way, but we can get rich quicker with my method." Maurice had tried to sway him to his thinking, but it had not worked.

The friendship, the most important relationship in his life, had fizzled to nothing, and he had never forgiven the man. They had made a vow, pledging that they would be friends forever, no matter what, and Flynn had broken that vow.

He had distanced himself even more after the death of Maurice's old man. The rumors had been circulating that it was not some drunken brawl but that Maurice had been the one to crash into the man's skull as a way to get rid of him.

Flynn had never asked him the truth about the incident, but Maurice had seen the look on his face and realized the man had judged him and found him guilty.

Even if he was, and yes, he had been the one to waylay the drunken bastard in the dark alley and crushed his skull with a tire iron. Good riddance to bad rubbish was what he had said to himself. But Flynn should have stood by him, and he hadn't.

That had hurt like hell. He had even humbled himself and gone to his place, begging him to let them pick up where they left off, but Flynn had flatly told him no.

"We are going in different directions now, and it wouldn't be prudent -" He had used the word ‘prudent' like he was already some bigshot. "It wouldn't make sense for us to continue the friendship."

And that had been it. They had graduated high school, and both had gone their separate ways. Maurice had said to hell with it and beefed up on his illegal activities, using fear to garner support and respect, and before long, he was at the top of his game.

But not as much as Flynn. The man had gone on to make a substantial fortune by using his skills in construction and architecture to make a difference in American office buildings by bringing his flair and style to what had previously been drab and boring.

He was featured in various financial magazines and was courted by politicians, including the now-sitting President. He had reached the pinnacle and had become a powerful force.

Maurice was successful and feared, but his resources could not be compared to those of his former friend.

His fingers tightened on the decanter as he stared out the towering glass. For the first time since he purchased the property, he was not enjoying the lush magnificence of the decor. He had paid a hefty sum to decorators who assured him everything in the apartment was the height of fashion.

He had seen the manor Flynn had bought because it was featured in ‘Home she had never seen her son so happy. She also realized that Gracie had played a part, as if she was trying to impress those around her. But Ryleigh was not like that. She would never stop trying to please Flynn; they were perfect for each other.

Just as the maid wheeled in the tray, Ryleigh used that opportunity to pull away and surge to her feet. Both Julia and Flynn saw when she swayed, her knees buckling. But he was quick. Rising swiftly, he swept her into his arms.

"My dear, are you okay?" Julia gestured to the maid to leave the tray.

"Just lightheaded." She murmured, leaning against the muscular chest.

"Nauseous?" he asked her gently.

"Just a little queasy," she admitted.

"I am taking you upstairs." He looked at his mother.

"I will send something up. Tea, perhaps?"

Ryleigh nodded.

Without another word, Flynn strode from the room with her cradled in his arms.

Sitting back down, Julia poured a glass of wine, a smile hovering at her lips. Ringing the bell, she summoned Hilda. "Send something up to Flynn's room. Ryleigh is not feeling well."

"The little one acting up?" The woman had been with the family long enough to be afforded certain privileges, and Julia and her son treated them like human beings.

"Yes," Julia nodded happily. "Isn't it wonderful?"

Ryleigh was not thinking that way. Her head was pounding, and her stomach had gone from bad to worse.

"Bathroom, now." She told him. He complied swiftly, quickening his steps until they were inside his gold and cream bathroom with the enormous shower installed and claw-footed bath in the middle of the floor.

Bending with her in his arms, he held her head over the commode and felt something twisting inside him when she started retching. Gently combing back her hair and having the thick strands in his fist, he waited patiently until she was finished.

Lifting her, he carried her to the double sink and put her on top of it while he filled a cup with water so she could rinse her mouth.

"Better?" he asked softly, coming to stand between her thighs.

"Yes." She told him hoarsely. Leaning against him, she breathed in his scent and felt his warmth and strength enveloping her. He had entwined himself so much in her life that she could not see herself without him, which scared her. But right now, there was no place she would rather be than have his strong arms encircling her body.

He held her close, his fingers soothingly running up and down her back. He heard the doors of his bedroom open and guessed that his mother had sent something up, but he did not move until she was ready. He was content to stay just like this. As long as she was in his arms, inside his suite, he cared little about anything else.