Chapter Two

Bass thrums through the speaker on my windowsill, filtering down into the backyard of our new townhouse, where twenty or so of our most trusted loiter below. Entering my password, I hope to buy another hour from joining them before I’m summoned. I’m nowhere near the type of headspace needed to entertain, and I quickly dive in to avoid it when my burner rattles with a response to a text I sent from the garage hours ago. His replies are becoming more delayed with each passing day.

You good?

B: Define Good.

His response has me grinning, which feels foreign and has it dissolving as quickly as it came.

When I figure it out, Big B, I’ll let you know. Making a list.

B: Checking it twice?

Yeah, call me Santa, and everyone on it has been naughty. When can we talk?

B: Don’t move.

Translation—my leash remains.

Like I said, we need to fucking talk. A conversation. It’s important.

B: Patience.

That I don’t have. Not anymore.

B: You never did. Can’t get away now.

Can’t or won’t?

B: Wait for me.

You don’t know what you’re asking.

B: Not asking.

“Motherfucker,” I grit out, tossing the burner on my desk. Screen blinking for a command, I decide to forgo the rabbit hole I’ve been deep diving in. Just as I find a little reprieve in milder, more mindless work, Tyler barks my name before opening my bedroom door.

“By all means, come in,” I snap, regretting the fact that though we’re grown men, our ambitious plans for the next few months made it a no-brainer to room together temporarily. A decision I’m regretting with the traffic downstairs thanks to Sean and the constant interruptions by both since we moved in.

“Pretty sure you want to hear this,” Tyler supplies. “We have company.”

“Pretty sure I gathered that,” I jerk my chin toward the speaker streaming my playlist more in an effort to drown said company out.

“Not that kind of company,” he counters, leaning against my door frame.

Rolling back in my desk chair, I grab my stash box and unload a few supplies. “Yeah? Enlighten me.”

Tyler stalks further into the room, coming close to hovering above where I sit, his hesitance speaking volumes as he starts to preface his news with caution. “Look, man, whatever shit you have going on—”

“Already had this speech today,” I interject, plucking out a blunt paper.

“I don’t think you’re in the headspace to handle it.”

“Then why bother knocking?” Summoning some patience, I start to unroll the wrap. “Out with it. I’m good.”

“You’re not fucking good, and until you come clean with what’s going on, we can’t help you.”

“I already reached out to France,” I relay to kill the interrogation. He knows if I went to my brother, it’s nothing he can help me with, and with that understanding, he switches gears.

“Sean brought back a new employee from the plant.”

“Good on him,” I sprinkle shredded bud into the prepped paper. “Blonde or—”

“Cecelia,” he interjects, weighing my reaction through the few tense seconds that follow. I school my expression through the adrenaline spike, and he continues as I hit my keyboard. “So, we can handle this one of two ways. I can go feel her out, or you can. But either way, this greatly complicates shit.”

Already logged into her email, I scan the last one sent from Roman yesterday morning. It’s filled with everything from his gate code to his house staff schedule, giving her full access.

Though his mansion sits off a private road, and only the front is gated, it was erected like a fortress—especially in the way that the trees surrounding the property were cut back far enough that anyone who attempted to get in would be spotted by his meticulously placed security cameras. Through a strange fucking twist of fate, we own adjoining land, which grants us backyard access, but the house itself is too far away from any decent cover to get in and out without tipping him off. Any attempt to mic that house would raise flags we don’t want raised.

I have zero doubt that Roman designed it that way.

Though we had every intention of tapping the house, we abandoned those plans after the dust settled on construction. The reason being Roman rarely, if ever, sleeps there. His permanent home is his condo in Charlotte, which we’ve successfully tapped along with Horner Tech’s corporate office. Those taps have since proved useless aside from the ability to keep tabs on his schedule and whereabouts, making it easier for the birds on his permanent watch. One of which is a current headquarters employee.

“Thought we had birds on her?” Tyler prompts.

“I took over her surveillance the day after I got home because we were moving in on Roman. Which is why the old watch didn’t alert us when she packed up yesterday and drove here. Fuck.”

“Did France know?”

“That I took over?” I cut my eyes up at him. “Why . . . do you think he would of fucking objected?”

“Only if you fucked up and dropped the ball, which you clearly did,” he draws out as he crosses his arms. “Even so, you miss nothing, Dom, so what or who distracted you?”

The monsters. The noise. The rabbit hole I sought out, dove headfirst into, and that followed me out, only to haunt my every waking minute.

“She hasn’t been here in eight fucking years, and he doesn’t even live there,” I excuse in shit defense. “Didn’t think that would change anytime soon. Besides, when’s the last time you had eyes on her, jarhead almighty?”

“Fine, let’s quash the blame game and worry about the eighteen-year-old time bomb standing in our yard.” He gives me a thorough once over. “Or should I worry about the one sitting in front of me?”

Ignoring him, I X-ray Roman’s proposition to his estranged daughter, sifting through the details. Kicking back, I resume rolling my blunt as my mind races and Tyler’s questions start. “Why is she here?”

“He’s going to pay her college tuition and top it off with an inheritance for working at the plant . . . for a fucking year.”

“Jesus Christ, Dom. You need to place another call to France.”

Fuming about my fuck up, I jerk my chin. “He’s not receptive to anything right now.”

“I think, on this, he’ll want to be privy. It changes things.”

“It changes nothing,” I snap. “Everything will go to plan.” Because if it doesn’t, I won’t be able to control the shit festering inside me much longer. “Nothing changes,” I reiterate, hearing the difference in my tone, which sounds every bit like an order—something Tyler doesn’t take kindly to after following so many militantly over the years. There’s a warning in his posture even as he summons the patience to press in on me for what’s behind my resignation.

“Dom—”

“Remember when you came back from your only overseas trip,” I twist my blunt tight, “and you didn’t want to talk about it?” I don’t bother looking up as I seal it closed. “Same scenario.”

“That bad?”

“Worse,” I swallow, wiping my desk free from debris. “These aren’t acts of war.”

“Jesus, man, I get it. But on this, we can’t—”

“We fucking have to. Not a word, Tyler, to either of them. Sean can’t handle the mind fuck, and my brother’s too far gone in the game he’s playing overseas. If we tell him, his mind will be here, and it can’t be. Not right now.” I let my statement linger for emphasis, and he doesn’t miss it. “It’s up to us. Trust me on this.”

Tyler takes a full minute to mull it over but finally agrees. “All right. For now.”

My answering glare echoes my request.

“Don’t,” he jerks his chin. “Don’t question me.”

“Then don’t make me.”

“Have I ever?” he barks, letting his arms fall to his sides. “Let’s concentrate on the situation at hand. I don’t think you should meet her, but I’m betting you’ll go against my advice.”

“What’s she like?”

“From what I’ve gathered in my two-second assessment, curious, innocent, observant, and to keep it one hundred, way too fucking beautiful.”

A low-lying fury starts to prickle in my veins as I run through a list of scenarios, namely Sean’s current agenda to mix our business with his pleasure.

“I’m not the one you need to warn on the last part.”

“Goddamnit, Sean,” Tyler groans, “I get that this came out of left field, but we have no contingency plan for this . . . Jesus. All right,” he exhales audibly, “I’ll do some additional recon on Roman to see what his motive might be for bribing his daughter back into his life. It doesn’t make sense other than a last attempt at a relationship with her, right?”

“She just graduated,” I relay thoughtfully, “Roman was there.”

“At her graduation?”

“I didn’t read into it. Maybe I should have,” I admit.

“Well, it wasn’t in my fucking newsletter,” he snaps, exasperated. “Dom, you should have—”

“I don’t need to be reminded of what my job entails,” I grit out. “I’m aware of the cost of fucking any part of this up, but we’re covered. I’ll make sure of it.”

“And this situation?”

“I’ll think on it.”

“Sure you don’t want to put in another call to France?”

And risk my brother’s life as he plays a dangerous round of roulette with a French thug sporting a God complex?

Fuck no. I earned and deserve the position I’m in. It’s my call, and we both know it. He reads my decision.

“Choice is yours. I’ll go feel her out.” I give him a slow nod before he disappears, the promise of a future argument apparent in the tight snap of my door behind him.

Standing, I light my blunt before walking over to the blinds. Lifting one, I spot her lingering at our fence, her back to me, outlined and illuminated by the sinking sun. Pulling from my blunt, I watch her take in her surroundings, scanning the mountain ridge just as Tyler approaches her. When she turns to him, I drop the blinds in lieu of getting my first real look at her.

There’s no point. I can’t and won’t appreciate the beauty of any complication that threatens our agenda. We’ve worked too hard and waited too long for the days, weeks, and months to come. Our plans aren’t changing for any reason or anyone, especially Roman Horner’s teenage daughter.

Despite what some say, not all birds are attracted to shiny, spinning things.