One Last Rainy Day: The Legacy of a Prince(7)
My crumb of knowledge about Cecelia is minor in comparison to the extent of what I’ve made it my business to know. Like Tobias, I saw her today, an innocent, young tender, with rebellion clear in her eyes as she shoved a book down her pants to spite Roman. His instilled bigotry apparent as he glanced around the library as if the walls were splattered with shit.
Staring back at me, Tobias speaks up in both order and warning that we aren’t going there when it comes to Roman’s familial ties, and knowing my brother, never will. “We’re leaving Helen out of it.”
Tyler stands next to me nearly a decade later in quiet contemplation as the party continues to bustle around us, our gazes in the direction where Sean fled with Cecelia in tow before I glance over at him. Within seconds, I see the recognition, his memory just as long and sharp as mine, his hearing . . . supernatural and the highest card he has to play—which he does, regularly. He proves it as he speaks up, dread in his tone as he pinpoints it perfectly by voicing an ironic, specific warning. “Beware of Greeks bearing gifts.” He runs a palm down his jaw as he glances over at me. “Jesus Christ. Helen just fucking landed in Triple Falls.”
Therein lies the tragedy.
Helen’s story didn’t end well for her, or anyone else for that matter.
Tobias’s warning rings sharp in my mind for the first time since that conversation because I felt the buzz start the second I locked eyes with Cecelia—and still feel it lingering. Knowing Sean’s reason for bringing her in without him trying to justify it, there’s no fucking way I’m looking this gift horse in the mouth—or anywhere else for that matter—because I know without a doubt if Cecelia has a part to play in this, it won’t end well for any of us.
“What’s your call?” Tyler prompts.
“Have everyone at the garage in twenty.”
She’s in it now, brother.
Herds of townspeople glide along the endless rows of vendor tents. Most all of them are wearing smiles, blissfully unaware that there is a war going on. That beyond some of their trees and state parks, there is a group of men fighting on their behalf so that the local economy can thrive, so the poachers don’t get the best of them.—Cecelia, Exodus
More sun seeps through my closed blinds as I sip from a cup of fresh brew, focusing my blurred vision on my screen split by various camera views—two trained on Roman’s backyard after tapping into his security server. The second—courtesy of the camera attached to the back of the truck of our lady bird in waiting—gives an ample view of the road leading to the newly discovered warehouse. The last is from the bolted camera on the roof of the warehouse. A warehouse owned by the target we’re currently running a long game on—Anthony Spencer. One of a handful of Roman’s enemies who made the first cut. Enemies who have their own empires we plan to rob and dismantle before burning them to ashes.
By eliminating our competition, we’re making fucking sure we’re the ones who get to serve Roman justice and make bank while doing it. We haven’t made our pattern to take down Roman’s adversaries apparent to him yet. Still, he’ll be clued in soon enough when a few of the moguls he has an old beef with in neighboring high-rises start disappearing one by one due to methodical design, erasing all opportunity they could have had to get to him before we do.
He’ll know someone’s coming for him soon enough.
Frankly, I can’t fucking wait until he starts scrambling to find out who.
Time. It’s all just a matter of time.
I argued this tactic out with my brother as a condition since he refused to let me eliminate Roman outright. My reasoning? The least we could do is fuck with him psychologically while ensuring we’re the ones who make him pay. Though Tobias resisted the idea at first, his vindictive streak won out.
Jeremy’s Fleet Heating and Air van comes into view as he flies down the gravel parking lot and lines up next to where Tyler is parked. Hopping out, he searches for and spots the camera. Clicking on his earpiece, he flips me the company mascot between each word. “Testing. Testing.”
“You’re an idiot,” I utter, unable to help my grin.
“Afternoon, Princess,” he coos, chin lifted to the camera. “How’s that cushy chair treating your ass?”
“Keeping my balls nice and cool, bro,” I quip as Russell jumps out of the passenger side, opening the van doors behind him. “Maybe if you had done your math homework just once in your lifetime, you wouldn’t be the man with calloused hands for more reasons than one.”
“Don’t flirt with me right now, Dom. This is serious business we’re conducting. But tell me something, and be honest,” he turns and thrusts his ass out toward the camera. “Do these uniform khakis make my ass look fat?”
Russell shakes his head with a chuckle as he studies the warehouse and speaks up. “So, who found this one?”
Jeremy supplies the answer. “Tyler. It wasn’t listed in the douchebag’s company assets, but he found the address hidden in some of Spencer’s ancient paperwork.”
Tyler speaks up, already inside the warehouse. “Safe to say we can hear you, dipshit. Clear the line of bullshit. We’re on the clock.”
“What’s your status?” I ask Tyler, eyeing said clock on my monitor.