Sean breaks up my struggle with a hint of hope as he glances at the plastic clock hanging past my shoulder. “Shit, rain check. I’m going to be late if I don’t get going.”
The plan. We have a plan.
The last leg of it starts today with his return to Horner Tech. As soon as said plan is executed, nothing and no one will stop me from flipping the overly-polished table to expose the filth beneath. As if privy to that thought, Sean flips his keys into his palm and pushes off the car. As he readies to leave, I find myself wishing he would stay for no other reason than to distract me. Needing company is not me. Never been me. But right now, I need . . . something. “Orientation?”
“That’s one word,” he quips, his eyes calculating. He doesn’t trust me alone with my thoughts. I’m not sure I can trust my own much longer. “Give me one more, Dom.”
“Ready?”
“Does it matter?” He says, running a hand through his hair. “Time to play my part. See you at the house in a few.”
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.”