Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Alana shifts next to me and rolls to her side, sinking deep into her pillow and the bed. Caleb’s reply pings: I wouldn’t hide behind a bunch of Russian goons. I warned you. And I declined the job.
Me: He must not have paid well.
Caleb: He paid damn well, but I don’t need the money anymore. I don’t need two of you coming at me from either side. And you know I hate your fucking father.
Me: Then why are you working for him?
Caleb: He throws money at problems, and his temper creates a lot of problems. It’s a lucrative gig, but not one I need to keep doing much longer.
I consider that response, but don’t take it too seriously. He’s not a man you trust. He could turn on me for the right payday.
Let’s meet, he says. Tomorrow morning. Seven am. Battery Park, the Surf and Turf patio.
The patio will be closed at that time, which makes it a good meetup spot, and I type: I’ll be there, but you need to know my security team will have us both in their sights.
Smarter than your father, he replies. You always were.
I text Blake, and once we have a plan, I roll over and wrap myself around Alana, vowing to keep her safe and end the threat we’re facing from my father—swiftly and once and for all.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Damion
Morning arrives with the bittersweet vibration of my silent alarm. Bittersweet in the way Alana’s snuggled close to me, but instead of enjoying the moment, I have a meeting to attend and a father to end.
It’s a testament to how safe she feels in our home that when I extricate myself from Alana’s arms, she doesn’t move other than to murmur, “I love you,” before nestling down deeper in her blanket. She shows me over and over how vulnerable she’s willing to be with me and it’s a gift I will never take for granted; one formed over literal decades of life.
After a fast shower, I dress in a gray pin-striped suit, fully aware of how important it is that I show my face at the office today and allow critical players in the company to see me stand tall. As for my father, he’ll see me all right, and he won’t like the result. Alana’s still resting when I slip through the bedroom into the main apartment with time to spare. I brew a pot of coffee, the rich vanilla beans Alana loves scenting the air, and I’m certain she’ll wake, her eyes soon to be alight with delight, and yet, when I return to the room, she remains in a dead sleep. The mental and physical trauma of what she went through has clearly taken a toll, and I wish like hell I could climb back in bed with her and hold her until she wakes. But keeping her safe has to be my priority. This meeting has to happen, and the sooner the better. Every moment my father isn’t dealt with is dangerous, and I will not allow Alana to become his victim again.
I walk into the living room, find a piece of paper and a pen, and write Alana a short note before texting Blake: Alana doesn’t even know I’m leaving. She’s sleeping.
Blake: Savage is staying with her. He wants to check her out again when she wakes up, just to be safe.
It’s an acceptable answer. Alana responds well to Savage, and I believe that man is emotionally invested enough in our situation that he would kill for her and me. Some might not call that an admirable quality, but I do. I’ll be down in five, I reply.
Blake: Savage is already at the door. Joey is going with you today.
Me: I thought Joey was with Alana’s mother?
Blake: She kicked him out. I put a couple men on her that she won’t recognize. She’s a bitch, but she’s a safe bitch.
She is a fucking bitch, I think, but she’s Alana’s mother, and all she has left other than me. I won’t allow her to be taken away from her, even if she deserves a damn grave as far as I’m concerned. I slide my phone back into my pocket, and then enter the bedroom again, quietly resting a note on my pillow for Alana to find. She doesn’t stir, her back to me, her shoulders curved forward, her dark hair splayed across her snowy white pillowcase. God, I love this woman, and have loved her my entire life. It is the kind of bond few have experienced or will ever know or understand. And what I didn’t see, until recently, is that we are the bond that demolishes the hatred of our families, the gift that replaces their venom with the equivalent of sunshine mixed with the sweet honeysuckles that grew by our childhood homes each summer. Alana loved that honeysuckle, and I came to love it, too. Because it reminded me of her.