Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 42237 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 211(@200wpm)___ 169(@250wpm)___ 141(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 42237 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 211(@200wpm)___ 169(@250wpm)___ 141(@300wpm)
“Good, cause now you’re really gonna be stuck with me.”
Amy grins. “God, I can’t wait to buy you the most nauseatingly gushy Mother’s Day card ever.”
Chapter 13
Marshall
The muggy heat hits me the second I step off the private plane into the thick Aruba afternoon. My face is grim as I shrug my suit jacket off and pass it to one of my attendants before rolling up my sleeves.
“Welcome to paradise, buddy.”
I grin as I look up to see Javier jumping out of the Range Rover, looking like the damn mayor of paradise in his white linen pants, sandals, and white undershirt.
“What are you, shooting as music video for a fucking boy band?”
He laughs, giving me the finger.
“Hey, and fuck you too, Marshall.”
I chuckle as I give him a hug and shake his hand.
“Hey, you’re the one rolling up in a fucking muscle shirt. I don’t remember ordering a striper for my visit.”
He grins, shrugging. “Hey, gotta show off the guns in this weather.”
My eyes roll. “Guns, huh?”
In fairness, Javier is in fantastic shape. But I’m ten years his senior, and maybe in better shape. I’m allowed to be a bit of dick about it, especially since he knows full well I’m just fucking with him.
He claps my shoulder with a grin before he drops the keys the Range Rover into my hand.
“Their hotel is programs into the GPS. The front desk manager’s name is Henri, and he knows you’re coming. He’s a friend.”
Javier rubs his thumb and two fingers together as he says “friend,” and I nod.
“Good. Thanks, Javier. You know you could’ve just done this by phone.
He shrugs, flashing his white teeth. “True, but why pass up a trip to paradise, huh? Besides,” he winks, “you paid for it.”
“Dick,” I chuckle, giving him another firm handshake before I jump into the Range Rover.
“Hey, congrats, by the way.”
I turn, arching a brow. “On?”
Javier snorts. “My friend, word travels fast. I mean on your engagement.”
The smile spreads across my face. “Thanks, man.”
“And Amy’s cool with it?” He shrugs. “I mean, you marrying her friend?”
Remember when I said Javier and I have more of a friend relationship than professional? Yeah. Needless to say, I’ve filled him in on a lot. Especially after his help with the whole thing, and with alerting the higher-ups at The Society about Bobby Vecchio and getting his ass canned.
“Cool with it? I mean her best friend is literally moving in with us. Well, when she’s not at school.”
“And that’s working for you? I mean her being across the country?”
I grin widely. “You know I hate to brag, right?”
Javier raises a brow, but when I glance over and nod my chin at the private Leer jet we’re standing next to with “Bane Financial” emblazoned across the side, he laughs.
“Right. I guess having your own fucking jets helps.”
“A little, yeah.”
“So, Amy’s best friend is moving in.”
I nod, and Javier laughs.
“Well, you’re fucked.”
I laugh as I start the engine to the Range Rover. “You headed back now?”
“Hell no, man! I just got here!”
“Alright, go flash your ‘guns,’ you fuckin’ tool.”
Javier laughs, slapping the side of the Rover as I pull away.
* * *
It wasn’t as easy as I thought it’d be to find Tony and Celine, but then, it wasn’t that hard either. It’s been a month since Javier gave me the evidence to take to the council at The Society about Bobby. Tony? Well, Tony was always going to be my concern to take care of, but The Society was swift to bring down the punishment on Bobby after it was made clear that he’d abused his position to literally steal money from members. Apparently, this wasn’t the only instance of his putting his hand in the company till, either. The asshole was booted and stripped of any association with The Society for life.
And that’s before me and a few other members went to work on him in court. Needless to say, the man has faded away. Good fucking riddance.
But that brings me to Tony, which is what brings me to Aruba. Celine Shaw is, from what I and my investigators can tell, just an ignorant tagalong in all of this. From what I’ve pieced together, she truly has no idea how badly Tony has screwed the pooch with her late husband’s money. She knows there are some hiccups, but God only knows how Tony has spun that to gaslight her.
That shit ends right now though.
Henri, the front desk manager at the resort they’re staying at, leaves me at their front door with a nod, along with a refusal when I try to palm him some cash.
“Mr. Luca has already taken care of it, thank you, Mr. Bane.”
I insist anyways, and when he finally graciously takes the money and bows away, I turn my attention to the door. This is no cheap hotel either. The resort is a luxury spot, with rooms running in the thousands per night. I shake my head. Tony’s probably just running one credit card fraud into another right now, trying to beat the clock and string Celine along for as long as he can. But like I said…