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Nobody else ever comes this far up the hill. And I have guards on all sides at the base to make sure it stays that way when I need privacy.

Some would say the best view of the city is from this parking lot, but the skyline and sunset are the last things on my mind whenever I drive out here.

That’s still true today.

After loading the clip into my magazine, I grab my gun and push until I’m satisfied with the flush fit.

One glance at my watch tells me I have an hour untildinner, and after missing breakfast with Delilah this morning, I know I need to get the fuck out of here in half an hour so I can make it back in time.

A minute later, I lift the loading bay door and grin at the sight in front of me. My eyes zero in on the slight crook in his nose before I let myself study the rest of him.

James Garrison.

Fifty-two years old.

Five-eleven.

Two hundred pounds.

Original founder of Garrison Media Group or GMG.

Retired early five years ago.

Initiated into The Lost Rose three years ago.

Current net worth: 125 million.

It should be morethan that, but Delilah’s father wasn’t the only one with a gambling problem. Might have even been how they met. Jimmy got his addiction under control a few years ago, and I’d be impressed if it wasn’t for the other stain on his legacy.

Jimmy’s obsession with younger women wasn’t a secret. He liked them young and more than that, he liked them docile.

A trait he didn’t find in Delilah when her father tried to arrange her marriage to him two years ago.

So, here he is—restrained and gagged in the folding chair in front of me while Alonzo stands in the corner, studying his cuticles.

“Jimmy…do you know why you’re here today?”

A muffled sound comes from the otherside of the cloth around his mouth. If I know anything about Alonzo, I know the zip tie holding it in place is tied tight enough to cut into the skin on either side of his face.

Wide, watery eyes beg me for mercy that I don’t have after watching the shit he pulled with Delilah.

“I’m gonna take that as a no.” I look over his shoulder and nod at Alonzo. “Let me jog your memory, Jimmy.”

When I turn to face the stone wall, Alonzo has the TV in place and the footage cued up exactly where I need it.

A still of the staircase in Marcellus’ house is loaded on the screen and Jimmy squirms, the chair groaning under his weight.

“I’ve never watched TV in here before, Jimmy,” I tell him with too much excitement in my voice. “But I got something special just for you.”

Another muffled sound comes from the man beside me at the same time the smell of urine invades the air.

A dark stain settles around the crotch of his blue jeans, and I curl my lip.

“Man, that’s fucking nasty. Why you scared, Jimmy? I didn’t show you anything yet.”

Sweat sticks his gray hair to his neck and forehead before sliding in his eyes to mix with the tears.

“You married now, right? Pia or something?” I taunt, knowing he can’t respond. “And I bet you did some fuck shit to end up with her. How old is she? Twenty? Twenty-one?”