Page 33 of Carved Obsession

“Not you?” I cock my head, observing her as she responds.

“I know better.”

She does. Tina is the best out of my entire tech team. She knows that betrayal is the only thing that would make me take out anyone from my team. Otherwise, I wouldn’t sacrifice any of the nine, considering their skills and vows of silence.

“Nothing has changed? No other cars broken into?”

“No. We’re all good,” she answers. “Is there anything else?”

“No, Tina, thank you. Feel free to go home. You’ve been working overtime.”

“None of us were going to stop until all checks were done. Regardless of whether you gave the order or not.”

This is what taking care of one’s employees gets you—loyalty.

I may not be an emotional man, but I understand the effects of nurture. And we—The Sanctum—have been feeding these relationships for a decade now, carefully crafting the right entourage for our business.

“Some sleep will be welcome for sure. Have a good night, boss.”

I nod my goodbye, then rise, swiping my gaze over the strategically placed tables, attempting to recognize faces through the dim light. But I can’t fucking focus, and I’m damn thirsty.

Grabbing my empty glass, I head behind the bar. Encased in a metallic-gold, stylized eyelid, the realistic eyeball above the bar follows me around the room. Beneath the art-deco starburst of gold slats that surrounds it sits the only drink that can handle the job of distracting my brain—absinthe.

I prepare my gold-filigree-encrusted glass, pour the inviting green liquid inside, then set the perforated spoon above it with a sugar cube on top.

“Bring the water drip to my table, please,” I tell the bartender.

“Of course, Mr. Pierce.”

As I walk back to my table, a familiar face heads my way.

“Carter, my boy. I missed you!” Jonathan exclaims, those first three words pulling me back into memories that rarely make their way into my consciousness nowadays.

My father—his best friend—used to call me that as he looked at me with hidden emotions I couldn’t quite place. There was warmth in those words, though—a staggering contrast from my mother’s tone, the woman who I now know is the reason why Jonathan and my father’s friendship phased out. Not that it surprised me. They stopped meeting for years. Dad focused on me, and his friend on his business.

Then one day, when my father used those same endearing words as his last, I saw Jonathan for the first time in years.

We didn’t talk. Didn’t even interact. He kept his distance, sitting in the waiting room of the hospital wing until I was done. Almost a year later, just before I was about to leave for my second year of university, he made contact, and we’ve kept a relationship ever since.

I think he speaks those words—Carter, my boy—as much for him as he does for me. He cared about my father, and somehow, I think they make him feel closer to him. I’m not familiar with regrets, but he hasn’t shied away from telling me how many he has for his broken friendship. I never needed a father figure after mine’s passing, but Jonathan Rees has naturally become one without me even noticing.

With a twinkle in his bright eyes, he waits for me to place my drink on the table so he can pull me into a full body hug.

Outside his husband, he only reserves this behavior for me. And he’s the only person I allow to act this way toward me.

He takes a seat in one of the armchairs, and I take the one right next to him.

“Jonathan, how are you?” I ask, noting a bit more salt than pepper in his hair these days.

Not that it deters from his exquisitely distinguished look in his three-piece, light-gray suit. A large oval ruby set on a gold brooch pinned to his chest adds a touch of extravagance to the whole ensemble.

“It’s been too long, my boy. But I’m good, keeping busy as always,” he says.

“Three weeks, yes. How was your first holiday in—”

“Five years. It was just as you would expect—stressful. Much to Anthony’s annoyance. It wasn’t easy, keeping my mind off the business. I’m not used to it.”

“But all is working well?”