Page 14

Chapter fourteen

Abandoned Warehouse, The Docks, London

Hunter

Twenty prestige vehicles sit inside the hangar. The final preparations for removing any trace of their identity are being made. My men work tirelessly so we can meet Rodion’s delivery deadline. The uncertainty with our Russian customers has been giving me sleepless nights. They aren’t men I want to anger. The danger to myself isn’t as much of a concern as the threats against the families of the men closest to me.

Since Isabella’s return into my life, I’ve become highly aware of what my friends surrounding me have to lose if the shit were to hit the fan. Harrison and Damon are fathers with not only their women to care for but also their offspring. Russell and Connor have Samantha, who, in all honesty, could probably stand up for herself better than most men I know. My mind wanders back to the time she kicked me in the balls for trying to tell her what to do. That woman has guts. But I could never forgive myself if one of them was hurt because of my inability to manage the situation.

“Where’s your head, Devane?” Connor asks. “It’s not here, that’s for sure.”

“In bed with that wife of his,” Russell pipes up, and the two idiots snigger at one another. If I were to sacrifice anyone, it would be one of them. The line between love and hate blurs as they speak.

“I wish,” I mutter. “But I don’t think that will happen anytime soon.”

“Well, what’s eating at you?” Harrison joins the conversation. He wandered over as soon as we started talking, his nosiness no doubt getting the better of him. Damon is still working diligently around each vehicle to ensure nothing has been missed.

“I was thinking about how different our lives are from a few years back.”

“Tell me about it. Between Violet and Evie, I barely sleep,” Harrison says, but he smiles immediately at his wife and daughter’s names. He’s taken on the role of a father with complete ease. His lack of one has only made him better at it. “And when our little bump joins, heaven help me.”

“You’re going to be a dead man,” Russell goads. “Since my sister put that collar round your neck, you’ve been a pussy.”

“Fuck off.” Harrison gives his brother-in-law the finger, but there’s an undeniable warmth in the words. “I’ll tell her you said that, and you can feel her madness.”

“Are you fuckwits planning on doing any work?” We all turn as a group as Damon strides over to join us. “Or am I the little bitch here?”

Russell wanders over to our friend. They are both big guys and stand at eye level with one another. He grabs Damon’s shoulder, shaking it gently.

“McKinney,” he says. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way, but…” There is a pause as he smiles before saying something that will no doubt cause a run-in. “You’ve always been my little bitch, but I love you for it.”

Damon's face darkens dramatically. He returns to looking at the paperwork in his hands. Thinking he’s won, Russell turns away; he doesn’t see his opponent's first move. Damon grabs his arms, twisting them viscously behind his back. He knocks away his legs, and the two men crumble to the floor.

The paperwork being so precisely checked goes flying as they wrestle like teenage boys. Damon maneuvers Russell into a headlock, pulling his neck backward at a painful angle.

“Tap out,” he snarls. Russell bares his teeth but doesn't speak. “Tap out, dickhead.”

The rest of us watch the proceedings, amused glances flitting from one to the other. Connor steps forward and taps the sole of his brother’s shoe with his toe.

“You’re beaten, bro. Tap out.”

“No,” Russell gasps between breaths, stubborn as always.

Connor shrugs and wanders off, now bored with the antics. Harrison begins to gather up the strewn papers and then sorts them into some order. We leave the two testosterone-filled idiots on the floor arguing over who’s going to give up first.

“So,” Harrison says as we cross off the final cars to be loaded in containers. “You were saying how much life has changed. What does it have you thinking about?”

Uncomfortable but not surprised by his direct question, I try to put my feelings in some order without sounding pathetic. My actions over the years to protect my friends and their families have shown I care, but it’s never something I say out loud. Hiding behind the mask of who I’m meant to be is more comfortable than allowing empathy to show too freely.

“Look around,” I tell him, opening my arms wide at the rows of cars. “Is this really worth the risk? Lots of people have lost someone they love as payback for a deal gone wrong, and I don’t want it to happen to one of us. It was okay when we…” I stop talking thinking I’ve given him enough information to understand my position.

“When we were all single and had nothing to lose,” he finishes my sentence. “I’ve been thinking the same way, but you’ve always been married. What’s changed?”

His question this time does surprise me, because the reason for my change in attitude is something I haven’t considered much myself. Since losing Isabella, my life has run on chaos and danger. I love the thrill of dispensing justice on my own terms and outwitting whatever idiot had pissed me off. Now, tonight, seeing all the stock ready to ship and knowing the increase my bank balance will receive in the process doesn’t seem so exciting. The potential trade-off is too terrifying.

“This time,” I begin, knowing that there’s no going back once I say the words out loud, “I think we have a chance. And I don’t want my actions or business dealings to jeopardize that.”

We stare at one another, no other words spoken but a distinct understanding of the conflict I feel. He felt the same way when Violet came back into his life, no doubt.

“Can I join the therapy session?” Connor asks, joining our group.

“Sure,” Harrison says. “Hunter is just telling me about finding his romantic side and being tempted into the normality of married life.”

“That is not what I fucking said.”

“I used some artistic license, but that’s basically what you meant.”

“So you want flannel pajamas, a pipe, and your wife barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen,” Connor teases. “Are you not both a bit old for that?”

“We would need to get a move on,” I admit, and they both gape at me. “Yeah, boys, I’m done, hook, line, and sinker. Now, I just have to convince her that I’m good for her.”

“Surely, you have every opportunity. I mean, she’s in your house. That’s closer than you’ve been in decades.” I shake my head, and Harrison narrows his eyes. “What did you fucking do?”

“Threatened to slit her personal trainer’s throat.”

Connor bursts out laughing; he bends forward, hands on his knees. His whole body shakes as he struggles to control himself. Harrison pinches his nose and closes his eyes, the way he does when I tell him something that will cause him more work. There will no doubt be a lawsuit to navigate on his desk soon, and another check to write to ensure my victim keeps his mouth shut.

“What did he do?” Russell shouts; he’s still held fast by Damon, refusing to tap out. What a tool .

“Introduced his wife’s gym buddy to his blade,” Connor shouts back, and now more laughter fills the warehouse.

“And Isabella isn’t too happy,” I mutter.

“I can imagine,” Harrison says, now trying to hide his smile. “You have some making up to do.”

“It’s in process, but I also threatened her with a tracker,” I tell him, and he gives me a quizzical look.

“You have no fucking idea how to treat a woman, Devane,” Connor mutters. “A tracker on your estranged wife? Are you bloody insane?”

“Maybe. Anyway, let’s get these fucking cars loaded on that barge so we can go home.”

“You know, this…” Harrison says, signaling to everything going on around us. “It will be hard to unravel and move past, but it can be done if you want it to be. Between us, we have the ability to leave it all behind and start again.”

He leaves the statement open-ended, not elaborating further on what he said. The truth in his tone, however, can’t be missed. Harrison is thinking about his future, changing who he is for the best possible outcome for his family. It doesn’t surprise me. The orphan boy has everything he could ever want. Why risk a prison term for a few extra million in the bank?

I watch as each car is driven onto the relevant container. The unit is tagged with a number and added to the manifest to be sent to Rodion. Everything he requested has been supplied with this delivery. The captain has been well warned that it must arrive as agreed in Africa. The shipment will then be transferred to a second vessel, which is marked to be carrying coffee and cocoa before heading to Russia. The ship will be stacked with alternating food and car containers, reducing the risk of one of our vehicles being found.

“This better go to plan,” I say to Damon, standing beside me.

“I’ve overseen it all,” he confirms. “Each link of the chain has specific instructions and knows what’s expected. It will go to plan. I’m sending four of our men on the vessel as well.”

“Good. I’m counting on you for this.”

When I return home in the early hours of the morning, once again, I’m met with music and wander off in search of Isabella. This time, however, I find Kasia cleaning the kitchen. She has every cupboard emptied, the array of appliances and implements strewn over the worktops. I watch her climb a small ladder, cloth in hand, and begin to wipe the inside of the highest cupboard. Unable to see, she steps up onto the counter so she is at eye level with the empty space. Her hand moves over every inch of wood slowly.

“You certainly have an attention to detail,” I say, moving into the room. She freezes as soon as I open my mouth, like someone caught doing something they shouldn’t. “Is there a reason you’ve dismantled my kitchen?”

She continues to stare into the cupboard, and I watch as her fine body expands and contracts with each breath. My presence makes her nervous, which is understandable. No doubt she will have heard stories about me and my dangerous ways. Fear keeps people in line, and I like that. Eventually, she returns to ground level and turns to face me, a look of sheer terror plastered on her face.

“Is there a reason you have dismantled my kitchen?” I repeat. Something about the whole situation makes me uneasy. Since Isabella’s arrival, Kasia has easily slotted into my housekeeping staff. I have been highly aware of her ability to be in many places at once and the high praise she receives from others.

“My chores were complete, sir, and I woke early,” she replies. “I was aware a deep clean was on the schedule for next week; it made sense to get started.” Her focus lowers between her feet, so I’m left looking at the top of her head as she submits to authority. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a tight ponytail. Although my staff are respectful, they look me in the eye. Kasia’s gesture is unexpected.

“Very well,” I say, but her explanation is not a comfort.

“Kasia,” Isabella’s voice calls from behind me, the Spanish accent clear. My stomach flips, knowing I need to face her again after our altercation the last time I saw her in the hallway. Each interaction since the night of the police sting has been negative, which is disappointing after enjoying such a wonderful dinner together. The chain of events hasn’t helped my mood.

“In here, Miss. Isabella,” Kasia says. Isabella appears dressed in her workout gear but stops dead when her eyes fall on me. Her joyful expression is immediately gone.

“Hunter,” Isabella addresses me, my name coated in venom.

“Good morning, Bella. If you have a moment…”

“I don’t,” she tells me, not looking at me. Her eyes focused on Kasia. “Would you be so kind as to iron my outfit for today, Kasia? It’s laid out on my bed.”

“Of course, Miss.”

Kasia excuses herself then scurries out of the kitchen, leaving the mess she’s created behind her. Isabella and I watch her disappear down the hallway toward the stairs to her mistress’s room. She resembles a rabbit just released from a trap, escaping to unexpected freedom.

“Bella.”

“Don’t, Hunter,” she snarls, lifting a hand, palm flat toward me. “I will not be spoken to as I was earlier. You don’t have any rights to tell me when or where to be. I am here as a favor to you, don’t forget that.” She purses her lips but looks past me over my shoulder. I try to meet her gaze, but she continually looks away as if uncomfortable.

“I am sorry, Bella. If I offended, it wasn’t meant.” I want to point out that her being here is as much of a benefit to her future as it is mine. She needs me to sign her divorce agreement, even though I have no intention of doing so. But, at this point, she doesn't need to know that.

“Bullshit!” This time, her focus hits me hard, her neck cranes backward as she looks up. “You were trying to lay claim to me in front of your men, and that won’t be fucking happening. I will not be treated as a possession.”

I breathe deeply, enjoying her close proximity; the sheer passion for freedom that emanates from her is addictive. All I want to do is keep her close, keep her talking to me.

“But will you allow me to claim you privately, Bella?” She tenses as her mind processes what I’ve just said. A look of disbelief flits over her face. She knows what I want, and I will keep telling her. “I don’t need a public display to quench my thirst, but I need you. You are the sole reason for my existence.”

Her hands ball into fists by her sides. I’m unsure if she wants to kiss me or hit me. At this point, I would take either outcome from this conversation. Twenty years of hurt, anger, and loss bubble between us as we try to navigate our current relationship, something we both thought had ended long ago.

“You will never claim me in any situation, public or private.” I reach for her hand, but she pulls it away angrily. “I’m not yours,” she half-screams, and it only makes me more determined to make her mine. To show her that she has always been mine no matter where we were. She and I were meant to be together.

“Are you not?” I continue, loving the heightened tension in the room. Her cheeks have colored as her fury rises, and her dark eyes dilate. “Neither of us can deny how we felt the other night at the restaurant—the memories, the hope, the belief we shared.”

“You’re insane,” she snaps, throwing a hand in the air and turning away. I step up behind her, placing my hands on her hips. Our disagreement has gone too far. To give us any chance of reconciliation and making the next eleven months bearable, we need to be at least civil before I can get what I want from her. I expect her to walk away but she doesn’t, so I drop my lips to her cheek. They connect with warm flesh, and my cock stirs in my boxers, impatient at being made to wait again.

“Bella, I'm insane about you,” I whisper. “I always have been.”

“You don’t know me.”

We stand in the center of my kitchen, her turned away, and me holding on to what I can. This, what we have, may be messy and complicated, our time together divided by years apart, but it’s real and true. I can feel it. This is our moment to try; we need to take it. She must realize that.

“I do know you, Bella. Let me show you just how much.”