Page 9

Chapter nine

The Level Boardroom

Hunter

“I have house guests,” I announce as the elevator doors open. Damon and I step into an empty boardroom. “Fuck’s sake, we’re summoned here and not one bastard is ready for us.”

“Relax,” Damon says. “I’ll make you a coffee.”

“Fuck coffee, I need something stronger.”

Damon walks over to the drink cabinet on the far side of the room as I throw myself down on the first chair I come to. He takes a bottle of whiskey from the top shelf; he’s chosen the good stuff, not that my lawyer friends have any cheap liquor. But on a day like today, I prefer the best possible medicine.

“How did the house tour go?” Damon asks me. He’s turned away, pretending to focus on preparing the drinks. On our trip in the car here, he hadn’t asked me any questions about Isabella and our situation, but I could tell he was dying to. For a man you can trust with trade secrets, he does love to know the gossip.

“I escorted Isabella to her room.” I keep my tone casual as if moving my estranged wife into my home is something I do every week. He doesn’t need to know the excitement and terror that fills me with the prospect of what could or couldn’t happen.

“That’s all? Surely your wife deserved a better tour around the house she should have lived in for the past twenty years.”

Damon’s mouth twists with obvious amusement as he pokes at my predicament. He knows the fact my wife chose not to live with me is no-go conversation territory. I’ve never honestly discussed our situation with anyone, and I don’t plan on starting to divulge the details now.

“It’s a temporary arrangement for both of us. I invited her to dinner as an olive branch. She isn’t happy about moving in, if you haven’t guessed.”

“Hmm…”

“What does hmm fucking mean? No, don’t tell me. Keep your opinions on my love life to yourself. Remember, you’re staff.”

My friend turns around and stares at me. He lifts an eyebrow and smiles, then the three others decide to show up as he opens his mouth. Harrison, Russell, and Connor walk into the room as he speaks.

“Try not to put the moves on her on day one. Give the girl a chance to settle in.”

They all stop dead as I fly out of my seat and stalk across the boardroom. I jab at Damon’s shoulder with my finger. Furious at being called out on a plan I haven’t even accepted myself. There is no way, as long as I breathe, that I will be signing those divorce papers. She’ll need to kill me.

“It’s none of your fucking business. She’s my wife. I don’t need to hear your shit about relationships.”

“Relationships? I thought it was only a beneficial arrangement?” Damon retorts.

“Wife is a bit of a stretch. I mean, a contractual partner would probably be a better definition,” Russell adds as he takes one of the glasses of whiskey. He lifts it to his lips and drinks it in one gulp. “Nice, I needed that.” Connor and Harrison snigger as I attempt to burn them with my eyes.

“Why the fuck are we here?” I shout, moving to grab the second glass, but Damon nimbly plucks it from my grip. He’s due to get a knife between his ribs if he keeps pushing my buttons.

“Mine,” he says. “He drank yours.” He waves a hand in Russell’s direction.

Without waiting for any further jibes or harassment from the men who are meant to be my friends, I march off toward the elevator. My mind whirls with a combination of fury, embarrassment, and confusion. I’m the one usually taking the piss out of them and their pathetic love lives, though they are all happy and settled now. I am the last single man standing.

“Where are you going?” Harrison calls to my retreating back.

“Fuck off. I’m going home. I didn’t come here to be railed by you lot.”

“Sit down, Devane. We need to talk.” I hear the clinking of glass. “I’ll sort you a drink. Put the knife away, and come sit down.”

I look down to find my right hand clutching my blade. Where I pulled it from, I don’t know. It happens on instinct more and more. No wonder I was caught on CCTV threatening to slit someone’s throat. My self-control gets more pitiful with each year that passes. With no one waiting for me at home, I have nothing to lose most of the time. Risking my life doesn’t seem like a dangerous game.

Eventually, the five of us sit around the table, waiting to discuss whatever business needs our attention. The last time we sat here, I was told to make a deal with my wife and then focus on repairing my broken reputation. I have taken action on my part of that plan. Perhaps not seamlessly, but Isabella is currently at my house, so that’s a start.

“Where’s your rottweiler?” Connor asks, his eyes widening in curiosity. “He could be useful to utilize.”

“I assume you mean Greyson? He’s on assignment. One of those combat operations he gets paid ridiculous amounts for.” My bodyguard is currently in an unknown country, doing unknown things for an unknown customer. I don’t ask when he requests leave, but I take ten percent of whatever he earns for the inconvenience.

“When will he be back?”

“By Christmas, I think he said. Well, that is assuming he survives.” I take a sip of the whiskey Harrison laid in front of me. “He thinks I don’t know he’s saving money to escape this life. He wants to retire.”

“Retire?” Russell scoffs. “What age is he? Forty?”

“Mid-thirties. He got knocked out cold once at the gym and came around talking about how he wanted to move to Thailand. I’m sitting on that information for now.”

“Imagine being retired on a beach before turning forty,” Russell muses. “I’d be bored out of my skull.” His brother chuckles, and Russell scowls. “What?”

“I was just thinking, brother, about whether you really want to continue working. I would be more than happy to take Sam off to a beach somewhere and retire. I’m confident I could devise plenty of activities to keep us occupied.”

“Over my dead body.”

“Maybe one day,” Connor says with a shrug. I half expect a war to ensue; that typically happens after a tit-for-tat conversation regarding their girlfriend. I will never know how Samantha puts up with the two of them. She must constantly be refereeing arguments or sucking one of their dicks. It would be like babysitting a couple of toddlers fighting over a toy car.

“Anyway, why are we here?” I ask, wanting to return to the business at hand so I can get on with my day. Or get back to the house so I can discuss preparations with the team for tonight’s dinner. I want Isabella to feel welcome in my home, the house that was meant to be hers.

Harrison clears his throat, bringing the chatter to a close and starting the meeting we came for. “We have a suspicion that our Russian friends may have leaked the footage,” he says. “Perhaps payback after that shipment didn’t reach St. Petersburg. They’re not happy.”

“What? The Rolls and the Range Rover?” He nods. “I told Rodion we would make that right. It’s an unfortunate bump when transporting by sea. It was three months ago; we are locating and reacquiring the same vehicles.”

“I spoke to him, and his customer wasn’t best pleased with the ‘ship sank’ explanation. The Bentley was a twenty-first birthday gift for a rather spoiled daughter of an oligarch. Rodion said we were getting lax, and they could look for another source for prestige cars.”

“I can’t control the fucking ocean,” I mutter. “That wasn’t the only container lost.”

“No, but it was the one that mattered most.”

Russian dignitaries are blocked from purchasing high-value assets in the United Kingdom due to sanctions placed on the country. Over the past few years, we have constructed a lucrative system of acquiring luxury cars to order and then shipping them to our customers in Russia via Africa. It worked well for all involved until it didn’t.

“And because of that, they leaked footage from my gym? Seems far-fetched. How would they know?”

“Are you seriously dense enough not to consider that they perhaps have eyes on you?” Connor says, his tone conveying complete disbelief that I could be so na?ve. “What’s the old saying? Keep your friends close but enemies closer.”

“You think there could be someone on the inside leaking information?”

“Possibly,” Harrison says. “But for now, let’s keep that theory within these walls. I’ve assured Rodion of a fresh shipment next month. Can you make that happen?” He looks between Damon and me.

“Sure, we’ve located the necessary vehicles to fill the ten containers. All we have to do is acquire them. I’ll get on it this week,” Damon replies casually. It’s hard to believe he used to be a boy in blue himself. Since leaving the force almost a year ago, he has settled comfortably into our world. Although we’ve worked together for years, I never believed he would move over fully. But life pushed, and he jumped; he seems more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him. It’s been surprising.

“Great,” Harrison says, relieved. “And any mutterings you’ve heard?”

“From what my contacts say, they’ve buried the case for now, even with the CCTV footage. Though I hear that bastard Menzies is asking questions.”

“Fuck’s sake, he’s the asshole that caused problems when you left,” Connor confirms.

“The very one. He’s always looking for ways to haul my ass into the station. He would love even more to drag yours in, Devane,” Damon confirms.

“Him and half of London,” I mutter, and they all snigger.

“Never a truer word said,” Harrison confirms. “Half my working life is keeping all you bastards out of jail, but this Menzies could be an issue. Are you confident your previous contacts at the force are not compromised?” He looks Damon square in the eye.

“I’m no longer one of them, so it’s hard to say.” He shrugs, but there’s no missing the flit of discomfort on his face. “Most of them owe me, but those favors will eventually run out. I heard Menzies was up for promotion too, and with that comes power.”

“Connor, can you do some digging on him?” Harrison asks. “He’s been an annoyance for the past twelve months, popping up where we least expect. Normally in court cases, I’m defending. But it would be best to know if he’s making his way up the ranks. Find something we can leverage against him if the need arises.”

Connor nods, then pulls out his phone and starts typing. Russell whispers something in his brother’s ear, and they both snort with laughter.

“Ugly little bastard,” Russell says, pointing at Connor’s screen. “He has that look of a rat. As if he is out to get someone in shit while clambering his way to the top.”

“And the Russians?” I ask, not wanting this diversion to escalate into the normal Chase brother debacle that will take up more of my time than I wish to give them.

“I’ll look into that,” Damon says. “I’ll get further checks done to all staff to see if there are any links we are unaware of.”

“Well, if that’s everything.” I push myself up to stand and straighten my jacket. “I’ll be off. I have things to do and people to see.”

“You need to get out in public with your wife,” Harrison says, startling me. “I want you to arrange a full schedule of suitable events. Play the doting and considerate husband.”

“What does suitable events mean?”

“Dinner in nice restaurants, the ballet, day trips to Harrods…”

“Not really my style, Waite.”

“Are prison bars more your thing?” He stands opposite me, the boardroom table stretching out between us. His eyebrow lifts, goading me to challenge him. “You need to clean up your act, Hunter. Too many people are asking questions. Give the people what they want. Pretend to be the businessman you portray, and hopefully we can placate the Russians with a new shipment, then all this will be forgotten.”

“He’s right,” Connor interjects. “We’re balancing two different problems. The criminal one that could affect your life and freedom, and the business image we need to ensure the wheels keep turning.”

“All right,” I concede. “We’ll sort the cars. You lot do some digging. Once we are ready to ship, we will let you know.” I turn away. Damon rises beside me, and we both walk toward the elevator. “And I’ll take my wife out to dinner in public.”

“Good,” Harrison shouts as the doors close.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and the manager from the gym advises that everything is prepared for tonight’s event. I pass the phone to Damon and he reads the information.

“Everything is set then.”

“Sure is. I have ten thousand on you to win.”

“No pressure. Emma will kill me if she finds out.”

“What does Emma think you’re doing tonight?” He focuses on the closed doors as the elevator glides down fifty-plus floors. Damon is scheduled to bare-knuckle fight at the gym. Emma doesn’t like it, so I know he’ll have told her something else.

“Working. An overnight stakeout.”

“Short and sweet,” I say with a chuckle. “And what if she asks where?”

“I’ll tell her it’s confidential. Are we expecting a full house?”

“Yep, every ticket is sold, McKinney.” I clap my hands together and rub. “Tonight will be very lucrative for all involved, especially if you knock him out. I’ll double your fee.”

“Personal grudge?” he questions.

“Isn’t there always?”