He leaned toward the passenger side and extended his business card. “Call me this week, and we can set up a time for you to come into the club.”
I took the card, smiling like I’d won the lottery.
7
DUKE
After tossing my keys to the valet at Yvonne’s in downtown Boston later that evening, I entered the restaurant, trying to clear my mind in preparation for the biggest challenge I had yet to face—dealing with my siblings. This was a conversation I didn’t want to have. Nor did I want to hear Dillon chastise me over how I should’ve gotten out when Grace finally escaped from that sex-trafficking ring. Denim understood my plight. Even Grace did, too, to a certain extent. But Dillon was the good brother, although he’d sold guns for a short time after he returned home from the Merchant Marine. I’d forgotten about that until now. Still, he shaped up and made his mission in life to help battered women get off the streets.
I applauded and admired my brother. In fact, he made me want to be a better person, which was one reason I was trying to jump on the straight and narrow path.
The aroma of garlic overwhelmed my senses as I strode up to the hostess station, where Brittany was helping a customer.
She smiled at me like she always did when I came in with Grace. Yvonne’s was my sister’s favorite restaurant in the city. I had to agree. Yvonne’s had better garlic bread and spicy food than any of her competitors. My mouth watered and my ulcer protested at the thought of diving into a basket of bread.
Brittany finished with her customer. “Duke, it’s so good to see you.” The cute brunette rose on her toes and gave me a hug. “Your family is all here and in the private room we have reserved for you.”
I wound around the carved path of the main dining room, the place buzzing with voices competing with silverware clanging and the faint sound of music overhead.
I dug deep for the strength I always had, recalling the advice McCauley had given me on the phone only minutes ago as I was driving back to the city. “The best way to keep them safe is to tell them the truth. They need to know who to watch out for and the players involved.”
I had yet to share that kind of info with Dillon and Grace. As much as I wanted to keep Denim at arm’s length as well, I needed one sibling to confide in. Besides, he understood my world to a tee. He’d lived it for years. On top of that, I wasn’t worried any of them would narc on me. I just didn’t want to make them complicit in the event I ended up in a legal situation in which they would have to testify against me. I wouldn’t fault them if they had to, but I knew it would gut them if they were responsible for sending me to prison.
Making my way toward the back of the restaurant, I spotted a woman seated with a clean-cut guy, and I did a double take. For a second, the tawny blond looked like Joy Whitlock. It wasn’t until she smiled at me that I realized it wasn’t Joy.
A laugh zipped around in my thick skull. I hardly remembered the names of women I slept with. Yet I couldn’t forget Joy’s, though she didn’t strike me as a Joy. I pictured someone with that name as bubbly and giddy. Joy was anything but. I saw her as a tomboy who drove a truck and wore army boots. Most women who caught my eye were nothing like Joy.
But the reason she was affecting me vanished as I entered the private room with the built-in bookcases and the eclectic artwork that Grace loved about the place.
“I always feel like I’m among knowledge when we eat here,” Grace had said a time or two.
Dillon and Denim, with beers in hand, were sitting at the only table in the room while Grace was browsing the bookshelves.
My sister lit up when she saw me, and my heart swelled. “You look tired.” She gave me a hug.
“I always look this way.” I kissed her on the forehead. “But you…” I eased away. “I haven’t seen you in a month, and it seems like you’re prettier.”
Her cheeks flushed as she moved waves of her brown hair over her shoulder, exposing her colorful hummingbird tattoo. My sister had a love for tats. “The only thing I’ve done recently was a trip to the hairdresser.”
Denim cleared his throat as he rose from his chair. “What? No love for your youngest brother?” His blue eyes flashed as he feigned a pout.
“I have to say, it’s odd to have all of us in one room.” Dillon stood behind his chair. “But I know this isn’t a social call for you.”
Acid swished in my stomach at his dig and the roughness in his voice.
I didn’t want to argue with him, so I put on the best grin I could muster. “Thank you for coming.”
Dillon dragged a hand through his dark hair. “You sound like you’re about to deliver bad news.”
Denim and I exchanged a knowing look, and Dillon caught on.
“You are,” Dillon said. “Denim knows? I’m trying to decide if I’m more pissed that you confided in Denim more than any of us or the fact you only call us when you need to tell us to watch our backs. That’s what this is about. You’re into some shit that is life or death.”
“Sit.” Denim nodded at Dillon. “I don’t know the specifics.”
Our waiter breezed in to take my drink order, his goofy attention on Grace.
“Bourbon,” I said to him. “And close the door on your way out.”
