I had ignored what lay beneath the surface of Jules’s exquisite beauty. She needed constant attention and affirmation that she was wanted and desired. She got that with the bastards she cheated on me with. Then she wanted a man with deep pockets. Mine weren’t deep enough for her. Jules was a mistake, and I don’t intend to make the same mistake again.
“What happened to the cars?” There was sadness in Ever’s eyes when she talked about this guy and his daily. To think it was Carlos she’d been talking about. My poor Ever After. My survivor’s guilt is nothing compared to Ever’s devastation over Carlos’s death.
“Not sure.”
“Find out.”
“And do what with them, boss?”
“Buy them all.”
“You serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
“Whatcha gonna do with all those project cars?”
“Not sure yet, but I want them in my possession.” I lean forward and check the screen on my desk, which displays various views of the club’s interior, including the blind spot near the bathrooms. Safety is my priority.
“Gotcha.”
“Any chance Gage can leave her side long enough for me to speak with her?” Her workplace is out of the question. I won’t jeopardize her ability to earn a living. Looking for her on campus is also out of the question. I’ll punch every frat boy’s face for staring at her with hunger in their eyes.
Slate shrugs. “My nana is waiting for approval from the insurance company for her hip replacement. Once it goes through, I can guilt him into spending time with her while she recovers. She’s always bending over and picking up her little lapdog. She’ll either pop out her new hip or trip over the little rat.”
“Make it happen and I’ll triple your pay for the month.” Thirty grand is a drop in the bucket of my millions from investments Dom managed for me while I was deployed. Everything that man touches turns to gold.
“Don’t need no money. I want something else.”
“An open bar for you and your buddies on your nights off?”
Slate slips me the bird.
I chuckle.
He doesn’t touch alcohol. And friends? Ain’t no way. I’m the only one he can stand to be around and have the patience for. It’s the reason I rib him every chance I get.
One of these days, he’ll grow tired of it and leave. He’s been on my six since he got out of the military. It has something to do with sticking close so that he can collect on my debt to him on his terms. Bastard.
“Nah, man.”
He’s switched from “boss” to “man,” which means we’re talking personal rather than business. I hate when Slate brings up my personal life. He likes fucking with it every chance he gets, taking on the big brother, mentor role since we served together.
Someday, I’ll settle my debt and tell him to fuck off and go make his dream of becoming a detective come true. For now, he’s a keeper with how well he helps me handle the business. He and Dom do a great job of keeping Crimson running smoothly and the ledger in the black.
“Finish what you started before the club and the women took up all your time. Find the dirtbag who put the hit on you. Dig deeper into why Carlos ate that bullet for you. I have a gut feeling it has to do with this girl you have a hard-on for.”
“And get beaten to a pulp for going anywhere near Pretty Boy Ty’s little sis? Get taken out by the knee after he kicks me in the fucking balls?”
“A beating is better than going through women like you’re living your last day on this earth. Fucking won’t make the guilt go away.”
Slate’s right. A woman under or over me doesn’t get rid of the guilt or the emptiness weighing me down every time I relive that night two years ago. I blow out a breath and rub the spot over my heart, pretending I’m brushing off a piece of lint. It should’ve been me with a bullet through the heart and not Carlos.
“Fine, so I take the beating. But I’ll get worse from Gwen.”
“Then keep it on the down-low. Take Midnight up on his offer.”
“Hold up. Are you encouraging me to buy the money pit?” My cell phone on my desk rings.
