“Ignore him, dear. We just want you here for your company, not for you to act as our personal chef. I won’t lie, though, I’d love the opportunity to spend some alone time with you. If I have to do that in front of that dang stove, so be it,” Ma said warmly. I didn’t miss the pleased expression on Fiona’s face.
“Thank you. All of you. I’ll be here Sunday, recipes in hand,” she finally replied.
“Just bring yourself, girlie. That’s more than enough,” Guard replied with staunch finality, ending the conversation before Fee could get even more emotional. Still tucked into my side, I felt her body relax, and it seemed like she slowly started to accept that she was surrounded by people who cared about her and wanted to spend time with her. That she was surrounded by family.
Chapter 19
Fiona
With the weekend approaching, I knew it was time to sit down with Reaper and Guard to show them what I had uncovered during my investigation. I was spending most of my nights awake, flipping between the books and the master document I was using to track everything. The further back I went, the more upset it made me. Someone very close to the club had been steadily taking advantage of them for a while now.
As I left work on Friday, I couldn’t help but dwell over all I had managed to uncover in those last few weeks. Now that I had gone deeper into the books for Honeys, it was glaringly obvious that was where the issues were coming from. The liquor sales were inconsistent, and the cash deposits didn’t align with the actual income. I’d been wrestling with the numbers, trying to reconcile the mountains of receipts with the deposits hitting the bank account. Only one number appeared consistently: $9,999.
Every other month, there were cash withdrawals for that amount taken out of the strip club’s profits. It was just under the required reporting amount, and would go unflagged by the banks. I had evidence that it had been going on for well over a year now. They were always to the same company, which, upon further research, didn’t exist.
Then there were the VIP parties and bottle service. Even though the club’s inventory listed items such as “Grey Goose”at reasonable prices, the bar receipts showed a suspiciously low number of sales, but at a higher price. Someone was stealing money by inflating the bottle costs and pocketing the difference, burying the transactions within the long list of purchases incurred during parties.
I had dug out one receipt that showed three bottles of champagne purchased, but the price of the bottles was almost triple what they normally charged. On top of that, it didn’t match the deposit slips. There was a growing pile of similarly suspicious receipts.
Close to finished, I had a timeline detailing how someone had skimmed small amounts over the past few years, hoping nobody would notice. But the total was significant, enough to seriously hurt the club’s bottom line. Whoever was doing it was slowly but steadily bleeding Honeys dry.
I was on my way home, and couldn’t help the anxiety that brushed through me at the idea of sitting down with the guys the following day. I didn’t want to be the harbinger of bad news, but I also wanted to help the club any way I could. Trying to shake off those thoughts, I focused on Bash and the upcoming weekend. With the weather finally turning, I was looking forward to snuggling up to him while we watched scary movies.
Halloween was actually one of my favorite holidays. I loved seeing the decorations and how everyone tried to out-ghoul their neighbor. A sharp wind blew through the air, sending fallen leaves skipping along the sidewalk. Shivering, the chill that ran down my spine had nothing to do with the surrounding houses covered in pumpkins and skeletons.
A wave of sadness overcame me as memories of Jackson ran through my mind. Halloween was the only holiday we ever celebrated, not ones to miss out on getting free food, even if it was candy. We would dress up, make sure our faces were hidden, and stop at every house our feet could take us to.
We would bring home pillowcases full of candy and stash them away for the year. I hadn’t seen or heard from him since the cookout, but I knew we were due for a conversation sooner rather than later. As if he, too, was called out by the upcoming holiday, I spotted him hovering outside once I pulled up to my apartment building.
Distracted by thoughts of my pending conversation about the club’s books, I initially missed Jackson’s hulking form standing to the side of the entrance. It was rare that I came home alone. Bash or Match were usually with me. Friday was the only day Bash didn’t drive me home. Charlie forced him to wait until after girls’ night to join me. I wasn’t sure if Jackson knew that somehow, but his timing was certainly impeccable.
“Fiona, can I talk to you? We got some things we need to sort out, just you and me. Please?” he pleaded. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes.
“I’m sure you’ve got a lot to say, and I have a few questions of my own, so you may as well come up. Ground rules, though. You only talk when I say you can, and if I have to ask you to leave more than once, you will regret it.” He followed me upstairs, the silence stretching between us. I didn’t have it in me to try any small talk with him. Pausing as I entered my apartment, I turned to face my brother. His jaw was clenched, the determination on his face so familiar.
I put my bag and keys away before grabbing some water. I deliberately didn’t offer anything to Jackson, not wanting to encourage him to stay. Back in the living room, he was hovering awkwardly, looking around my apartment. I sat down on the couch and leaned back, ready to get it over with.
“You wanted to talk, so talk. What is it you so desperately wanted to tell me?” I asked.
“They lied to me.”
“Who did?” I sighed at his vague response.
“Mom and Dad.”
I snorted before replying, “Yes, that’s one of the few things they’re good at. Which particular lie are you referring to?”
“I came back, after I left the Army. They told me you were an addict. Had run off when you were eighteen after stealing their money.”
I couldn’t hide the disgust and anger on my face. “I’ve never taken anything stronger than Tylenol in my life. I have no idea why you would have believed them in the first place, but that you would believe that of me, well, fuck you, too,” I growled.
We both grew up watching our parents eke out an existence just to get from one high to the next, snorting, smoking, or ingesting whatever they could find just to feel something or nothing—whatever it was they were chasing.
“I didn’t believe them at first, but I went around, and the neighbors all said the same thing. You ran off after stealing money for drugs.”
I snorted. “Oh, of course, the neighbors. Our dear friends, who always helped us out. Stellar sources you got there.”
Jackson sighed, wiping a hand down his face before looking up. “What about my letters? The money?” he asked, his voice hopeful.
