He bit down on his lip, uncharacteristically cautious as he spoke in a low voice. “If you really hate the nickname, I’ll make it stop. I just?—”
“Just?”
“Fuck, mate, you know. It’s you, me, and Ry, yeah? Brothers. Me and Ryker have nicknames, and you… I dunno.” He shifted on his feet, staring down at the tiled floor. “I just wanted you to have one too.”
I swallowed hard. “Dan.”
“Stupid, yeah. I know. I’ll?—”
“Daniel. You can call me Banks if it means that much to you. Just…don’t go spreading it around, okay?”
“Uh…I think that ship already sailed.” He glanced back at Kane, and his mouth turned down. “I won’t call you that in front of people anymore.”
Damn this fucking asshole for making me feel bad by showing me a genuine display of emotion. “Don’t worry about it. I guess as far as nicknames go, it’s inoffensive.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I clapped him on the shoulder. “Really.”
A wide smile instantly stretched across his face. “I need to tell King. Fuck him for running off so quickly. Why does he always disappear whenever I have big news? He’s meant to be the captain, so he should be setting an example.”
“Big news. Okay.” Rolling my eyes, I left him to it, continuing on to the showers. Under the spray, I closed my eyes, trying to ease the buzzing under my skin that had returned in full force. But it remained.
“Dad.”
My dad’s weathered face creased even further as helifted his head, his lips tilting upwards. “Jayesh. What are you doing here so late, son?”
“Priya said the Volkovs were sniffing around again, and she asked me to run through some of the numbers.” I gave a casual shrug, hoping it sounded as if the two things were connected, rather than the fact that he was a little lax when it came to the accounting part of the business, and any mistakes were likely to be down to him.
“Ah.” He waved his hand towards the computer in the corner of the room. “Go for it.”
Taking a seat behind the desk, I waited for the computer to boot up. My dad was focused on his own screen, probably updating his client notes as he tended to do in the evenings when it was quiet, with just the faint clicking of keys and his computer mouse to provide a background soundtrack.
“Had a good day?” I asked eventually, bored of waiting for the computer to finish its start-up process.
My dad hummed. “Good…that’s debatable. Successful, yes. One face lift, and one set of emergency sutures of a stab wound Des managed to incur.”
Desmond Johnson. Guillotine Graham’s right-hand man in the Thorpe Syndicate. I wondered what had happened. My dad would never tell me because of client confidentiality, so there was no point in my asking.
“Sounds great.”
He laughed at my flat tone. “Still no desire to join the family business, eh?”
“You know I will. I’ll take over the accounts, just not the surgical stuff. You have Mum and Priya for that.”
“I do.” His voice grew softer, as it always did when he spoke about our family. “You know I don’t mind you going into a different side of the business. I also don’t mind you doing something else entirely. I know our…well,mychoiceshave trapped you here, but once you have your degree, you’re free to go wherever you want to go. That’s a promise.”
“No, Dad.” I met his gaze, hoping he could see that I was serious. “I don’t feel trapped. Okay, maybe Cranham wouldn’t have been my first choice of uni, but my friends are there, and I can see you, and Mum, and Priya whenever I want. You’ve done your best to keep us away from the, uh, illegal side—and before you say anything, whatever involvement I’ve had has been my own decision, and my choice of friends hasnothingto do with you or any decisions you’ve made. They’re good guys, and we have each other’s backs no matter what. No matter what our families are involved in. And our family? We have a legitimate business here. One that you built with Mum, on your own talents.”
“One funded by the Volkov Syndicate,” he reminded me.
“Yeah, but you’ve paid that debt ten times over. Fuck, Dad. Half the crime families in the south-west probably owe you their lives.”
He rubbed his hand across his mouth, his gaze growing distant. “I know. I just hope… There’s been talk of an investigation into rural crime, and I don’t want anyone sniffing around. If they found my blood stores?—”
“They won’t,” I assured him. “Guillotine Graham would never let that happen.”
A heavy sigh fell from his throat, but he nodded. “Enough talk of my problems.” His expression lightened. “How was the game? I heard your team won.”
