I watch her dress in a pair of shorts that leave her long, toned legs exposed and a simple T-shirt. She looks effortless and beautiful, not to mention so very fuckable. I can see the tips of her hard nipples begging for my touch.
When she bends to retrieve a pair of shoes from the floor, her shorts ride up a little, teasing me with more of her flesh. She turns her head to the side and mouths something—I’m assuming to her mother—before grabbing her phone, sliding it in her back pocket, and heading downstairs.
I force myself to close my laptop and refrain from signing into the newly installed security system to watch her with the other cameras. Although most of my shit runs smoothly without my constant involvement, I make a few calls to ensure my presence is still felt, even though I haven’t been around much.
One of the last calls is to Winger. “Yeah?” he barks.
“You’ll be getting a call from Becard,” I say in lieu of a greeting.
“Why is that?” My closest confidant drawls.
“He has some papers for you to sign.”
“That so? What kind of papers?”
“Important ones. Why you asking so many questions?” I sound like a dick, but I don’t care.
“Just wondering if you’re proposing to me. You know, spousal privilege and shit.” I chuckle at his response. It may not seem like it, but Winger is funny. When we were kids, he was a clown for sure, but that shit got buried deep. Probably around the time he walked into my house when I was still covered in blood after killing my old man.
He’s kept my secrets since and proved himself loyal more times than I can count, even when he was willing to fuck with me and threaten me over Lucy. I dragged him into this life with me. He’s my reluctant rook, and it’s time I make up for all the shit I’ve put him through.
“No ring this time, but it is a bigger piece of the pie.” My words are met with a whole lot of silence. “I figured it was time we put shit on paper. You’ve taken care of the club and a few other places for a long time. They’ve been yours for a while.”
“You going straight?” He sounds incredulous, and I know he’s not talking about my orientation.
“It’s too late for me. I think I was born bent.”
“Bullshit.” Winger snorts. “Don’t act like we ain’t already halfway there. I think that’s why that dick Jayson’s been sniffing around.” I know Winger is speaking the truth about our involvement in illegal activities. Once I started making real money with my businesses and investments, I handed the day-to-day drug operations over to my knights. I still get a healthy profit from the activities, but none of it can be traced back to me.
“He was my next call. Anything I should know before I issue my decree?”
“He’s a shady motherfucker, but you already know that,” Winger tells me.
“Should he be removed from the board?” I trust Winger’s judgment, especially when I’ve been so distracted lately.
“I think he knows more than he’s letting on,” Winger hedges, avoiding flat-out telling me I should kill him, but that’s his way. He doesn’t want to influence anyone to do bad shit.
“Would you remove him?” I ask instead.
“Give me the order and it’s done.” That’s his way of telling me yes, but I can’t ask that of him. Never have and never will. That’s not to say Winger doesn’t have blood on his hands, it’s just always been his choice to get dirty.
“I’m interested in finding out what he thinks he knows. The information may prove valuable down the road. I think I’ll have a talk with him.” Winger knows conversations with me usually don’t end well, not the sort I’m talking about.
“Sounds good. It didn’t sit well with me that he was talking to the girls. I thought it was a little too close to home, if you know what I mean.” Winger’s saying he thinks Jayson knows about Lucy, or at least of her, which could put her in danger, and that’s not acceptable.
I barely manage to say, “I’ll talk to you later,” before hanging up the phone and searching through my contacts for another number.
Chapter 29
“Hey, what’s going on?” Gwen’s face is a little splotchy when I duck my head into the passenger side window of her car. I was just about to head to the store for groceries when she pulled into the driveway.
“Sorry for not calling first. Can you go for a ride with me?” She sounds nasally, like she’s been crying.
“I was just headed to the store, want to ride with me?” I know she hates the truck, but it’s easier for me to load stuff into the back.
“Um…” That’s all she has to say, and I know her answer.
“Fine, but I can’t be gone long. I have to pick up groceries.” I tug open the door and roll my eyes. My truck isn’t that bad.
