CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Griffin
I climb my stairs, sending Connor a text with an idea to change up our weapon delivery routes to avoid the Feds getting suspicious when I see a faint light from under my bedroom door.
Right, Ava is in there.
I demanded she sleep in my bedroom and my bed. Opening the door, I take in the quiet.
She’s asleep. But it’s close to three a.m. I’d be more concerned if she was awake, probably planning something diabolical.
I pad to the bathroom, shower, and brush my teeth. With a towel slung low on my hips, I consider if I should get into bed naked. I doubt Ava is naked. Even if she were, I don’t know if I would do anything about it.
Non-consensual sex isn’t my thing. I want a woman to crave me. Drip for me. Beg me.
From my closet, I grab a pair of sleep pants. As each second passes, exhaustion takes over until I can barely keep my eyes open. I couldn’t get it up right now if she did beg me.
Okay, I would, I chuckle to myself.
After shutting the closet light, I carefully move through the dark to get into bed. Lifting the covers, I feel something tug them down. Is Ava sleeping on top of the bedspread?
This is silly. I reach over and feel something silky, but soft. Very soft. What the hell?
I turn over to put on the nightstand lamp and let out a howl that can wake the dead. On the bed is a...a clown. A life-sized, stuffed fucking clown with frizzy orange hair, a white face, and painted red diamonds for eyes.
“What in fuck’s sake is that?” I shriek.
Ava lifts her head, smiling. “You wanted me in bed. I needed my emotional-support clown. You don’t mind, do you?”
Shaking, I push away my deep-rooted fear of clowns. It’s stupid and childish, but they freak me the fuck out.
“Yes, I do mind.” My voice cracks, and I narrow my eyes at her. “When did you start needing an emotional-support...anything? You were in the Navy.”
“It started when... I was in the cage.” She rolls over and hugs the thing.
My shoulders sag in defeat. But I know she’s lying. Someone told her about my...phobia.
“I’m sorry. I can’t sleep with this damn thing in my bed. How about I get you a dog?” I’d rather sleep with a fucking drooling Saint Bernard with a weak bladder.
Only, when I tug the clown, it pulls back. I follow its arms and realize they are pulled over its head. Metal glints off my lamp.
“Did you chain this damn thing to the bed?” I try to pull it off, but Ava slaps her hand across it.
“Stop. Yes, I did. You wanted me in the bed. I’m here. This is what I need to be comfortable. And it creates a barrier so you don’t wander over here.”
“You have my word.”
“I just met you. Sorry.”
“No, you didn’t just fucking meet me. You knew me for all of two hours and came back to my motel room. And even though you thought I was going to murder you, you stayed and fucked me anyway.” I realize I’m shouting. “And where in bleedin’ fuck’s sake did you get this thing?” I run my fingers along the round steel chain links. “ And chains?”
“You’d be surprised what can be ordered online and delivered the same day.”
“I bet.” Sweating, I take a pillow to cover the hideous clown’s face.
“You’re free to sleep in another bed. Or I can.” She pushes the cover away.
“Don’t you dare.” I lie down and turn to shut the lamp. “Good night, you fucking psycho.”
***
T HREE DAYS LATER, I dress in my best suit, the same one I wore to Trace’s wedding. When I come out of my closet, Ava is standing there gawking at me, hunger in her eyes.
“I’ve got a meeting this morning.” I pack up my wallet, soaking in her reaction.
It’s not one entirely of lust, but...envy. She was promised power and got turned into a doll. A trophy-wife.
I’m tempted to invite her to this meeting. I want a strong woman at my side. But the strong woman I remember hasn’t shown up yet.
She will.
Ava’s eyes dim suspiciously. “Another episode of my new favorite Netflix show it is.”
I shudder to think what the hell she’s watching. And planning.
I pick up Connor, who gives me a report on how it went bringing Brandon’s remains to his mother. Only, she’d fled the country before they got to her empty house.
“Fled?” I ask, the hair on the back of my neck standing up.
“Shane tracked her passport crossing into Mexico a few days ago.”
“Fuck.” I put my head down. “Is she someone we need to keep an eye on?”
“Not if she took off.”
“Then what do we do with his body?”
“I have a guy who can bring the remains to the upstate lakes region, tie them to a block of cement, and dump Keller in a deep lake.”
Liking the plan, I add, “Separate the pieces into three dumps.”
“Christ, that’s smart.” Connor punches me in the arm. “We also took pictures and had them printed to send the message around the neighborhood. He’s gone. We’re in charge. I have a team of capos carefully handpicked from our investigation days to help make progress on the streets. This world is now Quinlan Empire.”
Troi Keller is dead, and so is Brandon. I’m the heir. And the message is clear: Pledge your loyalty or watch your back.
I’m not in the mood to start slaughtering people en masse.
Connor goes on to report that most people don’t give a fuck who’s in charge. Most are paying for protection, which we’ll provide. Some want weapons, which we’ll sell. Just not to kids. We’re phasing out drugs and completely decimated a trafficking ring Troi put in place.
I only wish I could have killed him myself for that one.
Disgusting.
After picking up Shane for our secret meeting, my driver Gus races me across town. My throat goes dry seeing the metal spires to the fencing that surrounds Gracie Mansion.
When I sit up, my bodyguards flinch and reach into their jackets.
“What’s the problem, boss?” Zeke mutters, being the voice for him and his partner Ace, who doesn’t speak.
Zeke and Ace are code names, and are from Boston, recruited by Trace and Rhys. They have zero connections here in New York. Fresh and brand new, they have only ever known loyalty to a Quinlan.
“It’s fine,” I say to Zeke with a hand signal. “I’ll leave my piece with you. I’m thinking I don’t need it to meet the mayor.”
Turns out we’re not meeting the mayor, but a deputy on his team. Connor stays with the guards, while Shane and I are brought to an office escorted by an assistant who met us at the visitor’s desk.
Inside, Ares sits in a chair, his long legs crossed, looking quite comfortable. “Donly Conrad, this is my future brother-in-law, Griffin Quinlan.”
I blink in surprise at the suspiciously Irish name as I shake his hand. “Mr. Conrad.”
“Good to meet you, Mr. Quinlan, but there’s a snag in the project,” Conrad bypasses useless chit-chat.
Air empties from my lungs. “What fucking snag?” I bark to level set that I am not to be trifled with.
“A special envoy from DC, who will brief the Senate Budget Committee for this project, requested a meeting. With all of you present.” Donly glances at each of us. “I need to do a background check on each of you before we have any more meetings. Does anyone have skeletons in their closets that would put them on a Feds watch list?”
“Not me,” Ares says smugly.
“None here,” I answer, my back straight. “None we know of.”
Shane narrows his eyes at my cagey response. I don’t mention I was removed from the Coronado naval base. I don’t think Ewan ever told anyone else. I was his second. That embarrassing failure stayed between us. Now I have to tell Shane to make sure it’s washed from my record.
Donly points to us with a beady gaze. “I’m recommending your contract and using my persuasion to the other members on that committee to do the same.”
Persuasion costs money so I don’t thank him.
“I’ll see you tonight at my club,” Ares says, standing and strutting away with a wink.
Great, he’s going to get this guy laid.
Shane and I leave, walking shoulder to shoulder but in silence.
At the car, Zeke mentions Connor got picked up by Trace to deal with someone. I tug Shane aside and mention what happened at Coronado, but just the removal part. Not why. And I don’t name that prick who nearly assaulted Ava, who then complained about me .
“Looks like I got some records to erase.” Shane punches me in the arm and texts our half-brother Rian, who drives for us, for a ride to his brownstone.
“I’d like you covered by a guard, too, Shane,” I remind him.
He stiffens. “I’ll work on that.”
I’m ready to argue more when I get a text from my credit card company:
Charge Pending:
$62,457.89
One Fine Day Bridal Couture.
To approve click this link...
I guess Aunt Helena convinced Ava to leave the house. She fought like a feral cat, so I stayed out of it. She has their name, not mine. Not yet.
I’m just stuck living with her.
And paying her credit card bills for a lavish wedding dress.
When I get to my car, I go to Google Maps to look up the address for One Fine Day Bridal Couture.
“Gus, detour to this location.” I have to see what the hell a $62,000 wedding dress looks like.