Chapter 23 #2
Brett headed to his desk to grab his coat and check that he had everything he needed.
He stared at the radio, wondering if he should take it with him.
It would be good to get something on tape, but he would end up in the hospital—or the Thames—if they found it.
He shook his head, not wanting to risk it.
He slipped his coat over his shoulders and strode to the door.
It took all his restraint to stay away from the receiving room before he left.
Felix was more than capable of doing his job and dealing with people, but since Brett had taken a taste of him, he wanted more.
He wanted to be with him all the time, and that couldn’t happen.
They had jobs to do, lives to lead, and Felix had family.
On the drive to Malcolm’s home—Brett’s childhood one—he mentally walked through the options he had.
He could be completely honest with Malcolm with the hope that he would reciprocate, but it was unlikely.
He could tell some half-truths, after all, some of the men at the house Felix had been taken to were his; he must know something had happened to them.
Or he could blatantly lie and see what verbal volleyball they ended up having.
Sometimes that worked well because bits of information came out unexpectedly.
Deciding to go the half-truth route to begin with, he pulled up at the gate.
“Wait, please,” the guard said, entering the surveillance box to make a call without even asking who he was. But then, everyone probably knew him.
Brett watched his profile, his lips moving before he paused. He spoke again and then hung up.
“Go on through,” the guard said, though Brett could tell he wasn’t happy about it.
“Thanks.”
The guard’s eyebrows rose as if surprised by his manners. “You’re welcome.”
He parked in a space in front of the house and inhaled deeply before letting it out slowly.
Every time he visited, the memories thrust him back in time, both good and bad visions.
It was impossible to keep them at bay, but he swallowed them down, ignoring them while he climbed out and headed for the door.
His gaze took in several guards around the perimeter of the house, but there was plenty more he couldn’t see, of that he was certain.
The front door opened as he reached it, Malcolm himself gesturing him inside. “What a surprise.”
“We have things to discuss, Malcolm.”
“We do indeed. Not least of which is my missing five men.” Malcolm headed deeper into the house, which meant that Brett got further away from the place that held the worst memories, a step in the right direction for Brett to be able to keep his cool.
“Five, was it? I wondered how many were yours.”
Malcolm stared at him from behind the island counter in the kitchen, and Brett perched himself on a barstool on the opposite side. They stared at each other for a while before Malcolm shook his head.
“And you said you wouldn’t be able to do this job,” he muttered. “You kid yourself, Brett. You are more than capable of being the head of this family.”
“No, I’m not. There’s a difference, you see. I would kill to protect. You kill to obtain.”
“I’m protecting my interests.” Brett huffed a laugh, but Malcolm’s next words cut it off. “So, you’re saying that if you had to choose between Felix and the Sutcliffes, you wouldn’t choose Felix?”
The idea sent denial right through him, but he bit his tongue. “There is no choosing, Malcolm. We don’t need to. I want to know what’s going on. Why did you take Felix?”
Malcolm poured some hot water into a mug, and the scent of coffee filtered through the air.
He gestured to Brett, silently asking if he wanted one.
Brett nodded and waited while he made it.
Rounding the island, Malcolm placed the mug beside Brett and settled onto a stool next to him, much closer than he’d expected, and probably far too close for his guards’ liking.
“I didn’t.”
The truth. Brett tilted his head. “Then why were your men there?”
“Backup.”
“Why did they need to be backup?”
“They couldn’t have too many of their own men on the job.”
“Why?”
“Because it wouldn’t look good.”
“To whom?” Malcolm sipped his drink and stayed quiet. “Who are they?”
“The kidnappers.”
Brett breathed through his nose, expecting the play on words, but finding it irritating all the same. “What was the plan for Felix?”
Malcolm sucked on his teeth for a moment. “Merely a toy.”
“A toy?” Brett frowned. “Why?”
Malcolm shrugged and sighed. “I’m going to be honest with you, Brett. I don’t know everything. I have a small part to play in this script, and I’m pretty much done with it. It doesn’t benefit me other than what I got from it, and I don’t plan to dwell on it once I’m done.”
“What benefit did you get?” Malcolm sipped his drink again, staying silent. “When will you be done?” He said nothing. “Why are you being so forthcoming?” Though he wished he would be even more so.
“I made an agreement, and I’m planning to stick to it.”
Brett snorted. “What about Maddox? That wasn’t part of the agreement.”
A slight tightening around Malcolm’s eyes. “I didn’t know about that until after it was done.”
“Venus.” Malcolm inclined his head. “Are you saying she’s involved in this? That she brought Maddox in without your consent?”
“I’m not saying that.”
Brett waited. “But you’re not saying she’s not involved either.” He exhaled. “Why get Maddox to report back daily and weekly at Bernie’s?”
A small frown appeared between Malcolm’s eyes, and Brett realised he was out of the loop on some things, but he covered well by saying, “Quick daily check-ins for health and weekly one for more information.”
Brett didn’t believe him. “Who is Alastair Moore?”
Malcolm frowned and shook his head. “I’ve never heard of him. Why?”
“Venus offered to do something for me if I made sure an inquiry into him disappeared. I wondered if it had anything to do with you.”
“Never heard the name that I recall. Do you know anything else about him?”
“I didn’t look.”
Malcolm sighed. “Look, Brett, I’m cutthroat.
I kill people. I make the hard decisions.
I’d gladly put a bullet in your brain right now and not flinch, but I have respect for rules.
For gentlemen’s agreements. For tentative…
working relationships. If something is working in my favour—for example, our agreement—I am unlikely to want to change that, especially if it would highlight me in an unfavourable hue.
” He put his mug down and leaned his cheek on his fist, elbow on the table.
“I don’t have a lot to tell you, but what I will say is this…
People don’t change their spots often. I stand by how I treated you as a child because it helped create who you are today.
However, it is unlikely I would do the same again if I ever found myself in the same situation. ”
“What are you saying, Malcolm?”
“I’m saying I don’t necessarily agree with what is happening right now, but my hands are tied.” He stood, taking both mugs to the sink, even though Brett hadn’t even drunk any.
Brett stood, ready to leave, but Malcolm’s next words held him still.
“Is he still alive?”
He knew who he was referring to. “He is, though he probably wished he wasn’t yesterday. He’s being cared for.” He pointedly showed how different they were. Malcolm nodded and returned to washing the mugs.
Brett left, the silent dismissal clear in the air, and strode for his car.
Although Malcolm talked in riddles occasionally, he had made his point.
Yes, Malcolm’s men were at the house. No, they weren’t the masterminds behind it all.
Yes, Venus was involved in some way. But how it all linked together was something he still couldn’t figure out.
Venus hated him, so if she was the mind behind it all, the question then became: why?
Why now? Why wait all this time when she could’ve done something years ago?
It didn’t make sense, and it left him with more questions than answers.
As much as he despised Malcolm and what he stood for, he had been telling the truth.
He didn’t want to be part of what was going on.
What had Brett done that was bad enough to make his sister want to destroy him?
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