Chapter 7 #2
My legs feel like jelly when I get off the treadmill and make my way to the shower. I keep my hand off my dick while I’m washing up. I’ve thought about Nico enough, don’t need to beat off to memories of him giving me the orgasm of a century.
After I finish my shower, I pad to my room naked to pull on a pair of sweatpants.
I grab my discarded suit from the ground and toss it into the hamper, but not before grabbing the letter from the pocket.
It’s wrinkled all to shit, but I smooth it out so I can take it to Dad’s house this evening.
Me, Carter, and Dad can figure shit out.
Then I head to Hendrix’s room.
I sweep my hands gently on his sharply made bed. That fucker made his bed with military precision every morning without fail. It still looks perfect.
I lower myself to the mattress, that annoying lump forming in my throat as I lie down flat on my back.
It’s eerie to lie in his bed, resting where he did, but I need this closeness to…something or someone. He was all I had for years. I’m not ready to give that up yet.
I turn to look at the framed photo of us on his nightstand. I remember when he showed it to me. I gave him shit for being sentimental, but he said it’s the only photo he had of me with a smile on my face.
I grab the photo and bring it closer to my face. We were in my office, Hendrix goofing off while I worked. When he got my attention and I looked over to see his phone on the front facing camera, I flipped him the bird with a sarcastic smirk on my face.
Only Hendrix could make me smile. Not even Carter knew me well enough to make a full grin bloom across my face.
Hendrix was my person.
I gently set the picture back where I got it, not wanting it out of place.
Not cleaning out Hen’s room is probably some sort of coping mechanism or some shit, but I’m not there yet. Soon, maybe. Right now, I just need to feel close to him.
Staring at the ceiling, I say, “Someone is after me, Hen. I don’t know who, but they threatened me.
Here, listen to this fucking letter they had sent to me via a fucking courier.
Can you believe that shit? A fucking courier.
” I read out the threat to him, scoffing when I’m done.
“Who do you think it’s from? Someone from a rival family? ”
I close my eyes, waiting as if he’ll answer me. My heart twists at the silence, but I don’t dwell on it. I’ve had months to get used to Hendrix no longer answering my questions.
My hand goes to the scar on my rib, and I rub at it until my head clears.
“Yeah, I don’t know either,” I say. “But I’m going to find out. Five million dollars? I’d sooner give them my fucking trigger finger.”
My eyes grow heavy with exhaustion and agony. I just need a few minutes to rest, to get my head on straight. Just a few minutes.
Sleeping in Hendrix’s room was a bad idea. I dreamed about him and woke up with my face wet with tears. I rarely cry, and this is the first time I’ve cried for my friend. The tears wouldn’t fucking stop and I spent almost an hour in his room, sobs racking through me.
Hen and I grew up together; he’s been the one person I could count as mine since my mom was murdered. Dad and Carter were always closer, since Dad had to teach Car the ropes for the business. Mom and I were almost inseparable, same for me and Hendrix. Now they’re both gone and I have no one.
When I get to my dad’s house, I immediately walk over to the bar, drinking three fingers of whiskey in one go before I even speak to anyone.
I pour another glass and make my way over to the table, sipping it as I try to school my face into a blank expression, hoping the hurt doesn’t show.
It’s like someone stole the sound from the room. Everyone is quiet, glancing between each other before their eyes land back on me.
I must look a fucking mess, my face pink, eyes red and my hair all over my head from the constant glide of my fingers. It’s a wonder I even got dressed in something nice instead of my favorite ratty jeans and a t-shirt.
Maybe I should have. Carter never dresses up for dinner. Like now, he has on a black crew neck shirt and a pair of black jeans. Dad never makes him wear a suit, always giving him the benefit of the doubt.
I scoff and sip from my glass.
“Declan, son, you okay?” Dad asks, laying a hand over mine.
I slide my hand from under his and down the rest of the whiskey. “I’m good. I’m getting another drink.”
“D,” Carter starts, but I hold my hand up, cutting him off.
I’m so tired of the two of them coddling me. They think I’m a hothead and I don’t know how to think logically, but it’s because they won’t let me. The only way I can get their attention is with my fists or my gun.
They never let me in. Sure, Dad taught both me and Carter the same lessons, but it was always more important if Carter knew them.
He got the extra attention. He got more from Dad.
Without Mom, I was left with whatever energy that was remaining after his time with Carter.
Now with Hendrix gone, I have no one to talk to about it, no one that I trust with that weakness.
At the bar, I pull down a fresh bottle of expensive whiskey and fill my glass. Instead of nursing it, I gulp it down in a few swallows, then pour another three fingers.
Before I can step back to the table, Nico walks up behind me. “Pour me one.”
I try to push past him, but he grabs my arm. Heat sears through me from his touch, but it’s quickly tamped down by a swirling inferno of anger and pain. Anger that my revenge did nothing to bring me peace and pain that both of my favorite people left me behind.
“Don’t touch me,” I growl at him and shake him off. Nico just stares at me, his head tilted. Even my worst attitude doesn’t bother him and that bugs me more than anything.
“Just fuck off, Nico,” I sneer and stride back to the table, flopping down in my chair. He comes back to the table a few seconds later, a glass of whiskey in hand. As he sips, he looks at me, his eyes bouncing between me and the empty chair to my right.
I fucking hate that he can read me right now. Not even Dad or Carter seem to know that I’m fucked up inside, that I fucked my own head up when I wanted to feel close to Hendrix.
Fuck, I have to shake this shit. I have to. Spiraling into depression will only make it easy for someone to put a bullet in my brain. But for tonight, I’ll allow myself to feel. I just wish Nico didn’t see it.
“Declan, what’s going on?” Carter asks. His eyes brim with concern.
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him about the threats.
I even brought the latest blackmail note with me, hoping to make heads or tails of it.
But the pitying looks I’m getting from him and Dad make me want to figure it out on my own.
Dad and Carter said I need to use my head, so I’ll do that and figure out who’s trying to bilk me for five mil.
Then I’ll fucking blow their brains out.
After that, I’ll tell my family what I did so they’ll see I don’t need to be treated with fucking kid gloves.
“Nothing. I’m good.” My words slur, and shake my head to reel the tipsiness in, but that just makes the room swim.
Nico grunts but doesn’t say anything. I glare at him. “The fuck is your problem, bitch?” I hiss at Nico, making him grin and blow me a kiss. Lust flares through me just as much as anger does.
I slap my hands on the table as if to spew some foul shit, but Carter makes an irritated noise, drops his head, and squeezes his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Please, not tonight. Can we just have a normal fucking dinner, Deck?”
I clamp my mouth shut as my free hand drifts to my ribs, rubbing the space to ground me.
I don’t want to fight tonight. There’s too much on my mind and if I go off, I’ll fucking explode on everyone.
Dad watches me as I finish my glass of whiskey, his lips a slash across his face, like he wants to say something but is holding himself back. Good. I’m not sure I’d be able to control my temper if they decided to lecture me.
Dinner is served and everyone talks about work and the business. They ask me about security and how I’ve vetted the extra men I put on Carter and Kai’s home. I go through it mechanically, not talking more than I have to.
A dark, painful feeling has a tight grip on me and I can’t shake it. Pain and melancholy clench at my heart and I don’t want it to spill all over everyone else. Besides, I don’t want anyone here to comfort me. They’ll end up pissing me off and my gun will come out to play.
All I can do is drink to numb the pain until I can shake this feeling off. It’ll go away as soon as I figure out this bullshit blackmailer. Then my mind can downshift to finally grieving my lost friend.
Until then, me and whiskey will become good friends.
Dinner passes in a blur, and I shovel food into my mouth on autopilot.
Anything to soak up this alcohol so I can drink more.
I want to be absolutely blitzed when I leave here.
Family dinner nights are the only times I can drink my fill, where I don’t have to be on.
While my family is around, I can unwind and not be on guard for danger.
Hendrix can watch me when we get home.
My drunken gaze slides over the empty chair and it all comes crashing on me. Hendrix won’t have my back ever again.
As if knowing my friend is on my mind, Dad says, “One of my main men has a son, D. He’s looking to rise up the ranks and needs a position to prove himself. With Hendrix being gone for a few months now—”
“No,” I mumble, reaching for my glass, but there are two of them and I grasp at empty air.
Dad moves the real glass out of my reach, his eyebrows knitted. “You need someone to have your back. He’s a good kid.”
“I can find my own…my own bodyguard.” My slurred words are more apparent and I start stuffing bread into my mouth realizing I need to sober up so I can drive home. Maybe that last glass wasn’t such a hot idea.
Carter clears his throat and I flit my gaze to his.
“I’m worried that you’re not protected, Declan,” he says.
“Shit has calmed down since the Fensters were wiped out, but anyone can try us. It’s the worst kept secret that you’re unprotected.
What if someone tries you and no one is around to put them down? ”
This is why I can’t tell them about the letters…at least I think this is why. Thoughts aren’t as clear now as they were before. But I think it has something to do with them being overprotective and not giving me any freedom if they know.
Yeah, that’s it. They’ll nag and try to solve shit for me. I want to be the one that figures this shit out. And then they’ll tell me it’s my fault for doing something I don’t even remember doing to put me in this position.
Despite the shit I spew to my family, I want them to see me as their equal, as someone that can handle his own shit.
I’ll start with finding out who’s after me.
When it’s solved, I’ll tell Dad and Carter that it was me that figured it out.
Maybe they’ll finally see me as more than a fuck up that shoots first and asks for details later.
“Whatever,” I mumble, getting to my feet. I sway but catch myself on the back of my chair. “I don’t care. You run my life any other time.” I stumble away from the table. “Why stop now?”