Chapter 6 Connall
Connall
Mounted discreetly beside the door is a “Knock if you’re hungry” sign, and on the step lies a mechanical fresh water dispenser for stray cats, beside a big bowl of dry cat food.
“He’s a pretty nice guy,” Beau states, tucking his sunglasses into his inside breast pocket and running a hand over his bald head. “Not many restaurant guys feed the hungry on demand.”
“No shit.” Connall doesn’t mention that feeding the neighborhood’s homeless is the least of Gideon’s largesse. There’s a file an inch thick in Connall’s desk detailing all the ways Gideon gives back to his community.
Recently, Connall has taken a page out of his cousin’s book of charity and funneled even more of Carnell’s ill-gotten gains into his son’s favorite charities.
Most recently, a donation of a hundred thousand dollars was made anonymously to a children’s home in Dandridge, and another to fund several culinary school scholarships.
“Guess that’s why we’re here, though. He’s too nice for our shit.” His friend doesn’t say it to dig the knife in; he’s just stating the obvious. “Ready, Boss?”
More than ready to finalize the last piece of Carnell’s empire, Connall peers out the window, organizing his thoughts and silently rehearsing the social niceties that greeting his cousin will require.
It has taken nearly a year to untangle the maze of shell companies and silent partnerships the old man built in the years after Gideon’s mother disappeared, her son in tow.
The industrial properties and two safe deposit boxes that remained are registered under Gideon’s name, along with a legacy portfolio of high-yield investments—all locked behind signatures Connall can’t forge or delegate.
Legal ownership is technically Gideon’s, and now, so Connall can finally set his cousin free, he needs the heir who never wanted the crown to sign it all away.
Popping a mint to take care of his coffee breath, he checks that his scent patch is in place.
Hiding his scent from outsiders (and himself) has been an impossible habit to break, and while he would like to respect the label of ‘family’ and go without, Connall can’t force himself to familiarity when he isn’t sure Gideon will do the same.
Life is an exhausting web of decisions and choices. Will they or won’t they? Enemy or ally? Life or death? Connall’s life has only become more and more complicated of late. At least this meeting means Connall can cross Gideon Carnell off his “to worry about” list.
“Yeah, fuck. Let’s do this. It’s fight night at All’s End, and you know it’s always a crap shoot.”
Emphasis on crap.
There’s nothing like lone-wolf Weres beating the crap out of each other for fun, money, or penance to liven up a weeknight. Of course, some enjoy the show—blood and humiliation, betting on whether someone will lose life or limb.
At least now that he and Beau run things, there are rules.
Beau whines, as if Connall had asked him to empty the dishwasher and take the trash out after he’s done his homework. “I fucking hate fight nights, man. So much clean-up. And the stink.”
“Stop your whining, you big baby.”
Climbing out, Connall waits while Beau locks and sets the alarm on the SUV. Thanks to new tech from a friend, the vehicle is better protected against tampering or a car bomb. It’s so sensitive that he hopes it won’t be triggered by one of those stray cats Gideon loves so much.
When they exit the alley, Connall appreciates how nice Quest looks. Neat brickwork and a tidy patio out front give him hope that the inside will be orderly as well.
Beau holds the door, setting off a tinkling bell to herald each patron’s arrival, and the cool interior welcomes them—but that’s where Connall’s appreciation stops.
What a designer might call eclectic hipster chic, Connall calls chaos. It stops him dead in the doorway for a millisecond before Beau pushes past him with a chuckle.
Randomly shaped tables and mismatched chairs crowd the space. Not one light fixture is the same as another, and the walls are covered with photos of Nashville’s skyline and other hidden gems.
The back door swings open, and Gideon appears, already halfway across the room thanks to Luca, who’s got him by the hand and with zero patience for slow entrances. His smile is small, but it’s real.
Luca Wilde is a sassy sprite who has only ever delighted in poking Connall’s calm at every turn. Unpredictable and incredibly sweet, Connall is embarrassed to say he’s more afraid of the tiny man than he is of his cousin. And he’s seen Gideon nearly rip the spine from another man’s back.
He also can’t deny he’s…fond.
“Connall!” Luca calls, his grin revealing almost all of his straight white teeth. “I missed you!”
Beau huffs beside him.
He hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting the whirlwind in person when they were in Florida, but he’d certainly had the honor of hearing Connall’s complaints.
Too sweet, too loud, too perfect for his cousin.
When he’d gone back over the conversation to himself later, he’d wondered if he’d sounded more envious than irritated.
When they approach, they bring with them the scent of summer rain and chocolate mocha.
Neither man is wearing a patch. Perhaps they are family, after all.
Nostrils flaring, Gideon raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment on Connall’s choice to wear a patch. A flash of something like understanding—or pity—in his brown eyes.
“Nice to see you. Hope you don’t mind that I brought Luca with me?”
“As if I’d miss the chance to say ‘Hi’ again. Nixie says, ‘Hey,’ too. He’s at—”
“Luc,” Gideon cuts him off.
Connall hopes it’s because the list of places Nix Rhodes has been lately is too long, rather than that he wouldn’t trust Connall to know his omega’s whereabouts.
“It’s nice to see you again, Luca. Gideon.” He holds out his hand to Gideon, who doesn’t hesitate to accept with a firm but not punishing grip.
He tries to do the same to Luca, but the smaller man catches his mate unaware and pulls free. Luca wraps his arms around Connall’s waist in a hug.
“We’re family, silly. We like to hug it out, right?”
There’s a snort behind him from his soon-to-be-fired bodyguard, who should have been guarding his body from random shows of physical affection.
“Ooh, and who is this tall drink of water?” Luca asks, thankfully releasing Connall before he’d been forced to reciprocate, curiosity written all over his face. “Have we met before?”
“This is Beauregard Johnson, my head of security.”
“Nice to meet y’all. Connall has told me all about you,” Beau says. He offers his hand to Gideon and then Luca, who shakes it this time.
“Are you sure we’ve not met before? I don’t forget a face, especially—”
“Luca. Let’s sit.”
“Fine,” he whines, and Connall almost laughs, because it’s the exact tone Beau had expressed not ten minutes ago. “But I will remember, and then…”
A small four-top is set for a late lunch near the windows.
Luca finds a seat with his back to the room easily enough, leaving Gideon, Beau, and Connall frozen in what resembles a silent game of musical chairs—each one trying to figure out who should have a clear view of the restaurant without sitting directly in front of the large glass window.
“What’s the hold-up?” Luca asks, head tilted like an inquisitive exotic bird. He finally rolls his eyes and points to his right. “Connall. Head of Security, you’re back there. And Sugar, you can sit here, by me. Good? Good.”
They all drop into their assigned seats without a word.
“Good call, baby,” Gideon says, running a fingertip over Luca’s wrist, the motion light and gentle. He seems so much lighter than the last time Connall had seen him.
A tingle of happiness for his cousin slips past Connall’s emotional walls, curving his lips.
“I’ve been looking forward to dining at Quest for a while,” Connall adds, instead of the sudden barrage of personal questions that comes to mind. Unplanned inquiries about Gideon’s family, his new restaurant, and how it feels to be free. That sort of thing.
“Glad you could make it. Let’s get business out of the way first? Then Chef Elias can serve, and we can socialize.”
Socialize? The horror.
“Sounds good. Beau?”
Beau produces the envelope from his jacket and the Montblanc pen Connall likes to use for deals. It sends a message that Connall doesn’t intend to send here, but Gideon pays no attention—just slides out the sheaf of papers.
Ollie had placed helpful, light blue tabs where they needed Gideon’s signature, but instead of just signing where indicated, he takes a moment and scans each document.
When he gets to the last page, he blinks. One after the other, as if he’s processing something he hadn’t expected.
It’s the deed to a cottage and several acres of real estate in the middle of the Smoky Mountains. Connall had sent a recon team out there a month ago to survey the asset, but when they’d returned, he’d known this was where his aunt had spent her last days—and where Gideon had learned to be free.
They’d reported a small mound of earth covered in wildflowers, twenty feet from a moss-covered cabin. They hadn’t gone inside, but they could see it hadn’t been lived in for quite some time.
“My father knew where we were the whole time?” Gideon murmurs, scent tinged with petrichor.
“It would seem so.”
“Then why…”
“Who the fuck knows how his brain worked, or why he did what he did. But the cabin and the land are yours, and I wanted to be sure you knew that—legally. I understand you’ve filed plans to build?
” Connall didn’t need to ask how Gideon would have gotten around the legalities; where there was a will, there was a way.
“I’ve not been back since I was seventeen. It was her place, you know?”
Yes, Connall understands well the attachment to places, even when the people you loved no longer occupy them.
“Well, this should make the whole thing easier for you. At least on the legal end.”
“Yeah. It’s—” Gideon pauses before shaking his head. “Thank you for this.”