Chapter 32 Elizabeth
ELIZABETH
Two large men in athleisure and dark sunglasses, with holstered-guns intentionally obvious under their jackets, flank the door to Ray’s hotel suite.
Our luck after finding the necklace has held. Finn was able to discover there is a party planned for this upcoming weekend as a precursor to an exhibition fight, featuring former heavyweight world champion, Ray “The Hammer.” It is intended to raise money for a youth charity.
A charity run by a woman named Anna Lindquist.
Anna.
There were only two on the list. One lives in Switzerland. The other lives in Atlanta. The Atlanta-based Anna also happens to sit on the board of Jonathan Carrow’s company.
It can’t be anyone else. She has to be the Anna that Carrow mentioned—the one who’d ordered the attacks on me.
More digging by Finn and Sera has uncovered that Anna Lindquist has either a personal or business relationship with almost every person on the Lapidarist’s list. So, if there is a lynchpin to this group, it appears to be her.
The upcoming charity party gives us an advantage. A public setting, with plenty of eyes and plenty of cameras, means—I hope—there is less chance of her killing me outright.
Brady hates the idea of using me as bait—honestly, I’m not a huge fan of it either—but even he has to admit it is our best chance of settling this.
“Are you fucking kidding me with this amateur shit?” Brady mutters under his breath.
A quick look confirms he’s as disgusted by the men as I’m amused. The two bodyguards look like they’ve stepped out of central casting for a cheesy boxing movie.
One of the men steps forward, lifting his chin in challenge to Brady.
“I’m here to talk to Ray.”
“He expecting you?”
Brady doesn’t answer, and the wannabe Vin Diesel squares his shoulders. “I asked you a question.”
Over the last two days, Brady’s temper has been at a breaking point waiting for his father to respond to his messages, and I’m worried this is the excuse he’s been looking for to throw a real punch at a human.
Yesterday, Brady took me with him to the gym he owns because he couldn’t sit still anymore.
He boxed for hours, sweat glistening over every hard line of muscle.
And when sparring with James Bloom didn’t bleed the fury out of him, he punished the heavy bag until I thought the bolts in the ceiling would give.
After everyone left and it was just us, I stripped out of my clothes, looked him dead in the eye, and repeated his own words back to him. “I volunteer as tribute.”
His heavy muscles were slick and trembling with raw power, and instead of it being a turnoff, the sight of him in the ring, powerful and unstoppable, had my body on fire.
What happened after wasn’t slow or pretty. It was hard, rough, and consuming—and the best sex of my life.
Thankfully now, before Brady can attack, the double doors are thrown open, and we are greeted by a man who bears a strong resemblance to Brady… only older, with a buzz cut and a lifetime of hard living.
“My boy!” Ray throws his arms wide in greeting.
The two guards step back, but Brady makes no move to reciprocate his father’s gesture. In fact, his lip curls, and his posture becomes ramrod straight.
Ray’s eyes flit past us to the hallway, and his shoulders droop a little. “No Sera?”
“No,” Brady grinds out. “This isn’t a social call.”
Disappointment flickers across the man’s face, but it’s gone so quick I think I might have imagined it. “Oh well, another time.” He turns back to the suite, his open satin kimono billowing around him.
He is not what I was expecting. At all. Following him farther into the room, he gestures to two large, kidney-shaped sofas facing each other as he goes to the kitchen island and uncorks a bottle of tequila before splashing some into a short glass.
He looks up and gestures with the bottle. “Want some?”
“It’s a little early,” I say, when it’s obvious Brady isn’t going to respond.
So, this is Brady’s father. Brady clearly inherited Ray’s broad shoulders and muscular build as well as his strong jaw and green eyes. However, years of drinking and partying, have marked Ray’s face, including his nose, which has clearly been broken numerous times, and his cauliflower ear.
There are deep wrinkles around his eyes and grooves beside his nose, running to his mouth.
I know from what Brady has told me that his father is only seventeen years older than himself, but he looks more weathered than his age.
Ray is still a handsome man, and as he stands, feet braced wide waiting for us to speak, I get the sense that the two men’s personalities aren’t that far off either.
Not that I’d ever say as much to Brady.
But it’s obvious. These are two men confident in their roles in life and who don’t care what anyone thinks of them.
“Do you want to get dressed?” Brady’s voice is deceptively even, but I can hear the irritation laced through the words.
Ray’s gaze darts to me, and then he grins, propping one fist on his hip just above his satin boxer shorts, pushing back one of the open sides of the short kimono, and lifts the glass to his mouth.
After taking a healthy swallow, he smacks his lips. “Naw, I’m good. You don’t mind, do you, sweetheart?” His eyes have the same mischievous twinkle I’ve seen in Brady’s, and I know his flirting is harmless. He is only looking to get a response from Brady.
Yep, these two are extremely similar.
I keep my voice neutral. “I’m good.”
Brady is definitely not good. His jaw is locked so tight it’s a wonder his teeth don’t shatter.
“Should we sit?” I suggest before the testosterone fog suffocates us all.
Ray motions toward the sofas. “Please, be my guest.” He sprawls out on one. His eyes stay on me when he adds, “Brady?”
Brady huffs and sits beside me, close enough our knees touch “How long have you been in Atlanta?”
His voice is nonchalant, but you’d have to be an idiot not to pick up on the subtext. And apparently Ray’s mind is just as sharp as his son’s.
“Couple weeks. Publicist lined up some appearances before the fight, so I’ve been busy, then it’s back to Vegas.”
Brady grunts.
Ray studies him with an intensity that belies all his easy charm.
“Surprised to get your messages. Especially after the last time we saw each other.” He grins.
“If I recall, you said you’d see me in hell before you ever spoke to me again.
” He tips his glass toward the rain-streaked window. “Guess hell’s wetter than I pictured.”
Brady’s chest rises, nostrils flaring, but he only remarks, “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t important.”
“Now, that is interesting. What’s so important…” His attention drifts to me. “Or should I say, who is so important that you dismounted that high horse of yours to ask for my help?”
Brady bristles. “I need you to get Elizabeth into Anna Lindquist’s party.”
Ray stills, the teasing gone from his face for the first time. “Why?”
“Can’t you just do it because I asked?” Brady’s tone is sharp enough to cut glass.
Ray takes his time, sipping. “No. I need more to go on. She isn’t going to make some sort of scene, is she?”
I arch a brow. “Do I look like the type to cause a scene?”
He gives me a slow, wicked smile. “I think you could. Easily.”
Brady’s hand fists on his knee, but I lean forward before he explodes. “I need to meet Anna.”
His brow furrows, shrewdness flashing again. “Why? Why not just approach her on your own?”
I glance at Brady, then back to Ray. “Because she’s been trying to kill me.”
Brady jerks, stunned at my honesty. Ray’s expression shifts—surprised, but not shocked.
Brady notices.
“You know what she does,” Brady says, his tone hard.
Ray looks thoughtful, then slowly shakes his head.
“Not exactly. But in my world, you learn what a killer looks like. Not someone stepping into a ring to win. Someone who wants to destroy without thinking twice. She’s got that look.
Dead behind the eyes.” His gaze slides back to me. “Why is she after you?”
“Because my ex-husband stole something she wants back. I want to negotiate the return.”
Ray’s eyes narrow. “What kind of something?”
“It’s a little late in life to play the sacrificial father, old man,” Brady sneers. “You’re safer not knowing. Just understand this—you will be with her at all times. You won’t leave Elizabeth’s side for a second. You will keep her safe… or I will kill you with my bare hands.”
Something passes between them. A silent conversation, their bodies radiating violent tension.
Then, like the water sliding down the large windows, Ray’s tension disappears and his cocky veneer returns. “You could certainly try.” But then, just as quickly as it came, it goes again, and his expression becomes grim. “I won’t let anything happen to her.”
Brady’s jaw works back and forth like he wants to issue another threat but instead he only adds, “I’ll have my people at the party as backup just in case. But under no circumstances do you leave her side.”
Ray holds his gaze. “Understood. I think, under the circumstances, I won’t tell Anna I’m bringing a plus one.” His eyes dart briefly to Brady, and I can tell he can’t help himself when he winks at me. “Sounds like we are going to have a memorable date, sweetheart.”
Brady surges to his feet, pulling me up with him, his hand locked around mine. “This isn’t a joke, Ray.”
Ray’s face is equally serious when he sets his glass down with a sharp crack on the coffee table and pushes to standing. “I know that, boy.”
Brady glares at him, and then without another word he practically drags me to the door.
“At least I’ll get to see my daughter at this party. She works with you, right?” Ray calls after us.
Brady moves so fast I barely register what is happening before Ray is slammed hard into the wall, and Brady is breathing fire into his face. The doors to the suite burst open, and Ray’s bodyguards are inside with their guns drawn.
An atomic bomb could detonate in the room, and I don’t think it would be enough to pull either man from the tense stare-down they are engaged in. Two similar faces, one etched with rage and the older version looking distinctly resigned.
Ray doesn’t make a move to defend himself or to remove Brady’s hands from where they have him pinned.
“Don’t you dare fucking speak to her,” Brady hisses, looking completely enraged.
“She’s still my daughter.”
“You gave up any right you had to call her that after what you did.”
Ray’s shoulders slump. “I know. I didn’t mean it the way it came out. I was trying to help.”
“Help?” Brady’s laugh is bitter, and with one last shove, he releases his father and steps back, his chest heaving. “She was traumatized. Healing not only from the attack but an excruciating surgery, and your only response was, ‘at least you’ve still got your brains.’”
Horror washes over me. Oh fuck.
“I was trying to make her feel better.”
Brady shook his head. “She was twenty-three, worrying about her future, and you poked at her biggest insecurity.”
His eyes heat, and I’m worried he’ll attack his father again. I place a hand on his bicep. The muscles underneath are trembling. This amazing, strong, brave man runs into danger without hesitation, but his sister’s unhappiness brings him to his knees.
“Do you know that she almost never goes out in public anymore? And even when she goes out, she always covers herself in an inch of makeup and wears her hair down.
“She’s still a beautiful girl,” Ray protests, looking genuinely distressed.
“I don’t need you to tell me that!” Brady roars at him. “But she doesn’t believe it. She thinks she’s a monster. She would have been better off if you’d never come that day. Why did you? You never came for anything before? Not even Mom’s funeral.”
Oh god! This just keeps getting worse.
Ray exhales heavily and shoves his hands back through his hair in a move that is so reminiscent of his son it momentarily catches me off guard.
“I’m sorry. Honestly. I’m so fucking sorry.
” His eyes go to me as if pleading with me to help.
“I thought maybe… I wanted to come to Marianne’s funeral.
You’ll never know how much… but I couldn’t.
” His eyes implore his son to understand.
“You know I couldn’t. Some pap or fan would have seen me and wanted to know why I was there.
Then all those years I sacrificed being away from you and your sister would have been for nothing. ”
The muscle in Brady’s jaw is fluttering frantically.
“Sacrificed.” He shakes his head, but now, instead of furious, he only looks tired.
“You didn’t make a sacrifice. You led the life you wanted to.
Unencumbered by a family who might have made those late nights at the clubs and partying on the circuit difficult. ”
“That’s not true.” But even Ray seems to hear the lack of conviction in his own voice. “Look. I was so fucking young when your mom got pregnant—”
“When you got her pregnant.” Brady cuts him off. “There were two of you there. You were a year older than her.”
Ray nods slowly. “I know. But I was on the verge of my first semi-professional fight, and I wasn’t mature enough for that kind of commitment. I cared about Marianne, but—”
“But you didn’t love her. I’m well aware. Even if she never could accept it.”
“I’m trying to do better now. I want to be here for you and your sister.”
Brady stares at him for a long moment and then sighs. “Well, then let’s hope this goes well. Because I promise you, if you don’t take care of Elizabeth at that party, I won’t just see you in hell. I’ll put you there.”