52. Dante
52
DANTE
I t’s the most amazing feeling having friends you can count on in your darkest hours. I had refrained from reaching out to Allied Security Vision until it was absolutely necessary. Now that I know what I’m dealing with, it is time to bring out the big guns. For even though we live and breathe in a world ruled by guns and violence, for many years peace has reigned amongst the families. There has never been a need to look past our security measures or to re-align our processes to deal with such a nasty wave of violence. Tate’s attacks has brought upon us not only added bloodshed, but also unwanted attention to the families. With that attention, a call to arms to put an end to the bloody violence by any means necessary.
When I call my contact at ASV, he is only too happy to set up a meeting, even knowing that we would be touching down late in the afternoon and the meeting would have to be relegated to an after hours time slot. The minute I step out of the elevator on the twentieth floor and into the spacious lobby of ASV’s waiting room, I am met by Stella, the gorgeous Brazilian model who ditched the pages of glossy magazines to work as the personal assistant to Claymore Collins, the company CEO. Wasting no time, she winds her arm around my waist and pulls me in for an embrace and a kiss to my cheek. It is not lost on me that her arm remains firmly around my waist as I introduce her to – my father, who she’s already met previously, and Kingsley, who shakes Stella’s hand but clenches her jaw as though desperately biting something back.
“Let me show you to Clay’s office,” she says, spiriting us through the lobby and then through several security doors using fingerprint recognition, until we arrive in the CEO’s office. “He’s just finishing up a quick staff meeting and will be in shortly. Please help yourselves if you’d like anything to drink.”
She waves in the direction of the minibar, before advising us she’d be right outside if we need anything, fixing the whole room with a smile before she leaves. The thing about Stella is she has an infectious way about her. Everything about her is sexy, fun, and supersized – from her charm to her personality and her sense of humor. I could see, out of the corner of my eye, the way that Kingsley follows Stella’s swaying hips as they sashay out of the room, a hint of jealousy in her eyes. Truth be told, there is nothing for Kingsley to be jealous about; yes, Stella is a stunner, but King does far more damage to my senses than Stella ever will.
“Don’t let her looks deceive you,” my father pipes up, picking up on the tension radiating off King. “Stella has some kickass moves on her; she’s the personal assistant and bodyguard to the CEO.”
Kingsley whips her head toward my father, frowning. We settle into a comfortable silence as we wait for Claymore Collins to make his appearance. When he finally does, it is my turn to shift a jealous eye toward Kingsley, who stands on wooden legs gaping at the man as he makes the rounds and claps my father and me on the back in welcome.
When he comes to Kingsley, his eyes rest on her far too long before he takes her hand and plants a kiss against her knuckles. She visibly shivers and I roll my eyes. I have been in his company enough times to know he has this effect on the majority of women – and men – that he comes into contact with. He and Stella make a stunning couple – she with her dark locks and exotic looks, he with his dirty blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. He has a firmly set jaw that dares anyone to mess with him, but I have seen the easy going side of him a few too many times and understand his defiant look is all an act to keep the piranhas at sea.
“It’s been too long.” He directs his words at me as he takes a seat behind his desk. It is finished in warm oak with accents of black; a desk that screams money and power. Claymore has both in spades.
He’d come up in ranks in the military, before he’d taken a leave of absence after the death of his wife and found himself at the bottom of a whisky bottle. Eventually he’d come out of his haze, retired, and established his own security firm, which had grown so quickly in size, he had started to recruit army veterans even before they retired. His firm now provided services for some of the most prominent politicians and elite stars in the world.
“That’s not always a bad thing,” I laugh. “It means we’ve kept out of trouble for a while.”
“Talk to me.”
Claymore leans forward in his chair, keen interest blazing in his eyes, and folds his hands against a leather mat I imagine usually houses his laptop. He is notorious for carrying it everywhere with him.
“Kingsley needs a strong-arm security detail. Around the clock. She can’t be left alone at any time.”
We both flick our eyes toward Kingsley, who sits quietly assessing something indefinable on the carpet. Claymore’s gaze lingers on her for a few seconds before he turns back to me.
“Who is she and what has she done?”
He understands that in my world, no one is in danger unless they cross a line they are not supposed to. In this instance, he is wrong. I wonder what of his perspective would change if I give him the whole story.
“Maddog Murray’s daughter. He recently passed and she’s the only heir. It’s assumed that she’ll take over where he left off.”
“And?” he probes, knowing there is more to come. Above all else, he values transparency; he never takes a job without knowing everything there is to know about the case.
“Her father’s right hand man has tried to make a move on what’s hers. More than once. Tried to kill her. Kidnapped her. He will try again. As I’m sure will others.”
“Who has he got in his camp?” Claymore asks, his interest perking. He never could resist a good gunfight.
“A motorcycle gang; that’s all we know of so far. But the last attack was brazenly coordinated. It seemed more the style of mercenaries.”
Claymore nods his head, picks up a pen and twirls it quietly between his fingers. He looks again at Kingsley, who refuses to remove her eyes from the carpet, somewhat out of her element.
“I’m not saying no,” Claymore says. “But I’m interested to know what your interest in protecting her is. I know there was history between your fathers.”
And this is what brings Kingsley’s head up, looking at me with sad, mournful eyes. She does not know the extent of our fathers’ complex friendship. She probably doesn’t even trust that I would do everything in my power to protect her after the falling out they had without having an ulterior motive. She hasn’t even had the chance to mourn her father properly; Tate moved in the minute Maddog took his last breath, going so far as to wage psychological warfare on her by locking her up in her own home. She probably would never know who to trust unless she was guided.
It’s my father who speaks up, breaking the intolerable silence with what he hadn’t yet shared even with me.
“Maddog and I settled our differences before he passed,” my father says, speaking directly to Claymore. This is news to me. He doesn’t look my way, and I know he isn’t lying – if there is one code my father lives by religiously, it is truth above everything else. Even Kingsley now has her attention firmly fixed on my father as she hangs on every word he utters. And as he continues to speak, it is as though the spark of a memory flits through her mind as she recalls something she had considered long buried.
“How so?”
“Maddog called me when he was in the hospital and I went to see him,” my father admits, his eyes glazing over like he too is shrouded in a beautiful memory. The two men had been best friends for years before a woman came between them. I don’t know which woman, whose arm she had been on, or any of the details, but I do know that it was a woman who had been their undoing. “He was at times lucid, at others incoherent, but he did ask of me one thing. For old time’s sake. I couldn’t say no.”
My father’s eyes wander toward Kingsley, looking at her with a softness I’d never known him capable of.
“For the longest time, I both hated and loved the man. Hated him for what happened. But loved him in the same way that a person cannot let go of his affection for a blood brother. Maddog was my brother. Essentially, he started out as my brother and he left this life as my brother.”
“What did he say?” Kingsley whispers, making me feel as though the rest of her life depends on what my father has to reveal.
“He asked me to look out for his son. To his dying breath, he wouldn’t tell me that you were a girl, still trying to protect you in his own way, but he did tell me to look after you.”
“Is that why you were watching me that night at the club?” Kingsley asks, turning to me. So many secrets were coming out tonight. I had come here for something entirely different to what I was getting. I turn to my father, looking to him for the answers that Kingsley sought. As far as I know, my father had me watching ‘Murray’s son’ in order to win over the docks. I sent him a questioning look. I, too, want to know the answer to that question. My father gives me an easy smile.
“The important thing is that I fulfil Maddog’s dying wish. That’s what’s brought us here today.”
Claymore nods his head in understanding. A man of his position understands the delicate history between two old friends and needs no more justification than what he has received in my father’s words. “What did you have in mind?”
“Around the clock security. Lots of it,” I tell him. “A team of advisors – financial and strategic. The best you have.” I pause and look at Kingsley. I won’t show it, but my heart is breaking knowing I won’t be in the picture to protect her. This task would now fall to someone else. “A team of lawyers on retainer. And if Stella would be so kind as to suggest a stylist.”
Kingsley whips her head in my direction, her face flaming like she’s been insulted.
“I can take care of my own clothes,” she gasps.
“If you want to succeed in our world, you’ll have to dress the part, Kingsley. No one will take you seriously otherwise, and you’ll be fair game.”
“I can’t believe this is happening,” she snaps, running a hand through her hair as she rises and strides to the window. The late afternoon sun provides a halo against her head as she looks out over the city, saying nothing for endless minutes. When she finally turns around, her bottom lip is pulled between her teeth as she gnaws at her skin, considering us one by one. It is my father who rises and shuffles toward her, putting a delicate hand to her arm. I envy him that.
“Kingsley, your father wouldn’t have insisted you take your place as head of the family if he didn’t think you capable. It’s time you showed the world what this Murray is made of.”