Chapter 34
People just kept dying. Somehow, though, it was almost always the wrong ones.
The kid he’d just gotten the call about two hours ago hadn’t deserved what had happened to him.
Not to the scale it had, anyway. He’d just been a dumb kid trying to get some fast cash.
In a way that had cost him his life. Maybe it was the loss of his potential that bothered Dom so much.
He’d been twenty-two. Yes, he’d been facing decades in prison for his part in what had happened to Gunnar and Powell, and the rest. But… twenty-two. Damn.
Dom wouldn’t consider himself an existentialist or anything, but…what possible meaning could there be in a man that young being murdered like that? No matter what his crimes.
That kid was dead, but the man in front of him now would live. Dom almost found that a pity—except, he wanted to see the man in a cage for the rest of his life. He was determined to make sure that happened.
Dom looked at the piece of scum in the hospital bed and wished he was the kind of man who could rip another apart with his bare hands and feast on the results. Too bad his father had raised him better than that. But it was close. Too fucking close.
People he cared about had been hurt because of this man.
No denying that. Even Cherise—his father had rescued her from a man high on OPJ right before they’d gotten together.
That same bastard had broken into Cherise’s house while Madison had been staying with her mother.
And nearly killed Dom’s father in the process.
No. He had waited to talk to this man for a long, long time.
“Well, looks like Dominic Acardi gets to visit me today.” Timothy Grundenman the Third smirked at him, but the guy was utterly pathetic. He’d live, though. Pity. Dom didn’t give a shit what happened to this waste of flesh. But he wanted the information the man had. “You win.”
“Hardly. You are the consolation prize, jackass.”
“I don’t have to let you in here. Attorney says so. I have money to get me a good one. Not one of the Barratts, though. Unfortunately, they seem to not want to invite me to the party any longer for some strange reason.”
Grundenman was so damned pathetic. Two bullets had ripped right through him—guy probably wouldn’t walk standing straight up again—if he ever walked at all. Gunnar’s shot had hit near the guy’s spine, Miguel’s had gotten almost as close.
Heather hadn’t fired a shot that night. She’d been focused on getting Powell and Max Barratt out of the line of fire. But Trey had shot her. And Gunnar.
Two shots had damned near taken people Dom liked and respected from this world. He wasn’t exactly in a friendly mood about that. “Jaylon Tuell. Remember him?”
“Me and Tuell…aren’t exactly friends, but I’ve heard he’s a good guy. What’s he been up to? Making a deal with the DA? Pardon from the good old governor?”
“Eliminated. Last night, in his cell. Note in blood on the wall said: Dead men don’t talk. You know anything about that?”
There it was—pure fear in the man’s eyes. Exactly what Dom wanted to see.
Someone had this asshole by the balls, too.
Dom was going to find them.
“I don’t know anything about that. What kind of stories could Tuell have told, anyway?” Grundenman’s words told a different story. He had sweat on his forehead, too. That hadn’t been there a second ago.
He’d spoken with a profiler about this guy.
Madison’s little buddy Charlotte—her cousin Miranda was a profiler with the FBI.
Dom had met Miranda a time or two before—and they’d shared dinner one night when she’d been visiting and Charlotte had had to work late.
She’d basically thrown Miranda at Dom and told Dom to entertain her—but behave himself.
Dom liked the other woman, they had a lot in common and he’d kept in touch.
An FBI contact he trusted came in handy at times.
He’d asked Miranda for a favor. She’d had a lot of insight into a man like Trey.
Power and control. That was what she said the man wanted.
Power over those he felt had slighted him—it was why he’d been so hyper-fixated on his childhood enemy: Heather.
He’d seen Heather as the “golden child”, probably with Heather’s father.
Heather’s father had been wealthy, successful, powerful, male, and had had what Trey thought he deserved.
And Miranda suspected Heather’s father had had expectations for his step-grandson that Trey had resented back then.
Dom was going to check the file on the accident that killed Heather’s parents.
Trey Grundenman would have been old enough to drive twenty years ago.
From what he remembered, the accident that had killed Kemberly and Andrew Coleson had been a hit-and-run that had never been solved.
Men who had killed as many as Trey Grundenman most likely had had been killing for a long time. He’d gotten his start somewhere.
Miranda said that was one reason Grundenman had hyper-focused on the man who Powell had wanted. Miranda had speculated that a man like Grundenman might have seen a wealthy woman like Powell as an enigma and a challenge. That there would have been attraction there.
He felt he was better than the common man blue-collar men like Gunnar and Dom.
Trey Grundenman thought of himself as a wealthy elite, growing up the son of a wealthy physician—even if Timothy II had lost most of that wealth somehow—and he resented that the rest of that crowd hadn’t recognized his greatness.
Hadn’t revered him. His malignant narcissism would have demanded it.
Dom, with his blue-collar roots and rough work boots style would just irritate Grundenman. At least, that was the plan. “Jaylon Tuell was found dead this morning; since you and he were good pals, we’re all wondering over at the TSP if you know who could possibly have ordered that?”
“No one orders anything around here, don’t you know that? At least…not without paying the fee first. Everything comes with a price.” He smirked at Dom. “So tell me, how is my beloved old aunt? Heard she’s a bit holier than she was before.”
His attorney cleared his throat. “We won’t be discussing Lieutenant Coleson today.”
“See, when you can pay for the best, you get the best.”
Dom knew he wouldn’t get much from the guy but he had confirmed what he had come to find out. “So what kind of price would it be to take out a man like Tuell? Just…asking for a friend.”
He doubted the attorney would let the question be answered, but he never knew what he’d get.
They had spoken with Grundenman before, but the man had been unable to hold too long a conversation, considering the damage the two bullets had done. Dom suspected the attorney was going to keep him quiet, as well.
This was just another move in the game they were all playing, after all.
“Tell me, Trey. What will these men do if they find your father before I do? I understand he has Leena with him now. Do you think the people who would pay for Tuell to be…shut up and everything…what do you think they’ll do with your old man, and that precious little girl? ”
The man paled. Yes, he was afraid. For himself…
and for his father. Dom had listened to the recordings.
Trey Grundenman had tried to tell his father to get out of there.
The elder Grundenman hadn’t listened. But maybe…
Trey did care about his father, at least?
“How do we find him? Where will your father go, Trey? Because we need to find him first. It’s probably the only chance he has. ”
“Yeah, who’s looking for him, really? Rodriguez? Somehow I don’t see that being such a good thing for my father. I am not telling you anything. I’d be dead if I did, and we both know it.”
He looked at his attorney. “Get him out of here. I’m done. I’m not saying another word.”
Dom just stood. He’d won this round and he knew it. He hadn’t gotten much to go on, but he knew one thing—someone else had been pulling strings connected to Trey Grundenman and his little pals. They weren’t the men in charge. Probably never had been.
That meant the ones who had orchestrated all of this bullshit were still out there somewhere.
Dom just had to keep looking.
“Hey, Acardi. Do me a favor, will you?”
Dom turned back. “What?”
“Tell the family I said hello, will you? Wish Auntie Heather and the rest my very best.”
Dom ignored the finger gesture the man shot at him. “Hell, Trey, we both know the truth—there are far better than you will ever be. Remember that.”
“No shit. My sisters save lives, but me…well…guess every family has the one black sheep that got away, huh? Guess I just never measured up to good old Grandpappy Coleson. We all can’t be perfect, can we?”