Page 73 of Damon

After flagging a taxi, we arrive back at the brothers’ apartments and take the discreet elevator to the boardroom. On arrival, we find Harrison along with Hunter and Greyson.

“I hear you had an eventful evening,” Harrison says as we enter. “Glad I didn’t need to come down and bail you out.”

“Where the fuck did you two bastards run off to?” Russell snarls and Hunter laughs.

“It wasn’t running, it was stealth. We took Mr. Moreno for a walk and suggested perhaps he shouldn’t visit the launderette again,” Hunter advises with a dark smile. “We made a few adjustments for him.”

“Adjustments?” I prompt. “You didn’t kill him?”

“Of course not. You told me not to,” he tells me, rolling his eyes. “I merely removed a finger, but we did dump him outside the hospital to ensure he was given proper medical care and wouldn’t bleed out.”

“You fucking didn’t!” I stammer.

“He did,” Greyson confirms. “Took his index finger on his right hand clean off with that knife he eats his apples with.” My stomach churns at the thought.

“Why his index finger?” Connor asks, and we all turn to him.

“Seriously,” Harrison says, “you’re asking Hunter for his logic in this situation? A reason for removing a person’s finger?”

Hunter pulls the infamous knife from his waistband. He walks over to the boardroom table, places it tip down then spins it expertly. The knife balances perfectly as it rotates. When it falls, he looks directly at me and says, “I told the bastard I was taking that finger, so that when he was adding up his millions on his calculator he would think of me. It will also make it harder for him to shoot us in the future.” He snorts then shakes his head. “ And I assured him I would get him eventually for killing my friend’s wife.”

I stare at the head of the Irish mafia. My friend. And know that his words are one hundred percent true. He will not rest until we avenge Connie’s death by killing the men at the top.

“So, what happens now?” Russell asks, his tone malevolent. He runs a hand over his face and attempts to straighten his once-white shirt, which is ripped at the elbow from his earlier fight. “And where is Luke?” he adds.

“We grabbed Luke along with Moreno. Greyson roughed him up a bit to not throw any suspicion on the lad, then we dumped him at the hospital along with his boss.”

“Good thinking,” I say. “Now they know we’re aware of the money laundering ring and who is in charge, eyes on the inside are even more vital.”

“So, what do we do?” Russell snarls again, frustrated.

“We wait. I plan to go back and speak to the Clarke family about their dealings with Moreno and what they owe. But we wait until we have the opportunity to take the whole fucking house down. I want to ruin Brenton and Moreno, and if we only take out Moreno, the man at the top will move on to use someone else.”

“And how will we know when to take them out?” Connor asks.

“It will feel right. Now, let me drink my beer, then I’m going home.”

***

When I arrive home it’s almost midnight, and all I want to do is crawl into bed. As I walk in the front door, I’m debating whether to sneak into Emma’s room and if at this point in our relationship that would be appropriate. My office light streams into the hallway, grabbing my attention. Unsettled, I pull my gun from its holster and remove my shoes before creeping along the corridor. When I peer around the doorframe, I see Emma sitting in my chair screwing her eyes up at a notepad in her hands.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I demand, furious at her invading my personal space. She looks up, startled, then stands and straightens to her full height. Her round breasts strain beneath the fabric of her pajama top. She looks utterly fuckable.

“Looking for the damn truth. If you won’t tell me, I’ll find out my bloody self,” she snaps.

“By breaking into my office? How the fuck did you get in here?” I growl.

“I picked the lock,” she replies, her tone cocky.

“Where did you learn that skill?” My eyes move to the door handle and the scratches on the metal at the lock. “Look at the fucking state of the door. Skill isn’t the right word—butchery maybe.”

“YouTube,” she advises bluntly then asks, “Where were you tonight?”

“It doesn’t matter where I was, it’s none of your concern. Don’t change the subject. What are you doing in here?” She laughs out loud, then flicks a long blonde lock over her shoulder before narrowing her eyes.

“I told you, looking for answers. I’m not an idiot, Damon. The scribbles on this notepad.” She throws the paperwork onto my desk then stabs at it with a long finger. “Tell me we have the same enemy. What has this address got to do with Moreno? And what the fuck are you planning to do?”

“I don’t want you worrying about any of this,” I say, my voice softening. Her expression only hardens. “Stay here with the security, look after Annie, and once everything is sorted, you can go back to normal.”

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