Page 8 of Gray Area

“Damn it, Declan!” my father shouts, slamming his balled fists into the desk. “What the fuck have I taught you from day one? Huh? Never, ever turn your fucking back onanyone, especially some little pussy like Cruz.”

“I know, Dad. I fucked up—”

“You’re damn right, you fucking did! You could be dead right now if Axel hadn’t shown up!”

I don’t even try to answer; when he is mad like this there is no point. And he is right. We’ve been confrontation-free for a while. Our boundaries and rules are well-known and they aren’t challenged as much as they had been earlier on. Now that all three of us are working with my Dad, people don’t fuck with anyof us, knowing they’ll get the whole pack of us. It would appear this has left my senses rusty.

We have to deal with people still, but it has less to do with people trying to push our rules, and more about those trying to cheat the system. Early on, my father started some gambling rings in a few of the bars, and they were crazy lucrative. He quickly paid his debts off and was able to open more locations. Then he got into loans. People frequented his places, and eventually drug dealers offered him money to make them safe spaces to deal.

My mother had turned a blind eye to a lot of what my dad did, mostly because she knew even “legitimate” businesses were generally doing more illegal things than my dad was. But she hated the drug thing. She insisted the money was tainted and would bring us bad luck and told my father to keep that money separate.

When my mom got sick, my dad felt responsible. And so he told the dealers no more, hoping that it would make God spare her life, but in the end she lost the battle and my father was broken. He’d donated all the money he’d ever gotten from dealers over the years, that he’d kept in a separate offshore account like my mother had asked. Made a large donation to the treatment center in her name. It was all he could do at that point.

And so to say that he takes this idea of drugs being sold in the bars seriously is an understatement. Add to that the idea that another family member could have been taken from him, and my father is heated.

Rightfully so. He’d spent years teaching us self-defense as kids and had upped it a notch when my mother died. Dealers hadn’t exactly been excited about my father’s new ban on their business. And so he had us trained, buying a facility for an old navy friend to come and work out of. My brothers and I were trained as he had been trained when he was in the service. Wewere skilled with hands and weapons. And the first defense I was always taught is to avoid problems. Turning my back on an asshole like Eddie—that had been just asking for a problem.

I stand and take my father’s glare, knowing I earned it. He jumps up, slamming his rolling chair into the wall behind him. I watch as he paces, running his hands over his face and taking ragged breaths. Dropping his hands to his hips, he looks out the window.

“Okay, if there is word out, there may be something happening behind our backs,” my father says, turning, his eyes wild, “and that is fucking unacceptable.”

I give a quick nod.

My dad takes another deep breath. “First, we have family meeting,” he says, his nostrils still flaring.

I clear my throat. “Why don’t I call Joey?” I ask him. “You know he could go round and check things out maybe?”

Joey is one of the guys on my dad’s “crew.” He is the one we send on rounds when one of us can’t make it, and he blends in pretty well. He isn’t the oldest crew member, but he’s been with us a while and is trustworthy.

My dad rubs his chin and mulls this over. “Yeah, okay, yeah. That’s a good idea. Call him. Make it quick,” he orders me and strides to the doors, unlocking and spreading them apart.

“Meeting time!” he hollers out cheerfully, a completely different man from the one who’d just been shut in the room with me. Immediately following the announcement, thundering footsteps can be heard all around.

I take my phone out and cue up Joey’s name, dialing him up.

“Rays.”

“Joey, it’s Dec.”

“What needs to be done?”

Chapter 4

VIVIAN

Ikept myself busy over the four days between classes. I worked crazy overtime Friday through this morning. The extra hours are flowing in at both the hospital and factory because of a stomach bug going around. In what little time I could carve out during my breaks, I completed the written assignment for class. Being so busy, I would have normally pushed the guy who had been staring at me from my thoughts, but I’d made the giant mistake of complaining about it to Bailey.

“Was he hot?” Bailey had demanded, interrupting my rant.

“Yes,” I’d answered absentmindedly, and then I realized my mistake and quickly tried to backtrack. “But—”

However, Bailey didn’t hear anything else. Once she heard me agree that he is hot, she decided him staring at me had been “cute.” I tried to assure her it wasn’t and even reminded herthat Ted Bundy had been charming and attractive, but she didn’t care. She did eventually let up on it though since she could see how much it was annoying me.

Until just before I’m leaving for class tonight.

“Tonight is class with the hottie!” Bailey squeals as I come out of the bathroom to get ready.

I heave out a disgusted breath and roll my eyes at her. “No,” I say slowly, “tonight is my ethics in business class, where some creepy guy stared at me theentirelast class.”

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