Page 5 of Corrupt Desires

The rest of the week passes in a blur of courtroom proceedings and paperwork. Being a lawyer is not all it’s cracked up to be. Sure, the pay is good, but the hours are miserable and the paperwork is never ending.

I checked in with Jaxon the other day. Melody is healing nicely and going to therapy. They have a long road ahead of themselves, but Jax seems to be committed through and through. He even told me he wants to marry her. Seems a bit fast to me, but Jaxon, being the youngest brother of us three, has always been one to go after exactly what he wants. And I know he will, in due time.

I’ve also spent the last week worrying about Emilia, too. I know she is a tough woman, but I can’t help but to worry. It wouldn’t take much for one of the Romanis to snatch her up off the street or execute a drive-by to her house. I know Francesca said she’d have protection for her daughter, but Matteo and Lorenzo might not be the men for the job. They are too comfortable with Emilia to take their job seriously. Which is exactly why I hired my own men to keep an eye on her.

They’ve been instructed to follow her wherever she goes but to be discreet. Emilia will be on her toes, so they cannot be obvious less they spook her into doing something reckless. They are to check in with me every two hours to give updates. They are paid handsomely and take their job very seriously, the absolute best of the best. It also helps that I’ve asked Franklin to monitor the cameras near her house. He’s the greatest hacker on the west coast, and I trust him entirely.

Before I can loosen my tie, a text comes in from Kayden.

Hey James, coming down tothe club this evening?

He texts me every Friday with the same question. And every time I tell him maybe next time. I suppose I ought to finally go down and check out his club. I was there four years ago for opening night, but haven’t been there since. Not really my scene, if you will.

Kayden, yes, I’ll be by around 11pm. Sound good?

He must be in shock that I actually agreed to come down because his next text takes a few minutes to come in.

Sure thing, boss.

Finally changing out of my work clothes, I don a pair of black slacks and a button-up shirt, with the sleeves rolled up. Checking myself in the mirror, I figure I must look OK to go to a club. Nothing too fancy and nothing too comfortable. My six-foot-three frame is on the leaner side as far as muscles go, but I’ve been told my best features are my eyes. They are a light green with an almost silver ring in the middle.

My eyes are a feature that comes from my birth mother, but the only way I know that is from what our adopted parents tell us. I was young at the time, maybe nine years old. I was old enough that I remember them and the atrocities that we endured, but still young enough that I can no longer form the little details of them in my mind. The abuse we both went through from their hands also sees to it that most of our memories have long since been repressed. Kayden was only four years old when we were both adopted, covered in bruises and starved of gentle touches that all kids should experience from good, loving parents. Our adopted parents, Jenny and Bill, spent all our childhood trying to make up for the shortcomings of our biological, shit parents, and I have to say they did a pretty damn good job with the both of us. Well, that and lots of therapy.

Sometimes, like the day we found Melody, I see a haunted look in Kayden’s eyes, and I really wonder just how much he remembers. Does he remember the cold, dead look in our father’s eyes whenever he would be on a bender and decided to take it out on us kids? Does he remember the way our mother, drugged out of her mind, would speak sweet nothings to entice us into her arms, only to turn around and leave bruises on our bodies? I did my best as a child to protect Kayden, but I was a child myself and could only do so much…

Whatever the case, I have my mother’s eyes and my father’s light brown hair. I keep it trimmed, but not too short. I usually run my hands through it and it styles itself, thankfully.

Feeling put together and shaking myself out of my somber thoughts, I make my way to my garage. I live modestly, but I do like my cars, much like Jaxon. In my garage I have an Aston Martin Vantage and a Lexus LS. I typically take my Lexus to and from work and save the driving of the Aston Martin for leisurely activities. Tonight calls for my Aston Martin.

* * *

Pulling up to the club,I hand over the keys to my car and make my way inside. The music blasts out the moment the door opens. As I walk further down the dimly lit hall, I come to the center of the club to see the DJ working his magic and all the club goers dancing without a care in the world. Spotting Kayden by the bar, I head over and clap him on the shoulder.

“James, good to see you here,” says Kayden, looking me up and down. “Nice to get you out of those stuffy suits you wear all the time.”

Kayden himself is wearing attire similar to my own: black dress slacks and a tucked navy-blue button-up shirt. He looks polished and put together, oozingclub ownerfrom his very pores. No one would know by looking at him that he is lethal ex-military.

“Very funny, Kayden. To be precise, I came here for the alcohol, so please do make sure they know to keep them coming.”

“Hard week for you, Brother?”

“That’s putting it mildly.” I give him a brief overview of the happenings with the Bonettis and a few of my cases that are a pain in my ass. Especially the cases involving the Bonetti’s connections. The pay out and the granting of a favor is always nice, but dammit if they don’t make me work my ass off to get their people off the hook.

“You still fawning over that chick? What’s her name… Emily?”

“It’s Emilia, and I’m notfawning, Kayden… I just care for her safety is all.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever you wanna call it, Brother. I have some interesting information in that case if you’re so eager to keep her safe.”

“And what might that be, Kayden?” I’m intrigued. Kayden owns the club and gets all sorts of people in here, and people like to talk, especially with the owner.

“Well… one of the Romanis was in here this week, probably a distant cousin of some sort, but he was talking about how Anthony was soon to be married, and they were going to throw him one hell of a bachelor party.”

“Why would that information be of any use to me, Kayden? Let him get married for all I give a shit,” I reply, getting more and more irritated the longer we talk about this subject.

“Well… they might have said Emilia’s name a time or two during this conversation, you know what I mean?”

“Are you insinuating that they said Anthony was going to marry Emilia? Do you realize how absurd that sounds? They are in awarright now. One of their sons waskilled. They are out for blood, Kayden, notmarriage.”

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