Page 19 of Pound

“But mostly, it feels like she sees me. The real me, all the fucking duct tape and scar tissue that holds me together. Nobody sees me, not like that, not even you, prez. Something’s just always told me that if I lost that in my life, things would never be good again. I’ve just been too much of a coward to move on from the past, you know?”

Both men were nodding but also smiling. Pound felt his lips twitch too. And he wasn’t itchy.

Determination to move forward and not let the past hold him back overcame him. Lea was dead and gone. The things she’d done were understandable now that he accepted her words in the wreckage. That didn’t make it okay that she was abusive, but that understanding allowed him to acknowledge everything and move on.

It wasn’t magic. It would take some work to accept that he was a victim of domestic violence, but he’d finally forgiven Lea.

He acknowledged his part in the accident, but also hers. He’d known she’d be upset when he’d told her he was done, but he didn’t know he’d trigger the cascade of emotions from her that he did. That didn’t make it solely his fault. Granite had told him that many times over the years, but he finally heard it in his head. He’d finally forgiven himself too. He knew he needed to if he wanted a future. If he wanted Meri. And he did. More than anything.

The rumble of pipes drew their attention. They were back already? That meant Meri was close. No way would Trip pull off the tail if it hadn’t been fruitful.

They filed in the room until all were accounted for except Chubs.

“Got an addy,” Trip announced and handed a slip of paper to Whiskey, who started tapping away on the laptop he’d left on the coffee table. “Also got visual confirmation it was Leone in the vehicle. Meri must’ve dropped her smartwatch in the car because she wasn’t with him. When they arrived back at the house, it was just him, a driver, and a woman in a wheelchair.”

“Hmm. Lizzy, his wife, is dead, so is this a new one?” Morningstar’s voice wavered for the first time since he’d known the man. There was a wound there, but Pound wouldn’t scratch at it. He knew how that felt.

Hound supplied his take. “I’d say no. She seemed pretty upset from a distance and when she made her displeasure known, he smacked her around and then left her to roll herself up the ramp.”

“Yeah, prez, I agree. The man was cruel,” Trip added. “If you hadn’t ordered us to observe and not engage, he’d be heading to Chub’s fun room right now before checking into Hotel California.”

Yeah, Chub’s wouldn’t be having all the fun with Leone that’s for sure.

“Chubs is hunkered down and hidden well in case there’s movement.” Both presidents nodded.

“Got it,” Whiskey announced with pride, which faded fast as his eyes scanned the screen. “But you’re not gonna like it.”

He was speaking to Granite, but his eyes were glued to Pound. He did not like the look he saw there. Some cross between sympathy and fear? What was Whiskey scared of?

“It’s a forty-two hundred sq—”

“Spare us the buy-this-fucking-house-dot-com spiel and get to what we’re not going to like.”

“It’s deeded to… Leanna Maria Blackwell.”

Pound was rocked back on his heels so hard he stumbled onto the stool someone must’ve had the foresight to slip behind him. “You’re telling me that fucker put the property in his dead sister’s name?” His voice started out as a whisper but ended in a roar.

Pound could feel every molecule in his body and hear the blood cells rushing through his arteries. Leone was dead. He was dead already, but now it wouldn’t be pleasant.

Trip crossed the room to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder. He offered up no words, but what he offered was more. There was respect in his blue eyes. Eyes that, while a different shade, still reminded him of Meri’s somehow. Pound had watched that look wither from the moment he’d claimed Meri. Which now felt like a lifetime ago. There had been moments when he’d caught a flicker of it, but it was tempered with skepticism.

Without thought, Pound raised his hand and briefly patted the one on his shoulder and gave his brother a questioning look.

“Your first response was his sister, not your wife.” It was a mumbled answer to his unspoken question. The rest of the room was buzzing with conversation that took the focus off of the moment he’d shared with Trip. A moment that, if Morningstar and Granite’s words had not already solidified his determination in making the claim stick, Trip’s would’ve.

“Well, that explains why it didn’t turn up on the search for Moreno’s holdings,” the president of the Travelers noted.

“Yeah, it’s pretty ingenious when you think about it. We would never look for property in one of our names, but that changes as of now.” Whiskey was still typing away and mumbling about it becoming standard practice to run their name regularly or something.

“Here’s the layout.”

Whiskey turned the laptop to the men gathered around. Most were studying it and taking mental notes.

Granite offered Pound a shot, but he waved it off. The last thing he needed right then was more alcohol coursing through his veins. The news of the property deed had burned off what he’d already drunk.

“What’s the plan, prez? When do we go in? The need to end this bastard is…” Pound trailed off because no matter what word he pulled from the dictionary, it wouldn’t be strong enough to describe what he was feeling.

“I get it, but we need to brief a solid plan and wait for the cover of darkness. I’m thinking you should hang back.”

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