Page 1 of Hart of Darkness
1
Dillon
Tearing my gaze away from my banking program, I rubbed my eyes before I checked the time—almost midnight. I threw my head back, blowing out a long breath.
The couch across from me was calling my name. I’d been sleeping in my office on and off for the last two months since I’d opened a shelter for girls—runaways, girls who needed to get off the streets, or girls who needed to get away from abusive partners. Actually, I’d been exhausted since I purchased the three-story home eight months ago. I’d scoured estate auctions, yard sales, and thrift stores like the Salvation Army and Goodwill for beds, linens, and any type of furniture. I’d been lucky to find couches, desks, kitchen appliances, beds, a ping-pong table and other necessities at a low cost.
I considered myself frugal. I didn’t need fancy stuff. I wanted to make sure the girls who landed at the shelter had at least a decent bed with linens and a cozy environment so they would feel protected.
My attention drifted to the small framed photo of my sister, Grace, that sat next to my computer. Her picture was a reminder of why I’d opened the shelter, and I hoped that one day she might walk through the front door.
Her tawny-brown eyes had flecks of gold, much like mine. If any of my siblings resembled me, it was Grace. My brother Denim was the blond in the family, with striking blue eyes. He took after our father’s side. Duke had a lighter shade of brown hair than Grace and me, and his eyes were reddish-brown, or chestnut-colored as I remembered my mother saying
“Where are you, sister?” I mumbled to no one. “I’m sorry I left you with that monster we called Dad.” I traced my finger over her small nose. “I’ll never give up looking for you.”
My stomach knotted as I dipped back in time to that day.
“Dillon, please don’t leave me,” Grace cried. “I can’t handle Dad alone anymore.”
I moved a strand of wavy hair behind her ear. “Duke and Denim will watch over you.”
She threw her arms around me. “They’re not you. You take care of me. You protect me from Dad.”
“I promise, our brothers will make sure Dad doesn’t beat you.” I held back tears, thinking about how I’d caught my old man slapping the shit out of Grace on more than one occasion. “You remember what I taught you? Don’t walk away. Run.”
Pain zipped up my arm, and I blinked, realizing I was trying to crush the frame with my tight grip. Grace had taken my advice and ran. I hadn’t meant for her to run away or disappear off the face of the earth. I’d only wanted her to get the fuck out of the same room as our alcoholic father.
Regardless, the shelter was dedicated to her and every girl who needed a place of refuge. Sadly, though, I could only take in ten girls max. It was a start. Shelter or not, I wasn’t giving up hope that Grace was alive, although after four years of scouring the Boston streets, it was hard to stay positive. I hadn’t found one damn sign of Grace, not even a dead body.
If I hadn’t gone into the merchant marines, she would have been here. But I had trusted my brothers to watch over her. I’d trusted that they wouldn’t let anything happen to her. Instead, when I’d returned home, my family was a mess. Grace had left home. My younger brother, Denim, was in jail for murder. My older brother, Duke, was into some bad shit as a loan shark and probably other illegal crap I didn’t care to know about. And my old man was still a drunk, oblivious to his sons and daughter.
I didn’t talk to Duke much. I couldn’t. Every time I saw him, I wanted to beat the crap out of him. I blamed him more than I blamed Denim for not taking care of Grace. He was the older brother. The one who was supposed to watch over all of us. The one who I’d looked up to. The one who’d broken my old man’s nose the night he wouldn’t stop kicking me in the gut, all because I’d smarted off to him over something as stupid as dinner. I didn’t like waxy green beans, so I’d thrown them in the trash. My old man had caught me, removed every one of them from the trash, and shoved them down my throat until I was gagging and throwing up. Then he’d proceeded to use me as his punching bag, only he’d used his steel-toed boots, ramming them into my gut over and over again.
“I work hard to put food on the table for you,” he’d yelled then kicked. “How dare you throw my money away!”
The door to my office groaned before my best bud and right-hand man, Rafe, waltzed in, sporting his usual buzz cut. Since we’d met in the merchant marines, he’d never wavered from his hairstyle. I, on the other hand, grew out my hair the moment I’d stepped foot onto dry land.
He flicked his chin at me. “It looks like a hurricane hit your desk.”
I arched a brow, more at Rafe than at the pile of receipts and bills littering the desktop. It looked like a game of Go Fish that Grace and I had played many times as kids. “What are you doing up?”
Rafe removed his gun from his lower back and set it down on the coffee table as he dropped his large body onto the couch across from me. “I let Josh have the night off. I was patrolling outside and saw your light on.”
I tapped a key. My screen flashed into camera view. “It seems quiet out there. Unlike last night.”
“If that fucker returns tonight, I’ll tear off his head.” Rafe’s deep voice could scare a brown bear.
Leaning back in my chair, I locked my hands behind my head. “Norton is going to be a problem. I need to talk to the Guardian. They have some badass motherfuckers on the security staff. We could use more help.” The Guardian was owned by Jeremy Pitt, Russian mob boss. He stacked his team with mostly ex-military dudes who knew how to defend and protect anyone and anything. But I was going to request Hunter Thompson, who was non-military. I knew him. I trusted him, and he was as much of a badass as his colleagues.
Rafe propped his big-booted feet up on the coffee table. “Are you good on the budget for this place? If not, I could float you some. I have a ton saved from our days at sea.”
I tapped another button on the keyboard. “I’m good. Just making sure the checkbook balances, that’s all.” I had a lot of money invested in stocks and bonds. During my time at sea, I’d learned everything about the stock market, thanks to the captain of the ship. He’d been into investing, and on many nights, he and I would talk stocks. I’d made a nice nest egg. I also had a kick-ass financial advisor, who’d helped my nest egg grow.
My cell phone vibrated and bounced across my metal desk. A call at this time of night was never good. I suspected it was the cops, calling to tell me that my old man was in jail again for drunken and disorderly conduct. I wasn’t sure why they called me. I’d always told my father he could rot in jail. Maybe he was hoping that his persistence would pay off.Not in this lifetime.
Eddie’s name brightened the screen on my phone. My heart skipped a beat. “It’s Eddie at the morgue,” I told Rafe. Then I pressed the phone to my ear. “What’s up?”
Clang. Clang.
