Page 74 of Hart of Darkness
Daniels shrugged. “All he said was if Grace was in the hospital, then he would know.”
Maggie glided up to my side. “Please get Duke on the phone. We don’t want trouble.” Her melodic voice tempered my rage for the moment.
Grandpa considered us. Well, he considered Maggie. Then he lifted the receiver, pressed four digits, and handed me the phone.
“I told you. I don’t want to see my brother.” Duke’s voice was rough.
“Is that any way to welcome me?” I returned in a cocky tone.
“It’s three thirty in the morning,” Duke almost yelled. “Grace isn’t in the hospital.”
“I would suggest you let me come up, or I might have to tell theBoston Eaglethat you’re into money laundering and maybe sex trafficking.”
Maggie beamed. Daniels didn’t.
Duke growled. “Put the guard on.”
I handed the phone to Daniels.
Within seconds, Daniels was escorting Maggie and me to the elevators, where he swiped a keycard over the panel below the numbers. Then he went back to his post.
As soon as the doors closed, I growled so loudly that I probably woke up everyone on the eighth floor.
Maggie hit the stop button, the bell ringing as the car halted. “Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.”
I pushed the button, and the car moved again. “This needs to be done.” I’d waited too long to talk to Duke. Grace was alive, and he was going to tell me where she was.
“Then don’t get yourself killed, because I like you a lot, Dillon Hart.” For the first time since Maggie had shown up at the shelter, I didn’t see her bubbly personality or that badass woman I knew her to be. I saw what she’d been trying to hide in my kitchen earlier—she cared for me. She was revealing herself to me, one layer at a time.
I didn’t have time to ponder, question, or analyze Maggie’s feelings or what was going on between her and me. The elevator dinged.
We arrived right into Duke’s penthouse. The cityscape twinkled in the wall of windows behind my brother.
He stood bare-chested and barefoot in the aisle that separated his kitchen from his massive living room, with the scowl of the century ruining his good looks.
I dove at him, fists first. “Where is she?”
He darted out of the way. Duke had always had quick reflexes. “Grace isn’t here.”
I tried to punch him again, when Maggie stepped in between us, holding up her hands. Her narrowed green gaze focused on me. “Fighting isn’t going to get you answers.”
No, but I would feel so much better.
She eased out of the way then addressed Duke. “I suggest you start speaking.”
His forehead wrinkled. “Who the fuck are you?”
I lunged this time. “Don’t speak to my girl like she’s one of your whores.” We both fell to the white-carpeted floor, punching each other, grunting, and swearing left and right.
“Are you fucked up, Dillon?” he shouted. “Get off me. I’m your brother for Christ sakes.”
He blocked every one of my punches like he’d done many times when we had wrestled as kids in our bedroom. He’d been bigger than me then, but now we matched each other in height and muscle. Still, he was proving to be the victor until I straddled him and jammed my knees into his sides.
“Where’s Grace?” I yelled, my knuckles connecting with his jaw.
“Dillon,” Maggie protested. “He’s your brother.”
He could be my savior. I wasn’t letting up until he talked. Four solid years of grief, fear, rage, depression, and hopelessness was bottled inside me. Damn Duke to hell if he didn’t start spilling his guts, or I would spill them for him.
