Page 7 of Hart of Redemption
Whatever. With the world I lived in, I was surprised I didn’t have a full head of white hair.
After shaving and the normal morning bathroom routine, I was dressed in a pair of black pants, a blue button-down shirt, and a pair of loafers. I grabbed my watch off the dresser and secured it around my right wrist.
The blonde stirred before raising her head and opening her sleepy blue eyes. “Duke, why are you up at”—she looked at the clock on the nightstand—“five a.m.? Come back to bed.”
“Vince will see you out in a couple of hours.”
I could be an asshole and kick her out now, but I wasn’t that much of a dick, although others around me would argue that point.
She pouted as she flashed her tits at me. “Duke, you don’t want these babies?” She pinched her nipples as she threw the sheet off her lower body. “Or this?” She opened her legs wide and stuck a finger inside her pussy.
My dick stirred for the briefest of seconds, but I shut that shit down. “This will be the last time I see you.” I grabbed my suit jacket off the chair by the closet.
“But Duke—” she protested.
I ignored her as I walked out. I had nothing in my room for her to take or use against me. All my important information and valuables were kept in a safe behind a wall in my old penthouse where Denim and his wife, Jade, lived. Denim knew about it. He even knew what to do if I was ever arrested or found dead.
“You’re a cold bastard,” she shouted at my back.
“I am,” I admitted.
I ran a multimillion-dollar criminal empire, and the only way to succeed was to put up my steel armor. No one could get a glimpse of what lay beneath my hardened exterior. No one.
I navigated the hall on the top floor of the Monarch, which was where I lived.
I read the text that Denim had left about twenty minutes ago.
Denim:Call me when you’re up.
I tapped on his name in my favorites as I unlocked my office and went straight for the Advil in my desk drawer.
“Bro,” Denim said, sounding like he had been dozing.
“Are you just getting home?” I asked.
He yawned. “Yeah, I was guarding a musician all night. It seems young pop singers ask for me when they're doing gigs in Boston.”
I swallowed the Advil without water. “At least it's legal work and pays well. I’m happy for you, bro.”
“The Guardian isn’t exactly legal.”
“Jeremy Pitt keeps you legal, though, right, Denim?” My big-brother tone kicked in. “I don’t want you in jail again.”
“Dude, I’ll worry about my life. Enough about me. I got your text about dinner tonight. What’s going on? You never do dinner with the family.”
I went into the small kitchen behind my office in search of coffee. “Not over the phone. But you still know what to do in the event anything happens to me?”
“Duke, please tell me you’re not about to go to war with your enemies.”
I pressed on my ulcer. “Not sure of anything yet. I need to be prepared. I’ll explain things tonight. Also, we need another man on Grace.”
“Motherfucker. Seriously, bro. Find a way out, please.”
“I’m working on it. I’ll see you at Yvonne’s at five. Oh, and please don’t bring Jade. I don’t want wives there. Maggie neither. Can you pass that along to Dillon?”
After he agreed and we ended the call, I blew out a painful breath. I hated to discuss my business with them, but if I wanted them alive, I had no choice.
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