CHAPTER TWENTY

EMMETT

 

 

“WHAT?”

My father laughed. “That’s how you answer your phone, son?” I wanted to tell him to stop calling me son, but it would be pointless.

“We are waiting for you. Did you forget about our arrangement?”

“No. I’ll be there soon.” I closed the phone as I got into my car. Leaving the hotel, I drove the short distance to one of my father’s clubs.

 

Women danced around poles scattered around the room, fully clothed. They stopped briefly, with watchful eyes as I entered, none of them greeting me. They would practice here throughout the day for tonight’s entertainment. “Lower Marcella, you want them to want you,” Julie, one of the top dancers who was in her late fifties, taught the newcomers how to dance. I glanced at her, sensing her eyes on me. “Nice to see you,” she said, smiling. Julie was genuine, and I didn’t seem to scare her. I never acknowledged her, yet she always greeted me.

“You too, Julie,” I said. She smiled and returned to Marcella.

“Again, Marcella.” I heard her say as I left the main room and made my way to the back. Two of my father’s men stood on either side of the single door that I entered.

“Ah, my son…” My father got up from behind his desk, throwing pretend punches. “…my fighter,” he said, straightening up before embracing me. Two of the men in the room smiled at us. Two men, I had made very rich for throwing the fight—a favor they had asked of my father, and he would have me do it just for fun, more than loyalty to these men. I stood still, not returning my father’s hug. I was struggling not to punch him. He leaned back. “No love for your father?” I didn't respond, and he sat down, holding his hands up. “Okay. Sit, son.”

I did, facing all three men.

“Thank you, Emmett, for what you did.” I nodded at Dan as Vinny thanked me, too. He didn’t sound as thankful as Dan, but I really didn’t give a shit. These men were no better than my father and in no way did I want their admiration or their respect.

“There’s another fight that Dan would like you to participate in,” My father sat back, smugly.

“I don’t want you to throw the fight, I want you to win it,” Dan said.

“Who? Anyone, I know?” I asked, I didn’t want this to become another situation like Viktor.

“Just a punk kid who keeps costing me money.” I really didn’t have a choice, as long as I worked for my father again, I had certain criteria to fill, and fighting was one of them. And unfortunately, until I could find a way out, I did work for him again. “It’s tonight, in your father's pits again,” he said.

A humourless laugh left my mouth. “I’m a bit beat up to start fighting again and win.”

“We have faith in you, son,” my father clapped his hands together, ending the conversation. “Afterwards, we can celebrate here. Like old times.”

I nodded, reining in my need to smash his face in. “Is that all?” I asked my father, I wasn’t sure I could keep myself seated much longer.

 

“No,” my father’s face grew somber. An act, one I had seen often, and I knew was coming.

“Silver’s death has left its mark on his father,” Vinny removed his hat and held it to his chest. “Poor bastard.” A moment of silence sat falsely around the room.

“I promised his father that you would help him find his son’s killer,” My father looked at me, daring me to argue.

“You want me…to find the man who killed Silver,” I said incredulously. This was a new low, even for my father.

“We think you are the man for the job,” Dan and Vinny chimed in.

“Yeah, you are The Hunter, after all,” Dan said.

I hated that title; it made me feel like a monster. “And when I find him, Father, what should his punishment be?” A warning passed through my father’s eyes.

“Kill the lowlife, of course,” Dan said.

“I thought the barman killed Silver?” Vinny asked.

“He only pulled the trigger. I am looking for the man that gave him the gun,” I said, still looking at my father.

A tense moment passed before my father slapped the table. “That’s my boy. Go find him, Hunter.” He of all people knew how much I hated that title, but he loved when people called him the Devil, and he seemed even prouder when I was called the Hunter.

 

AMBER

I was bored to tears. Michael had stayed with me. He didn’t even speak to me; he seemed pissed at me giving him the slip. It made me wonder what kind of punishment he had been given.
I got up off the couch where I had been lying and made my way to the bathroom, Michael heavy on my heels. I turned to close the door, but his foot stopped me. “I’m going to the toilet,” I told him, thinking he would remove his foot, but he didn’t. “Michael, move your foot now.”

“No. I was told not to let you out of my sight,” he said.

“I can assure you, Emmett wouldn’t appreciate you watching me going to the toilet.”

“I’ll turn around,” was his smartass reply. This was stupid.

“We are like ten floors up. Do you seriously think I’m going to climb out the window and what? Jump?”

“Door’s not closing,” Michael said, folding his arms. He really wasn’t moving. It was either hold it until Emmett got home, or just go.

“Fine,” I said, and Michael relaxed. I used the moment and stamped on his foot with all my force, making him shout in pain. Grabbing the door, I slammed it, but Michael’s heavy body slammed against the other side, stopping me from locking it. I lasted two seconds before he pushed the door open.

“The. Door. Stays. Open.”

I glared at him for a moment before leaving the bathroom.
“I’m ringing Emmett,” I said, making my way back to the couch where my phone sat. I didn’t reach it before the elevator doors opened and Emmett walked in. He looked distracted as Michael came rushing after me.

“Amber,” Michael growled. Emmett’s head snapped up at his tone, Michael stopped, paling. “Mr. Harrington.” The doors closed behind Emmett and he had a dangerous gleam in his eye as he made his way to Michael.

“Yes?” he asked. Michael looked at me, and I wasn’t one for helping assholes out, but I also didn’t want to witness a murder.

“I was going to ring you and Michael advised me against it.”

Emmett wasn’t looking at me; he was still looking holy murder at Michael. “Why?”

“I wanted to leave, to get some food.” Michael controlled his reaction well, making my lie more truthful.

Emmett looked at me now. “After everything we talked about?” He sounded disappointed, and that was like a punch in the stomach.

“I was bringing Michael with me,” I shrugged like it was no big deal. It took Emmett a moment to move, and when he did, he moved around me and sat down on the couch. Michael moved back to the door, where he stood like a statue. ‘You owe me,’ I mouthed, and he shook his head with a look of disbelief on his face.
Emmett didn’t seem very approachable right at this moment. His stiff posture and clenched hands were a warning not to approach.  I wasn’t sure what to do. So, I sat beside him, but not too close, and waited for him to speak.

But one thing I had learned in the last few weeks was that I wasn’t a very patient person, and he wasn’t a very open person. I knew if I waited for him to open up, I would die of old age. “Anything you want to share?” I said, and he looked at me, his stare hard, not focused. If anger was tangible, I was sure I would have smelled, tasted, and felt it off Emmett.

“I have to fight tonight,” he said. “But I don’t have to throw it so don’t worry,” he added, his face softening a fraction.

“I’m going,” I knew before I started that this wouldn’t go well.

“Amber, now is not the time.” He stood, and so did I.

“No, it is the perfect time. I’m not sitting here worrying about you, wondering how badly injured you are.”

“My father was there the last time, if he sees you again…”  Now Emmett shook his head. “…no, end of discussion.” I had thought the man in the trench coat looked like an older version of Emmett, but to hear Emmett say it had panic clawing at me. He was the one who had sent the two men after me, the ones who now had possession of my wallet.  I was sure of it. I remembered his cold eyes and cold smile and shivered.

“I promise I will be fine,” Emmett was in front of me, smiling gently, my panic taken wrongly. I knew I sounded like a broken record, but I wasn’t sitting here like a good girl and I told Emmett that. He sighed, “If you come, you must stay with Michael.” My smile had Emmett pausing, maybe rethinking letting me go, so I calmed it down.

“Fine, I will,” I looked at Michael whose jaw was clenched. Yeah, he hated babysitting me.

“You need to stay in the centre of the crowd,” Emmett now looked me up and down as I nodded. “And wear something less–nice,” he added. He gave me one more look before saying. “I better get ready.” Emmett walked away, and I wanted to reach out and stop him, hug him, maybe, but a part of me felt like he needed his space and I had wrecked his head enough. My stomach tightened thinking about the fight, and his father seeing me. I needed to really stay out of sight. He wouldn’t notice me in the middle of a crowded room.

Emmett didn’t say much as he left, he paused at the door for several seconds, before speaking low to Michael. Maybe giving him instructions. Once he was gone, I got dressed. I found a pair of black jogging pants. I also found a black tank top and a black, light zippy top. Once I had my runners laced up, I tied up my hair before grabbing my phone. A message was there from Emmett. I smiled as I jogged to the door where Michael stood. Opening the message, two words had me halting. “I’m sorry.” My smile faltered.

And I saw it then, on Michael’s face, Emmett had lied to me.
“Move,” I ordered Michael, feeling humiliated at being tricked.

“You didn’t really think he would let you go,” I could hear a certain level of pity in Michael’s voice, which really pissed me off.

“I saved your ass earlier. You owe me, so step aside.”

Michael folded his hands in front of him, like a real bodyguard. “You don’t get it. You’re not leaving this penthouse.”  The finality in Michael’s words had me turning back around and slamming the door of the bedroom that Emmett had said was mine. I knew I had no right to act like a drama queen, I had broken more promises and betrayed his trust, that was right, but I had believed him, and– it just hurt. Emmett needed me, whether he knew it or not, and I needed for him to understand that I would always be there for him. 

I lay on the bed, seething. I could hear Michael moving around the penthouse and he poked his head in the room a few times to make sure I hadn't left. I was allowed to close the door to this room. At first, I thought Michael had turned sloppy, but after searching the room twice, I resigned myself to the amazing lighting in the room. There were no windows.  That’s why Emmett gave me this room. He was crafty.

It had been over an hour since Emmett had left, and I was starting to worry again, not that I had stopped, but my level of worry had increased. My nails could testify to that. I needed to do something, so I got up and went to the door. “Michael,” I called leaving the room. I found him in the kitchen, cooking like a pro. He was making a stir fry, chopping up ingredients and adding a little bit of this and a little bit of that. It smelt amazing.

“Hungry?” he asked. I took in the sight before me, a small smile played at the side of my mouth at the picture he painted. He wore a white apron over his trousers and shirt, he was a real kitchen diva.

“Yeah, Gordon Ramsay. I’ll have some.” He smiled at the name as I pulled out one of the stools that were tucked under the breakfast bar. “Any word from Emmett?” I felt anguish when Michael shook his head.

“Look, I know...” He paused.  “…you two have a–thing...” I narrowed my eyes at the word ‘thing.’ “I mean, you are–you know–seeing each other,” he started to dish out the stir-fry.  That was a bit of a leap. I honestly wasn’t sure what me and Emmett were, but I didn’t voice any of this. “Anyway, what I am trying to say is, Emmett isn’t going to ring to let us know he got out of the ring safely.” He pushed my plate towards me. “He ain’t that kind of guy.”

I let out a heavy sigh. “Yeah, I kind of got that. Still. It would be nice to know that he’s not bleeding to death somewhere.”

Michael smiled. “Rein in the love, you sound like you care.”

I smiled at him. “Is that sarcasm, Michael?” I asked while taking a fork full of his mouth-watering stir-fry.
“If it is, does it mean we’re cool?” He did his boyish grin. I bet he was a slut at school. I knew too many guys like him, Craig came to mind now.

“Yeah, I suppose I can’t stay mad at you. It’s not your fault you’re whipped.”

My words had his grin slipping. “I’m not whipped, Amber. You really don’t get it.” Oh, fuck, he was seriously offended.

“I’m sorry, I was joking.” He stuffed a fork full of food in his mouth. Well, this was awkward. The noise of both of us chewing had me cringing. I really didn’t do awkward. “Okay, Michael, explain it to me,” I said, and he snorted while stuffing more food in his mouth. I left the counter and got two glasses, pouring us each a drink of water. I slid Michael’s to him, hoping it was a peace offering. He took and drank the whole thing down before sliding the glass back to me.  “Seriously?” I said taking the glass and refilling it. I sat back down but didn’t hand it to Michael straight away, I held it. “You going to talk?” I asked.

“Is my water a hostage if I don’t?” he asked, and I knew I had won.

“I might spit in it,” I smiled.

“Fine, I’ll talk.” I handed him the glass and started to eat my food.
“It’s respect for Emmett. He got us through some bad shit. He’s one of the good guys that came from a bad place,” he said off-handedly, but I was drinking every word up like it was the gospel. Just to have an insight to Emmett meant everything. I knew from watching Emmett fight that he held a lot of anger, and now hearing Michael say he came from a bad place just clarified it for me.
“His father...” Michael shook his head, “He’s a bastard. He is known as The Devil,” I tried not to smile, sometimes gang names or members were funny. Fat Freddie, Mickey Two Fingers, Hammerhead. The Devil. I, of course, didn’t voice any of this, just nodded.
“Did you have a nickname?” I asked Michael as I ran the fork around the sauce on the plate.

“The Cook,” he said, grinning again. He licked his own fork and put it down on the plate.

“Suits you. What would my nickname be?” I tried to look innocent.

“Trouble,” he said, and I snorted.

“Did Emmett have one?” Things grew strained. Michael’s eyes shifted from me, his posture stiffening. I wanted to roll my eyes. What was with all the top-secret stuff? “Seriously, it’s fine, you don’t have to say,” I said, getting up and gathering the plates.

“Hunter.” I stopped and glanced at him before stacking the dishes in the sink. “As in like a hunter?”

“Yeah,” Michael said carefully, but he was saying no. I glanced at him. His back was to me, so I gathered the glasses to get a look at him. “He didn’t hunt animals, Amber,” he said slowly.

I shrugged, I was expecting that. “Yeah, I kind of got that.”

“He hunted people,” he added.

I put the glasses in the sink. Now I didn’t want Michael to see my face. “And killed them?” I asked, but a part of me knew the answer.

“That I don’t know.” He was lying again, but I didn’t push it. I’d gotten what I’d wanted, and I didn’t know how to feel about it.

After washing up, we sat out on the couches, and I was surprised when Michael spoke of his son, William. He was three–the same age that Lily would have been. I laughed as he told me one story after another, each killing me a little, but I couldn’t ask him to stop. I hung on to each word as if he spoke about Lily in another world, living another life. One where she cleaned the toilet with my toothbrush, or where she pooed so bad that it was up to her neck. How she would poke my eyes in the morning to wake me up, or stick her finger up my nose. Little fingers that were so tiny, so pointy. I laughed as I pictured Lily dancing, wiggling her little bum, big blue eyes, looking huge on her face, as she smiled up at me. “Mommy dance with me.” I could feel the burn of tears and Michael stopped speaking.

“Are you okay?”

I swallowed my pain. “Yeah, of course. He sounds–perfect.”

Now Michael laughed. “He keeps me busy. You turn your back and they're gone,” he clicked his fingers together. “When William’s quiet, I know he’s up to no good. You never know what you might find.”

“Drink?” I asked Michael, giving myself a moment to pull my shit together. Michael gave me a look of suspicion as I got up off the couch. “What’s with the look?” I asked, making my way to the open kitchen.

“Are you trying to get me drunk so you can bail and search for Emmett?” I smiled slightly. The thought had crossed my mind, but I decided that wasn’t fair to Michael. I wasn’t sure what kind of shit I had caused him earlier, but Emmett wasn’t a slap on the wrist kind of guy, he was more like break a leg or two.

“No. It’s just an offer.” I found a nice bottle of white wine and got two wine glasses down from where they hung over the wine rack.

“I’ll pass. I can’t be drinking on the job. The boss wouldn’t like that,” Michael sat at the barstool and I sat across from him now, filling my wine glass. I took a very satisfying gulp. I’m sure you aren’t meant to gulp wine, but I needed a drink.

“I’m sorry if I got you in trouble before,” I looked up to find Michael watching me, a grin on his face.

“You’re forgiven,” he said, and I felt a little bit of guilt lift that I wasn’t aware had been festering on my shoulders. The night ended up being pretty uneventful. I checked my phone like one hundred times, nothing from Emmett. So, I drunk texted Grace instead.