Closing the book on his lap, Roman inhaled deeply, enjoying the way his favorite chair to read in rose up around him like an embrace. The modern version of a high back Queen Anne Chesterfield, upholstered in soft gray velvet, was angled to afford him warmth from the fireplace and a great view out the oversized windows of his Tribeca home.
How damn lucky was he that a guy like him was able to pay cash for a New York City loft apartment? In the right place at the perfect time, he’d snapped up the old two-bedroom unit for next to nothing when the original owner’s family decided to sell and sell quickly.
Back then the place was a disaster, but he hadn’t cared one bit. For him, the thrill came from the process. Buying the property, pinning down an architect and designer, and then bringing his vision to life.
Putting his book on the small round table beside him, he hiked his feet onto the round ottoman and sank into the chair so he could study the large room in comfort.
The muted grayness outside signaled yet another dreary city day. Typical winter weather tended to be damp and sometimes snowy but more than that, what grabbed on and held fast was bitter, unshakeable cold.
A log popped and crackled on its way to becoming ash. His eyes swung to the fireplace with its marble hearth and mantle. He loved having a wood fire in his home. It was so much better than one of those gas-powered fakeplaces. Luckily, his loft was accessible by a key elevator opening directly into the foyer. If not for that he’d be lugging wood up three flights of stairs.
Mahogany panels rose dramatically to the thirteen-foot ceiling above the fireplace. Several of the panels cleverly concealed a flat screen TV. The bold masculine vibe of the wood and the surrounding exposed red brick walls complemented his nature.
So did the ceiling to floor bookcases flanking either side of the fireplace. He almost made love to his designer on the spot when she added moveable, decorative cast iron ladders for easy access.
He glanced at the rack of antlers hung in the top third of the mahogany wall and snickered. They were a new addition and a tongue-in-cheek affectation that cost him a fucking bundle. Courtesy of Rhiann and her sometimes nauseating optimism.
After giving her the grand tour one afternoon she went off like she had a tendency to do. And because Rhi never encountered a point she couldn’t make better through imagery, they ended up watching some fucking Disney movie. Beauty and the Beast. Because, she quipped, he reminded her of a character. Gaston. Gaston who could kick anyone’s ass and who decorated with antlers.
The next thing he knew, Roman was on a fervent search for the perfect wall hanging.
Antlers. Jeez.
Using the control pad sitting on the small side table next to the chair, he turned on the sound system. His annoyingly restless and antsy feelings were back. Maybe music would soothe the beast inside.
Flipping through the eclectic assortment of playlists he’d meticulously programmed, he stopped and scrolled back to an oldie but goodie. A Rachmaninov symphony, number two, third movement. It was the perfect accompaniment to a fidgety Sunday morning.
As the composition filled the air he thanked the heavens for the wondrous magic of music. The soundtrack of his life was as random and varied as the experiences he carried like baggage. He flashed on the endless war soundtrack in his head full of AC/DC , Rage Against the Machine, Metallica, and his all-time favorite, Drowning Pool’s Let the Bodies Hit the Floor. Not exactly what you’d expect of a Rhodes Scholar with a Master’s in Philosophy.
He ran a hand through his hair and rubbed the lazy beard on his jaw. The crackling pops from the fireplace receded into the background as he let the music fill the emptiness inside.
Putting his head on the back of the chair, he stared at the ceiling and willed the demons and unruly troublemakers lurking inside him to ease off. It was his usual to be a right royal prick at the beginning of every year. Part of him hated the constant passage of time because in his case, instead of making things better, each new year only reminded him of the moment, frozen in time, when he lost everything. Including the future.
“Fuck this,” he muttered in an irritated growl. Hauling up from the chair he stomped on bare feet into the kitchen and yanked open the refrigerator. Protein. That’s what he needed. A big old pile of protein and one of his throw-together raw juice drinks.
Maneuvering around the two parallel counters in the galley kitchen he helped design, it took no time at all to broil a steak and juice up his secret recipe of raw fruits and veggies. At the last second he added a serving spoon loaded with hash browns to the plate and carried it behind the living room’s sofa to the long rectangular pedestal table serving as a dining space.
From his seat, he could see out the windows and also enjoy the exposed brick walls that made his home so distinctive. He was drawn to the melding of styles and time periods throughout the apartment. The refined next to the rustic struck him as some sort of allegory. Unsure of the hidden meaning but aware that there was one, he slugged down half the glass of juice and focused on more important matters.
Like the eye-opening tidbit of insider information he pulled out of Liam after the man dropped a clue in Rhiann’s presence. Remembering to circle back and find out what the fuck Liam wasn’t telling him, he finally got him to drop the stoic reserve long enough to share.
Even though he hadn’t been involved when Liam Ashforth went on his slash and burn crusade to destroy the man who fathered him, Roman was quietly aware of what went down. Most of it.
Liam’s dogged persistence and steely focus built and powered a global enterprise of staggering wealth and influence. In his spare time, he meticulously and painstakingly poked, prodded, chipped away at, taunted, and finally annihilated Adam Ward.
And because the guy deserved it for the shitty way he treated the guy’s mother, it seemed right to give Liam all the space and privacy he needed to deal with his demons. Roman was a seasoned veteran of the demon-inside wars and understood all too well what that kind of shit made a man capable of. From his place on the inside, however, Roman did some digging of his own, maintaining loose tabs on the situation and keeping an active dossier. He didn’t want his friend walking into anything.
So he was aware of Liam’s final death blow to Ward Industries. Knew of the face-to-face coup de grace involving handing the scumbag swimming in his gene pool the exact amount of pay off the old fucker had given to Liam’s mom. But not until after he’d bankrupted him of course.
A backhanded ‘fuck you one more time’ in the form of detailed reports about her husband’s lechery couriered to Adam Ward’s wife had Liam’s fingerprints in jet black indelible ink on all of it. She left Ward’s sorry ass, thank god, and got the last laugh too. It ended up that while Adam was screwing every available hole attached to a pulse, his wife had been humping the family’s lawyer for a decade or more. When Ward’s sleazy shit hit the fan, she simply packed, left, and moved on up to a much better situation. Adam, on the other hand, found a condo outside Boca Raton in a halfway acceptable but right on the edge of society neighborhood.
It was just a random fluke when Roman stumbled on the dirty little secret that made Ward an even bigger douche. Discovering a half-sister was lurking out there had taken the whole wild fucked up saga to an eleven. Maybe a twelve.
Time wasn’t much of a consideration though until Liam’s bombshell. It turned out that Ward was on his way out. Some sort of cancer. Stage four. Roman didn’t doubt Liam probably had the man’s blood counts in a secure file—that’s how close a watch he kept. The tension when he gave up this new wrinkle in the Ward saga gave Roman a sense of urgency. Locating Kelly James and figuring out what the fuck her story is was now time sensitive. It was glaringly evident Liam needed this thing wrapped up before the old fucker took a permanent dirt nap.
The steak was history along with the hash browns, and he was still ruminating over a thousand details when his phone pinged. Fishing it from the deep pocket of his Sunday morning sweats, he gave it a glance and instantly smiled.
It was Rhiann.
Have decided on blush pink for my bridesmaids.
Soon as you meet her let me know if pink is a good color.
Hugs Big Guy ~ be safe ~ miss you already
Xoxo Rhi
P.S. Your stand-in is a dud. Can’t you train these guys to smile?
He snickered and shook his head. Damn straight the substitute bodyguard was a dud. Liam had enough problems with Rhiann. After the way he overreacted to their European team being too friendly, well…he wasn’t a numb skull. Liam had his limits. All men do.
To avoid more problems, he’d hooked them up with an ex-cop who was the Terminator’s doppelganger in appearance and attitude. Liam loved the guy. Rhiann? Not so much.
He’d thought about pulling her aside for a little lecture but after careful consideration nixed the idea. It wasn’t necessary. Most of Rhi’s fuckery was deliberate. Liam needed her enthusiasm, wit, and zest for life. She might come off as a spoiled, over energetic handful but it was an act. When it came to looking out for and after Liam Ashforth, he and Rhiann were on the same page. She’d walk into a hail of gunfire without flinching if it meant saving his life.
Her loyalty was unimpeachable, rock steady, and impressive.
The thought triggered an uncomfortable tightening in his chest that turned to a slow burn. Women with those traits were hard to find. He would know because once upon a long time ago there was a girl who tried…
Angrily shaking his head to chase away the memory, he stood up and shoved the chair out of the way with his foot. This wasn’t about him. He had no personal life to speak of and intended to keep it that way.
Putting his plate and glass into the deep sink, he made quick work of cleaning up while examining the cold hard facts of his non-professional life.
When he needed sex, he got it. Uncomplicated hook-ups, nearly always with experienced women who shared or weren’t adverse to his particular kink. He liked to fuck. And when he did, he fucked hard and with no apologies.
He’d done the Hallmark relationship. The one with sappy cards and over-the-top gestures. But that was then and this is now. Things change. People die. Circumstances evolve.
On his way down the brick-walled hallway to his bedroom, he considered getting his freak on before heading out to Oklahoma. Maybe letting off some of the steam powering his control-dominated engine was a smart move.
By the time he peeled of his sweats and turned on the shower the idea was relegated to the dustbin. Indulging in some pleasantly diverting dungeon play with someone who knew the score did not appeal to him in any way at the moment.
Under the steady stream of warm water he scrubbed shampoo into his hair and blamed the feisty Rhiann and lovesick Liam for his change in attitude.
Not content to place all his ire in one spot, he also included those Justice fucknuts and their perfect desert family.
Jesus Christ, he thought. Even Cam, bitter, anti-social Cam, had a gorgeous wife, a kid and another rugrat on the way.
Why was it just him whacking off in the shower when what he’d really like is a hot-blooded woman with a ballsy attitude who’d enjoy spending a lazy Sunday morning sucking his dick and going for a ride? A guy didn’t need a wedding ring or a house in the suburbs for that. Didn’t seem fair.
Suds rinsed away, he grabbed a body wash, squirted a glob into his hand and then smirked ruefully at the half-a-hard-on taunting him.
“Aw, come on,” he grumbled.
Determined to master his baser urges, Roman exercised the control he was known for and finished the shower in record time.
With a towel slung low on his hips he walked around his closet tossing things into a pile for his trip to rural Oklahoma. Preferring order to chaos and systems to mayhem, he focused on the section where he kept the clothes he’d consider outdoorsy and rugged. None of his expensive tailored suits would be needed this time.
His mind ticked off a thousand details. He was flying into Amarillo first where he’d pick up the truck Gardner arranged for him.
From there the plan was to head southeast to a remote corner of Oklahoma where a set of GPS coordinates and nothing else would be all he had to locate and then pin down Kelly James.
He’d researched the hole in the woods town called Providence that was closest to her family’s property. Far as he could tell it was a five street mish mosh of businesses and shitty houses that melted into the surrounding woods.
One of his Justice contacts led him to the only bar in town, a rundown saloon called Shorty’s. Because all things were separated by those famed six degrees, it turned out Shorty’s owner was an ex-Marine. And since Marines sticking together was the way shit worked, the owner, Jimmy gladly offered him a room above the saloon where Roman could set up camp.
If Jimmy turned out to be a long-time local, Roman hoped he’d have useful information or point him in the right direction so he could get this show on the road and move things along.
The sooner and easier the better as far as he was concerned. And then maybe when this matter was wrapped up and Rhi’s June wedding was over, he could step back and maybe take a real vacation. Sit in the sun and get his damn priorities straight. Decide what the fuck he wanted to do with his life now that he was a bona fide grown up.
Kelly glanced at Matty in his spot near the fireplace as he scooted around the rug building a rather impressive structure out of the oversized bin of second-hand Lincoln Logs she’d scored for ten bucks. When he saw the massive assortment tucked under the Christmas tree with a tag from Santa, his adorably cute face simply lit up with joy. Who said you needed expensive tech toys and batteries to have fun?
Kneading the ache in her lower back, she shifted in her seat to wake up muscles turned sluggish from her long sit at the kitchen table. The monthly paperwork for KA James and a stack of bills were spread out around her. She might be a shitty housekeeper with a bad habit for attracting clutter, but when it came to accounts and stuff like that? Well, she thought with a bit of pride. I’ve got that shit covered in spades.
Taking the number off the handheld solar calculator she got for free at the bank in Fairley, Kelly migrated the figure to an accounting sheet where she recorded every sale, expense and debt for her fledgling business venture.
The numbers weren’t all that bad. Her stained glass trinket boxes were a big hit before the holidays, and the silver snowflake earrings were selling fast enough to be a seasonal favorite. It wasn’t a lot, but her hard work and perseverance paid off. They’d turned the corner a few months ago, and she could now say with some assurance that their modest, thrifty household took in more than went out.
Balancing the books and making a nest egg for the future drove her hard. She was determined not to tap any more of the twenty-five grand her mother stashed in a duffle bag. They’d always lived hand-to-mouth, but she was smart and determined. Not everyone had the wherewithal to use what little he or she had to build a ladder out of despair. But she did, and that ladder was going to be strong because getting Matty out of the woods and into the real world was all that mattered and what she thought about twenty-four seven.
She had one year. One year to achieve the near impossible. He’d be four in February. Once he hit five, they needed to be settled someplace. She didn’t dream about bright lights and big cities. Fame, fortune, and acclaim were not on her to-do list.
Nope, for her, ordinary and normal was the goalposts she ran toward. Being isolated and forgotten may have served her mother’s purposes but all it meant to her was struggle. And she was sick and freakin’ tired of struggling.
“Kik, look!” Matty squealed with childish delight. “I made you a fortress. And it has a real garage.”
A fortress with a garage. Hmmm. The kid might be on to something.
Abandoning the monthly busywork, she hurried to his side and sank onto the rug. Playtime with Matty was as important as staying on budget. His refusal to speak around strangers was a real problem, but rather than focus on something she couldn’t change and didn’t understand, she devoted herself to verbalizing with him at every opportunity. Building his vocabulary and giving him confidence would serve him well eventually.
“This is the door,” he proudly proclaimed. As he flopped onto his belly, she watched him with a smile lighting up her heart. She might only be twenty-three and have no real world experience, but she’d been a damn fine parent so far.
Virgin parent, her brain tittered.
Her chin tilted defiantly upward. There wasn’t a single thing that she had to explain or apologize for. Not that anyone was asking her to, or paying attention to them in any way.
“What’s this?” she asked, pointing to a stack of logs situated next to the fortress door.
With his chin resting in one hand and his feet waving in the air behind them, he explained in great detail how he saw things.
“They’re for your garden, Kik. Right outside the door, so you don’t have to walk so far. These logs,” he explained while lining them up in a row, “will be the fence. No deer,” he murmured.
She chuckled. Even at such a young age he already knew what a pain in the ass the wildlife could be and the toll their grazing ways took on their food supply.
“I like the way you think,” she teased. “And what’s this over here?” Side-by-side short towers stood at the rear of the fortress. The placement didn’t seem haphazard, so she asked for clarification.
“Oh,” he mumbled. His feet lowered, and he leaned on his forearms as a pensive look appeared on his face. “Sam says he’ll come to wherever we are and build me a swing set.”
Her heart did that little two-step thump she was intimately acquainted with. It happened every time she heard that small, yearning quaver in his voice. Lately, those times were happening more and more frequently.
She knew what moved him. Knew what he yearned for even if he was too young to put it into words.
They were okay, the two of them. A great team. But the world was big and had much to offer. To an old soul like Matty, the longing to break free was part of his first breath. She might not be in a position to personally explore all of the planet’s seven wonders with him, but goddammit she was going to put him in a regular school where education would open the doors in his mind. After that, anything was possible.
“I think a real swing set with a sliding board would be nice. Much better than our old tire swing.”
His beautiful eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled.
Overcome with sudden emotion, she scooted closer and grabbed him up into a fierce hug. “Matty, I promise. When we leave here, you can have a swing set and a bike and enough books of your own to make a library.”
It almost killed her when he put his little hands on her face and gushed with love. “I’m man of the house, and I’ll look out for you Kiki. Nobody is ever gonna make you sad again.”
Her mind flashed on the memory of that butt-fuck from town, Burton Dulb. He and his old man had been after her to sell the land the moment Debbie died. To them. For an absolute pittance. Her old house, shed and half-barn might not be worth anything but twenty plus acres that included a stream and a pond was nothing to sneeze at. Maybe not this year or in the next five, but someday the James property would be worth something and she planned to hold onto it no matter what as something she could hand down to Matty.
Burton was an asshole of the highest order. Five years her senior he’d been giving her shit for years. When she was fourteen he tracked her in the woods, discovered her hidden tree stand and tried to bully her into sharing. She kicked him in the shins. He smacked her so hard she fell to the ground.
That moment marked her immediate growing up. Maybe her mother was okay with being treated like shit, but she was having none of Burt’s crap. Scrambling to her feet she spied a perfect tree switch on the ground, grabbed it, and proceeded to beat the holy shit out of him while chasing the smarmy fuck to the edges of the property.
He’d been out to get her ever since. Having a fourteen-year-old whip your ass with a branch while you ran for cover was Burt’s secret humiliation.
Believing she was at her most vulnerable following Debbie’s shocking death, he moved in for the kill. She’d been frightened at first. He threatened to contaminate their well if she wouldn’t sell the property, to cut the power lines, and anything else he could think of to make her life hell.
Those days were known as her funk time. She’d been sad and a whole lot more. But then she found the duffel bag of money. From despair came hope. Fighting back was her natural setting. The Dulbs were fucking insane if they thought she was going to be intimidated. So she got them back in her own way. Subtle ‘fuck you’s that almost dared them to come after her. Even if they threw the worst at her, she could shrug it off if she had to. She wasn’t a runner. Sticking to her guns and standing her ground was much more her style so that’s what she did. But it was still comforting to know if they had to bolt, they could.
“Oh Matty,” she cried, holding him tight. “You’re all I need little man. We’re a team, remember? As long as we have each other, we’ll always be all right.”