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“Enjoying your night?” I ask when I reach him.
“Actually, it was more eventful than I’d expected,” Rex responds, keeping everything close to the vest.
“Anything that I should be concerned about?” I ask him point blank.
Rex’s sudden silence heightens my suspicions, causing them to multiply tenfold.
“Rex? Is there anything I should be worried about?” I repeat more forcefully.
“Not right now, Trent. But soon,” he says before waving over at someone in the distance. “I should see how much we’ve been able to raise for Martha. Have a nice night, son. Please try and enjoy yourself, will you?”
And with that parting remark, Rex leaves me to attend to the wishes of his dead wife.
Seeing as I won’t get any intel from Rex himself, I might as well meet the man who successfully captured his attention for most of the night. I scour the crowd, searching for Lawrence, but I am disappointed to see him leaving the party.
This fundraiser is only halfway through, but it seems that after his talk with Rex, he sees no reason to hang around.
Why?
What the hell could they have been talking about?
I need some answers right now, so I pull out my phone and google Lawrence Preston III. Everything that shows up is just generic intel about him being the son of the big Boston mogul, predictably named Lawrence Preston Junior. There are newspaper articles on the Preston family, one of which specifies that Lawrence is an only child and the only one in line to inherit the Preston fortune—one that some small countries would envy.
Just like Connor told me, it seems that Lawrence had been living abroad for a few years now and that his return, while welcomed, was also greatly unexpected. The newspaper article reads like a trashy gossip magazine, hinting that his father might no longer be up to the task of overseeing all their business. Other rumors suggest that Lawrence came back of his own accord, having decided to return to Boston to make his own particular mark on it. An all-new business venture that has nothing to do with Daddy Warbucks’s current cash cows.
It’s the latter assumption that has me worried.
After my recent conversation with Rex, it’s abundantly clear he’s lost his love for living in Boston. I just hope he doesn’t do anything premature that may affect the Guardians in any way because of it. Rex might not have any kids of his own to speak of, but I know that the club has been like family to him. My fear is that he’s forgotten that, and with Martha’s passing, he’s not only lost love for this city but also no longer feels any attachment to the legacy he’s built here, too.
Tense and pissed for not being able to get much more out of him, the night takes a restless tone to it, so when Connor tries to fly past me, I’m more than a little worked up.
“Hey man, I did what you said,” he explains hurriedly when I grab him by the arm. “Just so you know, blondie is not happy. I’d be more worried about your balls than mine. Just saying.”
“Let me worry about that,” I grumble, passing him whatever bills are left in my wallet. “I’d say you’re done for the night.”
His eyes light up at the chunk of change he’s made just by staying clear of Piper’s advances.
“Pleasure doing business with you, sir. Hope to see you in the future.”
“For your sake, you better hope not.”
His face pales at the threat, but he has the good sense to walk away and leave at a hurried pace.
With my drink in hand, I walk over to the open deck overlooking the Charles, grateful that it’s too cold a night for the guests to venture out of the party.
But not everyone is afraid of the chill.
Not when blind rage keeps them perfectly warm.
Within seconds, Piper stands beside me, looking like a woman who is about to cut off my junk and feed it to the fish.
“Lee,” I greet. “I was beginning to worry that you forgot all about me.”
“Cut the crap, Nichols! Just what exactly do you think you’re playing at?” she demands.
“You’ll have to be a little more precise than that.”
“Oh, can it! You know damn well what I’m talking about!” she fumes.
