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I think back over the week. Rowan and I each led our own groups, infiltrating the inner circle of several gangs, gathering intel and finding out their plans. Then, hit our targets.
In the end, both groups were successful.Rowan, my men, and I gathered a ton of information. After carefully analyzing the data, I prepared it, bringing it with me today.
Just as I’m about to reach Rowan and ask what he thinks the meeting could be about, Bronson’s aide steps into the room, asking all of us to meet in his office for my presentation.
As the Planner, I spend the next two hours in Bronson’s massive office, the men surrounding the conference table, me standing in the front presenting facts and figures on an interactive whiteboard that hangs at the front of the room as I fill in the three heads of the family and the captains on everything we learned.
And yes, I subject them to bar graphs, pie charts, and maps of areas where each group is located. Oh, and a 115-page take-home printout of all the information.I might be savage in the streets, but I know my way around a spreadsheet.
The mood in Bronson’s office is tense as I go through the slideshow, sharing which territories each group held, and the estimated number of members in each.My comprehensive knowledge of their operations is met with riveted attention. I finish my presentation, feeling a surge of pride as I notice the admiration in the eyes of my audience. I nod to confirm I’m done, packing up my things.
The three heads exchange knowing looks with one another, and I know that I’ve earned their respect. They all know that my entire loyalty is to this family, and they don't take my service lightly.
Our mission confirmed what we already knew: no other organization can hold a candle to our family.
Yeah—no fuckups.
Even though I couldn’t be more thrilled by the way things went, my stomach knots when I think of the upcoming meeting with Paige and Bronson in the library. What could they need to talk to me about? My next mission? Is that what the power couple wants to talk to me about?
It’s a little soon and why would Paige be involved in that?
What could the King and Queen of the Hamlet want with me?
I take a deep breath, reliving the adrenaline rush from the week before.
Whatever it is, I'll be ready.
Finally, I get through the crowd to Rowan. I grab his arm, pulling his attention away from the pretty brunette he’s chatting up, one of the few women in the room. I give her an apologetic glance, flashing her the cocky smile all the women melt for. “Excuse me. Can I steal this guy for a sec?”
“If you have to.” English accent? She gives a little laugh, bringing her wineglass to her glossy lips. “But bring him back when you’re done, yeah?” She takes a long sip of her wine then leans over, offering him a farewell kiss before she spins on her heel, disappearing into the crowd.
He watches her leave, giving a low whistle. “What a bird.”
“Bird, huh? One from your flock? Thought I detected an English accent.”
“She’s no Brum, but yeah, she’s British.” He turns to me, his green eyes flashing with intrigue. “Her name is Jinx. She’s from Essex, a guest of Paige’s. Got famous starring in some reality show over there.”
“Jinx sounds like a reality television show name.” I laugh at Rowan and his trail of semi-famous brunettes. “I hope she’s not filming when she becomes the next to bite the Rowan dust.”
“Shut it,” he says, his Birmingham accent more detectable with each drink he downs. A descendant of the Brum Boys, an organized crime ring that ran the London underworld a long time ago, he’s found his perfect fit with us. Or us lot, as he says. “I’m not that bad, am I?”
He grabs a whiskey from a server holding out a passing tray and hands it to me.
“Thanks.” I take a long sip. “How many,” I crook my fingers in the air, “‘dates’ did you go on last week?”
“Hm.” He looks off into the room. “Five?”
I clink my glass to his. “You, sir, are a serial dater. Line ‘em up and knock ‘em out.”
“Are you likening me to a serial killer?” he asks, a look of humor in his eyes. “If so, takes one to know one. Can’t imagine you’re one to talk. How many women have you had locked up in chains this month?”
“Me?”
I have a trail of my own women, but they’re one-night stands or paid escorts who will never even know my real name. I’m honest, up front, and can spot a clinger from a mile away. I avoid those women like the plague. If I have an itch that needs scratching, I go up to my friend’s club in Italy, Fire, playing in his many kinky rooms with beautiful women I’ll never see again.
But something serious? Hell no. Will not be dating again. Ever. I’ve sworn off love.
The last girl I was with broke my heart. She was a ballet dancer, born into old money in the city. The thing I loved most about her was her killer sense of humor.
