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Bryant nods.
“Not the worst thing he has done, obviously,” I grumble. “And I see how it would benefit you both in some way. This is what happens when men have too much damn power.” I shake off my thoughts before I veer off track. “One more question before I ask my next one.”
“That doesn’t make sense, by the way.” Devon snickers from behind Bryant’s massive body. “You should just say two more questions.”
I flip him off while keeping my eyes on Bryant. “Why did my father owe you?”
Just when I think my question will be left on deaf ears, Bryant says, “You’re not ready for that answer yet. Trust me.”
I tense. “Tell me, Bryant. I’m not going to go along with any plan unless I know everything. I will not be blindsided again.”
Bryant pushes away from me. “Fine.”
I slide up on top of his desk. “Your father owed me because—”
Devon coughs from behind me. “You don’t want to know this…”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “I do.”
Bryant’s head shakes, but I can sense his underlying agitation. “We helped with something that happened years ago.”
“What? Helped him with what?” Why do I get the feeling that I’m not about to like what is said next?
I can’t hear anything when Bryant’s mouth starts moving. It’s as though my brain knew that the next words that were about to come out of his mouth were going to be something that I wouldn’t like.
“Do you?” Bryant urges, and I didn’t even realize that his arm was hooked back around my waist or that my face was almost pressed against his chest.
“Do I what?” I ask, resting my palms against him to give me some space. His cologne is toxic but mixed with the cigar smoke it’s lethal.
“Do you remember the boating accident?” he repeats, only this time his tone is careful. He’s searching my face as if looking for clues. Any clue to see if I’m lying.
“No?”
Devon shuffles from behind me, dropping down into my favorite seat.
“You were young. Really fucking young. Like, sixteen…”
“Wait!” I stop him with a simple flick of my wrist. “You’ve known me since I was sixteen?”
Bryant flexes his jaw. “Yes. Your father, he reached out to Devon and me for our… services.”
“Services?” I ask, an eyebrow cocked. “What do you mean services? What would he want with a CEO and a—” I pause, as a pool of saliva fills my mouth. The reality of his words finally pulsing through the membranes of my brain. Did he mean what I think he meant?
I step away from Bryant as his hands fly out to my arm to stop me. “And an assassin.” My vision is blurred on Devon. “What the fuck!”
Bryant seems to lose focus on me as he stumbles backward, reaching for the bottle of whiskey while running his hand through his hair. He leans against his desk and takes a swig from the glass bottle, his focus back on me. He swipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Before I started Royal Enterprise, I was just like Devon.”
I want to scream. Hit him. Ask him what this meant and why. Why was he telling me this right now and what did it have to do with my father and me?
Bryant continues. “Your father dialed in a job for me.”
“A job?” I ask, blinking. “What was the job?”
Bryant stares. “You.”
Not all men are fit to be a father. Some are only equipped to be dads.
-Isa
Past
“I got a text.” I flicked through the message that was open on my phone, as Devon stumbled out from his back room with a bottle of vodka hanging from his fingers. Devon was eighteen and I twenty. I never planned to have this gig as a long-time thing. In fact, a business deal was about to go through next week that was sure to set me up for fucking life.
I couldn’t tell Devon right now though, he loved that we did this together too much. Like Batman and Robin, only we weren’t fighting bad guys. We were the bad guys.
“What’d it say?” Devon asked, nudging his head at my phone.
I glared up at him with a smirk, kicking my legs out in front of me. “To meet him at Clay Harbor. Two hundred fifty thousand dollars.” I watched as Devon froze as I said that number out loud. Same for both of us, both our parents were rich. But a trust fund couldn’t buy me the most expensive thing of all.
Control.
“How do we know it’s not a setup?”
I shrugged. “We don’t.” The phone that we used was basically a burner phone. We changed every week and put out feelers so that people had our new number. Everyone knew who Devon and I were. The Reaper and The Beast. That’s all we were ever known by.
Devon smirked, tipping the bottle of vodka to his lips. “Then let’s fucking party.”
