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“His nightmare is only going to get worse if he doesn’t pull his finger out his ass.” Brad says, taking a seat, the only man in my father’s office, besides me, who does.
No. My office.
“How long until we need to be out of Winstable Boatyard?” I ask.
“The developers start next month. We’ll get the next consignment taken care of, and then we’re out of there.”
I fall into thought. Time’s running out. Winstable will be gone, and I haven’t yet secured the sale on Byron’s Reach Marina. I need that sale, or operations will be severely hampered. Or come to a grinding halt. And Perry Adams, the lawyer for the owner of Byron’s Reach Marina, is the man to get me it. He’s also in the running to become the mayor of Miami, and that holds benefits far too appealing to me. Which is why I’m funding his campaign. Personality gets you far in politics, but money gets you further and I have lots of the latter. I get the marina, he gets title of mayor. It’s a simple deal. Or so he thinks. He’ll be a puppet on my strings when he’s in power. He’ll be fronting the show, but it’ll be me ruling Miami.
But for now, all he has to do is secure me the sale of the marina. Shouldn’t be too difficult. But, apparently, it is. “What’s taking him so long?”
“Fuck knows.” Brad sighs, just as the door swings open and the man himself falls over the threshold. In his boxers. The gun is still wedged in his temple, Ringo’s finger poised on the trigger ready to take my order. Perry Adams’s forehead is slick with a nervous sweat. I’m amused. This guy is famously arrogant, but in that acceptable way that lawyers get away with. His image is everything, from his bespoke suits to his perfectly painted family. And here he is in his boxers, looking like he could have shat himself.
“Morning,” I chirp, resting back in my chair as he trembles before me. “You’ve got news for me.” I state it as a fact, not a question.
“I just need another few weeks.” He stammers over his words, shifting from one bare foot to the other. “The owners of Byron’s Reach, the Jepsons, they’re in Dubai on business. A last-minute, unexpected trip. I didn’t know they were going until they were gone. I’ve relayed your generous offer. I have the paperwork ready. It’s all set to go. I just need a signature.”
“I’ve given you five million for that marina and ten for your campaign, Perry,” I remind him. “You’re a heartbeat away from becoming mayor of Miami, yet I still haven’t got my fucking marina. This was supposed to be wrapped up two weeks ago.”
“A few weeks,” he murmurs, flicking his eyes to the side where Ringo remains with his gun aimed at his temple.
“You’ve got a week.” I wave my hand dismissively. “Get him out of here.”
Ringo removes his gun from Adams’s temple and brings it down heavily across his cheekbone with a nasty thwack, putting him on his knees.
“A week,” I reiterate as he’s dragged from my office. As soon as he’s gone, I stand, fixing my jacket. “Watch him,” I order as I pass the men, heading for the door. I don’t trust Adams, never have.
My hand pauses on the handle when I hear a mumble from one of my men. I didn’t hear exactly what, but mumbles speak volumes. I stop and slowly turn at the door, my eyes zooming in on Pep. I’ve never liked him. He’s been under my father’s command for decades, and he’s made it clear he doesn’t like me, either, though never in front of Pops.
He locks eyes with me, challenging me all the way. Stupid fuck. “Pardon?”
His shoulders straighten, a show of strength in front of my other men. “I don’t take orders from a bastard.”
I nod, as if in agreement, as I wander back to the desk. It’s quiet. Tense. “You don’t like me, Pep?” I ask, facing him. “It’s okay. The old man’s dead. You can say how you really feel about his bastard child.”
Pep’s eyes flick to the envelope opener in my hand. He doesn’t answer. I wander back over to him, casual, tapping the solid gold blade on my palm. I see him back up. “Danny, I didn’t mean to—”
No second chances. I cut him off mid-apology with one slash of the blade across his throat. His eyes wide, he grabs his neck as blood spurts through his fingers. I’m surprised how long he remains on his feet. In fact, I get plain fucking bored waiting for him to fucking die. So I plunge the letter opener into his heart, twisting and turning it, before yanking it back out. He falls straight to his knees, twitches a few times, then crashes face-forward to the floor. “Messed up the fucking rug,” I grate, bending and wiping the blade on his suit jacket. “Anyone else got anything to say?” I look up, giving each of my men a moment of my attention. Silence. “Thought so.” I stand and hand the blade to Brad as I walk out. “Don’t let Adams out of your sight.” I pass Esther as I head down the corridor, and my eyes immediately drop to the bale of towels she’s carrying. “Call Amber and get her to my room,” I order, feeling unwanted stress dropping into my cock. There’s only one way to alleviate it. Killing someone hasn’t touched the burning fury currently blazing inside me. Why did he have to die? The only person in this fucked-up world who ever gave a fuck about me?
