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In a black suit, he was reading a document in his hand, probably studying the investment performance from the day before. When he finally noticed my frame in the doorway, his gaze lifted to meet mine. Indifference and annoyance mixed together to form the customized expression he made just for me. “What?”
I felt like a bug on the bottom of his shoe, a disobedient child he didn’t know how to punish. It cut me to the bone—every time. “There’s a new Skull King.” I shut the door behind me and walked to his desk.
He wore the same bored look. “Alright.”
“Balto has a twin, apparently.”
He set the document down and leaned back in the chair.
“Said we owed back taxes. When I refused, he—”
“We?” The derision was heavy in his tone. “No.” He straightened in his chair then pointed his index finger at me. “You. You owe him back taxes. This is your problem, not mine. You have to solve it on your own.”
I could never accept his coldness. It seemed to get worse and worse, like his hatred festered into resentment. “I thought you should know. Because I can tell he’s not gonna go away.”
“Did you tell him I’m no longer part of the business?”
I nodded.
“Not my problem.” He grabbed the document again and started to read.
I continued to stand there. “What an ass I am, warning you.”
He looked at me again. “There’s nothing to warn me about. You’re the one who’s in charge of that bill.”
“And you were the one who refused to pay it years ago,” I snapped. “It seems like you conveniently forgot.”
He put the paper down again. “Then pay him, Damien.”
“No.”
He sighed loudly. “What the fuck do you want from me? I don’t give a shit what you do with him. If you go head-to-head, I won’t have your back. If he comes to me and asks me to hand you over, I’ll do it in a heartbeat.” He rose to his feet and pushed his chair back. “So what the fuck do you want from me?”
My chest rose and fell with the heavy breaths I took. The adrenaline was in my veins, and I was eager to reach for the knife inside my jacket. I wanted to stab him right in the neck and watch him bleed and die. I hated this man, hated him so fucking much. “Nothing. Not a damn thing.” I headed out the door.
“Asshole.”
I had no idea why the fuck I turned around.
“Talk to my wife like you did again, and I really will hand you over on a fucking silver platter.”
I lived in a three-story place in Florence. It had its own parking lot and a private gate. I was just one man so I didn’t need the space, but I did need the privacy and protection. I never used the other rooms in the house, sticking to the bedroom and my private gym. I had a maid who handled the kitchen, so I never set foot in there.
Now I sat in my living room with a glass in my hand. My dinner tray was on the table, only partially eaten because Hades had demolished my appetite that afternoon. Scarface was on the TV, and all I could think about was shooting that asshole with a tommy gun until his guts spilled out.
Piece of shit.
My phone sat on the armrest of the couch, and it started to ring.
Annabella.
I hadn’t spoken to her in a week, not intentionally. Life got busy, and I barely had time to sleep, let alone invite her over. Not to mention, I just wasn’t in the mood. I watched it ring and kept my hand steady.
If I answered, I would just be an ass.
I was in a dark place, and I was drunk. Bad combo.
It went to voice mail.
I watched the TV again.
My phone lit up with a text message. Did that stain come out of your jeans?
I read the message three times because I couldn’t believe what she’d just asked. Brazen, unexpected, shocking…it was fucking hot. When I’d gotten home, I noticed the circular stain on the front of my jeans, the arousal that soaked through her panties and transferred to me. I’d taken them off and smelled the spot before I jerked off.
I grabbed the phone and wrote back. Why would I wash them?
You’re going to walk around with that stain forever?
Damn right.
She sent an eye-rolling emoji.
I knew I should call her because it looked like I was hiding behind my text messages. After her candid message, I was in a better mood, but I was still bitter as hell. But I’d rather look like an asshole instead of a coward. I called her.
She answered after a few rings. “Took you long enough.”
Her bluntness was refreshing. Never had to wonder what she was thinking. “You caught me at a bad time.” I reached for my drink and held it in my grasp.
