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With shaky fingers, I press the security camera app and go to live feed. His retreating form is what I find, and the envelope is no longer in his hand.
“What the hell?” For the next ten minutes I keep watch through my phone, not moving from my spot until I’m sure no one is outside, and then I rush to check the outside of my door. With each step closer, dread fills my stomach and my nerves pick up. And I’m right in doing so, because there lying atop my floor mat is a padded manila casing with my name written across the front in a penmanship I’d know anywhere.
Moreover, my suspicions are confirmed when I open it and read the first page.
This slice of reality slams into me with a vengeance. Brutally. Unforgiving.
There’s no future with Callum. There’s no reason to entertain him or any offer he makes when this is my life.
I’m a puppet on a string.
How can I withhold this from him and my newly appointed guard long term while keeping my father happy and at bay?
I can’t juggle this.
I can’t live multiple lives.
You leave in seventy-two hours. Disappoint me, and you know the price.
16
“We’re behind schedule.”
Casper’s head snaps in my direction at the sound of my voice, a shitty grin on his face. He has a small carry-on over his left shoulder and a large love bite on the left side of his neck. Our plane is ready, the pilot is on standby, but we won’t be getting on it until much later. I’m not leaving this up to him. “By four minutes, you arse. If I’m late, it’s acceptable.”
Pushing off the wall beside the door he walked through, I clap his shoulder. “To me, it’s not.”
At once, his amusement drops and the bag in his hand is tossed to a male crew member standing at the ready to assist a few feet away. The lad catches it, rushing away to stow it while Kray’s car pulls up and idles.
Before we leave the States, there are two personal messages I’ll be delivering.
“What’s wrong?” This is the head of the family I know and have trusted all my life.
“Gaspar.”
“What the fuck did that cunt do? Is he pushing product here?”
“Worse.” Tilting my head in Kray’s direction, I motion for him to follow me. We don’t talk while we walk, and when the door closes and the SUV drives off the private airstrip, I look over. “I’m going to ask you a series of questions, and I want your honest answer, Casper. Not as my boss, but as my family. Can you set your ego aside and do that?”
“What the fuck?” An angry hiss. “Of course, I can.”
“Good.” Turning my head, I lean forward and tap the back of Kray’s seat. “Pull up to the end of the road and step outside.”
“Understood,” Timmons says, following my instructions and stopping near a small cluster of trees and then exits, holding his mobile up to let me know he’ll wait for my text to come back.
When his back is a few feet away, Casper clears his throat. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”
“Are you moving to Chicago?”
For a few beats he’s quiet, his face unreadable, but a nod follows. “Yes. For a little bit, at least.”
“Fuck does that mean? When were you going to tell me?” My tone comes out a bit accusatory, although I’m not mad—more like annoyed with his current lack of communication. We’ve always had each other’s backs, I respect him, and having to deduce clues and decipher his head space shouldn’t be how we work. Because even if he moves to Japan or the South Pole, we’re family. He will always be a Jameson. “What are you planning?”
“I want Boston.” No further explanation. Just throws that out.
It’s also not something I saw coming, and I scrunch my nose in question. He’s never expressed a need to take over another state in the US. “Now isn’t the time for riddles, cousin. Speak up.”
“You sound like a boss.”
