AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He'd thought he’d be working for the Company, but they had cut him loose, fueling some more of his bitterness. From now on, he would do his life his own way. Twice betrayed by the government was enough for him. Fuck them.
At first, he’d been pissed at the circumstances, then accepting that if he hadn’t defied the Navy brass, he would have lost his brother. Not that Neo wasn’t capable. His little brother had just been in a serious no-win situation. Bucking orders and going into Bosnia was the best and worst thing he’d done in his life. He saved his brother but lost his career, one he’d fought long and hard for. But in the end, there was no contest. He hadn’t been there for Neo and Riley when they needed him. It was like he was a different person back then. His bitterness at his father had become a kind of emotional detachment so that once he had the Navy and his brothers in arms, he allowed the grueling training and deployments to keep him from his family.
When his dad died at Neo’s hands to save his own life, the damage had been done. Pierce had murdered Riley and Neo not only witnessed it but had to then kill their father. It had been a terrible mess. All these years, Neo had nursed his resentment, but they’d hashed everything out just recently. For the first time in his relationship with his brother, Dean felt they were on solid ground.
Neo was still a SEAL and now married to Chrysanthe Steele. Striker was proud of how his brother had risen above the shit storm that was their family. He’d talked to Neo about the money under the floorboards but neither of them had any idea where it came from. They did agree not to touch the money as a matter of principle. God knows, Pierce was a piece of shit as a dad, but apparently, he was good at accumulating a lot of cash. But why hide it under the floor? It didn’t make sense to either Dean or Neo. He needed to know if all that cash came from Pierce’s illicit dealings with The Black Hearts. His conscience would have to be clear if he were to use this “inheritance.”
It’s why he’d needed to talk to O. Granny Steele had given him the tip-off that she was now LAPD SWAT. He blew out a huff of laughter. The Prom Queen and debutante kicked ass hard-core for a living. That was something he hadn’t expected.
He sighed and pushed away from the window and the weather, heading toward the bathroom. He took a quick shower and settled into bed. As he turned off the light, he couldn’t help remembering how upset O was about his refusal to share his reason for wanting information on The Black Hearts. He also couldn’t help remembering how damn good she looked. He wasn’t really in a position to get ahead of himself here. He had enough on his plate without trying to reunite with a woman who was obviously pissed at him over their past and double pissed by his secrecy now.
There was a reason he kept everything close. He didn’t want to be judged as easily as he had been judged back when he was too young to realize his own emotions and feelings. The Navy had made him into a tough, hardened warrior, but here in LA, he had a new role to fulfill, one of entrepreneur and investigator. He knew what kind of warrior he was, but what kind of man did he want to be in this new landscape?
The next day, he was up early, feeling the effects of too little sleep, but the designer was installing all the furnishings and art into his loft today and he had to be there at eight o’clock.
He fired up one of his dad’s Harley-Davidsons, a Heritage Softail Classic, an amazing, smooth-riding vintage bike with sleek chrome, studded leather saddle bags, and glossy leather seats. His dad had named the bike Stella.
He parked Stella in the lot behind the building. The asphalt resurfacing looked great. He passed the huge elevator that would move his merchandise between floors two and six. The building had been filled with vintage bikes in various states of disrepair that he would have to assess, refurbishing and selling the ones that were salvageable and using the rest for vintage parts. He entered the side door after punching his code into the keypad, and the door closed behind him with an echoing boom. Luckily, the building was cool. The first thing he’d done was get the wiring and the HVAC up to par. He entered the bare bones showroom and the half-finished offices.
He glanced toward the front of the showroom and stopped dead. Jennifer Steele, aka Granny Steele, was standing outside looking trim and bohemian in a long, red bandana-print cardigan, plain blue jeans, and a white T-Shirt. Her long gray hair was loose and straight. If he hadn’t looked more carefully, he would have sworn it was her look-alike granddaughter, Chrysanthe Steele, Neo’s wife.
He changed direction and went to unlock the front door. “Hello there. What brings you out so early in the morning?”
“You look like hell, young man.”
“There’s nothing granny sweet about you, is there?”
She tapped him on the arm with a rueful smile. “Manners,” she said. “Besides, it takes too much time. I like to cut to the chase. You’re working too hard.”
“How did you know… Chry. Neo is a blabbermouth.”
“Yes, like a magpie. You wouldn’t think he was a SEAL or anything.”
He huffed out a laugh. “He would be mortified if you said that to his face.”
“True, but he was right about you. You’re working too hard.”
It was floating in the air even though she hadn’t said it.…since you got kicked out of the Navy.
He shrugged. The only answer he wanted to give. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m here to help you.”
He frowned. “How?”
“Office setup. Logistics. Personnel. The normal Gal Friday stuff.”
He widened his stance and folded his arms across his chest. “Is that so?”
“I don’t expect anything in return. So, no need to get defensive.”
“I’m not defensive.”
“Mm-hmm.” She walked across the open space. “This looks like it’s going to be a beautiful space. Your design?”
He nodded, twisting to follow her progress.
“I’ll take this corner office. Close to the front where I can see what’s going on, but far enough back for privacy. I’m assuming you’ll need a bookkeeper and receptionist to start.”
