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“My cactus. His name’s Jagger.”
Patrick blinks at me and then busts out laughing. Not a few chortles—he folds in half laughing his ass off. He clutches his chest, wheezing. “That’s…Jagger? Heath’s gonna shit his pants over this.”
“Why?” I ask. “And how do you know about Jagger?”
“Heath texted me before you guys left the cabin. Told me to be on the lookout for some dude named Jagger. He thought the guy might stir up trouble.”
I hold out the pot toward Patrick. “He can really poke you. So watch out!” I’m grinning at the amusement rolling through this man who I’ve always considered family. It warms my heart to see him again.
It heats me to the core that Heath was actually worried about another man in my life.
And it gives me far more hope than I have any right to feel.
Chapter IX
Heath
Itoss the keys to Linc, and he catches them out of the air. The action isn’t unusual, but for some reason it slams me back in time to when the three of us would gather up a group of kids and play stickball in the park.
Serenity was always with us, more often than not playing first base since she had a good arm on her. Except that year she slipped on wet grass running from that bully Dylan Maxwell and broke her wrist.
I put her in the car and drove her to the hospital myself even though I didn’t have a license. And my brothers taught Dylan a lesson he never forgot. I snort at the thought that he still looks in the mirror and sees that crooked nose they left him with.
All of this flashes through my mind in an instant. And then I’m back to myself, heading into the big house we grew up in.
My father steps out of his office at the sound of my footsteps and waves a hand for me to follow him.
Christ, he thinks he’s the Godfather sometimes, I muse. A wave of his hand and things get done.
“Shut the door,” he says the minute I step into his office.
Old Con himself faces me. His blue eyes are the same as mine and my brothers’. His blond hair streaked with silver now but he still looks young.
He walks over to the bar by the window and pours himself a healthy shot of Irish whiskey. “Explain yourself, Heath.”
“You’re not offering me one?” I ask, glancing at the drink in his hand.
“This is my booze. Get your own. But first, you’re going to tell me how the hell you got tangled up with the Hunt girl.” That narrow look he gives me transcends words. When our old man looks at any of us this way, we fucking explain ourselves. It’s a respect thing.
“Her idiot brother got himself into debt with Sergei Stepanov. When he couldn’t pay up, Nathan told him to take his sister in trade.”
My father levels me in a look that says he knows all this. I wonder how long he has known and who filled him in on the details. There’s not much around this city that he doesn’t know about.
And he always knows where the threat is coming from. My brothers and I learned too. We were taught this at his knee.
“Serenity came to me in the night,” I continue. “Seeking refuge. I got her out of the city. We spent a few days at the cabin.”
“Uh-huh. Do you know that Sergei’s MIA? Your brothers tried to find him but nobody knew where he went.”
He shook his head.
“Now what are you planning to do with her? Use good man power on her, guard her from Sergei once he comes back for her—and he will come back for her, Heath.”
I shake my head. “I’m going to take her out of the city.”
“But you haven’t done that yet. So where is she now?” He glances behind me as if Serenity is standing there.
“She’s with Patrick. He’s taking her to his place until I can make arrangements.”
