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‘What girl?’ Dornan challenged, feigning disinterest. ‘The blonde who just left her lipstick all over your cazzo?’
Emilio stood, still with that maddening look on his face, signalling that their meeting was over.
‘I’d let you play with the little Colombian,’ he said as Dornan approached the door, ‘but I need to be brutal. I need to make an example of her.’
The image of five headless bodies his father had made examples of when he draped them across the top of the San Ysidro border crossing only months before twisted at Dornan’s gut. The girl was too good for that. Even if Dornan did want to hurt her — it wasn’t like that. He enjoyed a little bloodletting, sure, and a healthy dose of intimidation, but not the stark brutality his father favoured.
‘Have you considered using her other talents?’ Dornan asked casually. Don’t let him see. Don’t let him know.
Emilio narrowed his eyes, but his expression was light, playful even. Dornan had seen his father stab a man in the face with an icepick while he was in this kind of carefree mood.
‘Other talents?’ Emilio echoed. ‘Does she have a golden pussy? A mouth that sucks better than a vacuum cleaner? A third tit somewhere?’
Dornan huffed out a small laugh. ‘She’s a book cooker. A bean counter.’
Emilio shrugged. ‘And?’
Dornan wanted to shake the old man. ‘And she’s probably better than fucking Bella at getting our accounts in order.’
Emilio waved a hand dismissively. ‘She’s too young. What does she know about hiding money and sending it offshore?’
Dornan raised one eyebrow and stood. ‘She’s Marco’s daughter. Someone’s been covering his ass for years. I’m pretty sure it was her.’
Emilio laughed. ‘She needs to be an example — a graphic one.’
Fucking bastard! Dornan wanted to leap across the desk and smash his fists into his father until the old man was obliterated from existence. His fist twitched at the fantasy.
‘Well, her chip’s out now,’ Dornan said, referring to the microchip he’d removed from her arm. ‘Go for your life.’
As he slammed the door behind him, he thought he heard his father laugh.
He couldn’t wait until the old fuck was out of the picture.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
DORNAN
Dornan headed out to the front driveway, where his bike stood alone. The rest of the Gypsy Brothers had already returned to the clubhouse ahead of him. He’d have a busy few days organising the distribution of the new coke. Only, now that he knew it involved that fuck Murphy, he was more worried about it than ever.
‘John,’ Dornan barked down the line.
The connection wasn’t the best, but they made do.
‘You need to get back here,’ John said.
Dornan didn’t like being told what to do, but there was an urgency in his friend’s voice that suggested panic.
‘Everything okay, brother?’
There was a deep sigh. ‘Caroline’s in the fucking hospital.’
He left off the word again, but his tone implied it. Dornan sucked in a breath. This was getting ridiculous.
‘She gonna be okay?’
‘Sure,’ John said dryly. ‘If I can keep her in there.’
Dornan pinched the bridge of his nose. John’s old lady was starting to become a real pain in the ass with her liking of the white powder. Not coke. She favoured heroin, and it was interfering in club business.
