A physical therapist, Addie had a good job—but it wasn’t enough to manage everything on her own with Frank filing lawsuits left and right.
“Has Frank made any moves lately?” Cullen asked.
Addie sighed. “Filed an ordinance violation that my grass is overgrown. I swear the man must have measured it with a damn ruler. And no, I don’t need help cutting it. I took care of it yesterday.”
Yesterday. That would be Friday. Addie had either paid out of pocket or taken the day off work.
“Addie, I’ll give you a choice,” Cullen said, turning his voice hard. “You either give me the details from your bank and I’ll set up automatic payments, or I’ll have Liam trace it for me and you can spend the next ten years working out which Cayman Island account your mortgage payments are coming from. I promise I’ll make the latter so much of a pain in your ass, you’ll wish you were dealing with Frank.”
Hanging up before Addie had a chance to protest, Cullen tapped his fingers on the table. There had to be an easier way of getting Addie to take the money, one that wouldn’t insult her pride as well. He’d ask Liam when he saw the guys tonight. With the security company Liam ran, he had connections. And if he couldn’t figure it out, Eli could.
Speaking of connections… Cullen punched Liam’s number.
“Rowen,” Liam answered on the first ring.
“Can you run a background on my—our—new dispatcher?” Cullen winced at his wording.
A pause. “Did she do something?”
“No. But I want to know why she might find working at the Rescue in the middle of the night more comfortable than in her own house. And she works for Frank, so—”
“So the asshole is likely doing what he can to screw with her. Got it,” Liam said. “You coming today? Mason told me—”
“Mason gossips like an old woman. I’ll be there. Get Keasley out too. Drag him if you need to.”
“Received and understood,” Liam said from the other end of the line. “And Hunt? Good to have you back.”
“Fuck you.” After hanging up the phone, Cullen got his protein shake and settled down to deal with the rest of the piling mess in his email.
Cullen strode into the Vault and zeroed in on the three men sitting in a secluded alcove at the back of the club. Eli, Liam, and Kyan, the latter in his signature low-pulled baseball cap, were already there and lounging in their usual spot. Raising a hand to them in greeting, Cullen skirted the dance floor, where a sizable crowd moved in tune to the thrumming beats of the house music—Prince’s “Kiss”—and stopped at the bar.
If Trident Rescue was Cullen’s pet project, North Vault was Liam’s. With its indirect mood lighting and blue-on-blue color scheme, the North Vault managed to be classy and seductive at the same time. Liam had designed every part of the Vault to create the sense of a world within a world, an escape for people wanting to take the edge off. The drinks were quality, the sound system the best in Denton Valley, the dance floor large, and the booths private. Drinking, dancing, general socializing, or—on specially designated days—recreation of a more specifically sexual sort were all welcome.
The aromas of freshly sliced lemon and various flavors of rum and vodka wafted over Cullen as he placed his forearm on the polished bar top, getting the bartender’s attention. “Glenfiddich thirty-year, neat.”
“Coming right up.” The sinfully alluring brunette acknowledged the order and went to work. She wore a black blouse cut deeply at the neckline, a black miniskirt with stockings, and black stiletto heels. Sexy. Yet Cullen’s mind was filled with a different set of measurements, along with a long curtain of strawberry-blonde hair that smelled like flowers.
In fact, the wall behind the bar just so happened to be the exact same blue as Reynolds’s eyes. Goddammit. Even here, his brain seemed fixated on Sky.
Taking the drink off the bar, Cullen took a fortifying sip of scotch and made his way to where the others were sitting. In some ways, the three looked like a mismatched lot. Eli, who must have been coming directly from work, had his suit on, the tie now loosened but still screaming business. Liam looked relaxed in black jeans and a tight, equally black V-neck shirt, all showing off his honed body. With his dark brown hair curling at his nape, hazel eyes, and a dimple that came out whenever he smiled, the owner of the North Vault drew women to him like moths to a flame—and he played with them the same way: intensely and without attachment. He made as much clear going in, but that didn’t slow the number of takers any more than did Eli’s similar approach.
Sitting opposite Liam, Kyan Keasley never displayed much of himself nowadays, the long sleeves of his turtleneck concealing mortar round burns. They were all different, yet the same. And all of them Cullen’s men.
“Ah, he deigns to make an appearance,” Liam said, making an affected rolling motion with one hand as if acknowledging royalty.
“Fuck off.” Sliding into a seat opposite Kyan, Cullen took another swig of scotch, savoring the smoky smooth flavor as the liquid whisked along his tongue. The drink went down his gullet like silk without even the slightest bite.
“Welcome back, arsehole,” Eli said by way of greeting before frowning at Cullen’s hand. “What in hell’s name is that?”
Cullen examined his knuckles and Sky’s Band-Aid covering the middle one. Truth be told, Cullen himself didn’t know why he hadn’t pulled the thing off. It wasn’t actually doing any good there, but…well, he just hadn’t. So there. For a moment, Cullen considered lying. He really did. He could say Catherine had done it or even Rachel. But they weren’t in high school anymore. Besides, he supposed there was nothing wrong with the truth. “Reynolds wanted to play medic.”
There was no need to explain what caused the injuries to begin with. The guys knew well enough.
“Takes two to play,” said Liam, with such casual mildness that Cullen just rolled his eyes. Liam’s games were of a distinctly kinky taste, and some of the toys he kept both in his closet and in the North Vault’s private hold made Cullen cringe no matter how much Liam insisted he was missing out.
“Here you are, sir.” A waitress appeared at the table, placing a Don Julio Añejo tequila before Kyan and club soda on a napkin before Liam.
“Speaking of games.” Cullen toasted Liam’s drink as the other men smirked at one another. If Liam was on club soda, he had a woman or few in his sights. “Evening plans, then?”
Liam waggled his eyebrows, his grin hitching up every line of his face. “Damn straight.”
“Would you like another scotch?” the waitress asked Cullen.
He shook his head. Cullen usually maintained a strict two-drink limit in deference to the prazosin, which helped to keep his nightmares at bay, but he didn’t today. He didn’t want to go even that far. Cullen disliked tempting fate, especially where his meds were concerned. Getting the particular med and dosage just right had been enough of an ass pain.
He might be many things, but being stupid on purpose wasn’t one of them.
The waitress took Eli’s order and disappeared. Reclining against the high back of the booth, Cullen watched the North Vault flow through the evening around him. Liam and Eli were catching up on business and forecasting a Trident Rescue barbecue Cullen was not looking forward to. He guessed Kyan felt the same way, but it was hard to tell. Nudging the brim of his hat lower over his face, the man remained his usual circumspect self, sipping on his tequila and staying quiet. On the dance floor, the Vault’s guests were dancing free, one blonde’s smooth silhouette so like Skylar’s that Cullen’s fist clenched when a man beside her squeezed her ass.