I gave her a kiss goodbye and a grip around the waist before I walked into the wet night.
Early the next morning, we pulled through the gates, up the cobblestone path around the fountain full of lily pads, and approached the three-story estate that looked as if it had been ripped out of a book about French aristocracy.
Bartholomew hardly spoke to me.
The silence was mutual.
We came to a stop, and I looked at the double front doors. Sunrise was across the land, showing a blue sky because the rain clouds had passed. The road glistened from the downpour the night before. I’d been running around town all night while Constance slept through it all. “Why are we here?”
Bartholomew shut the door.
I swallowed my annoyance and joined him. “Answer my question.”
“Because we need him—that’s why.”
“For what? He’s been out of the game for years.”
Bartholomew approached the door and used the gold knocker to announce his presence. “You didn’t use to ask so many questions.”
“Because I was informed.”
He slid his hands into his pockets and waited, like our conversation was wrapped up with a neat bow.
A moment later, the door opened, and we were greeted by a butler in a tux. “Can I help you?”
“I have an appointment.”
Like the good butler he was, he narrowed his eyes. “No, you don’t.”
I stared at Bartholomew.
“I’ve been unable to reach him, so there was no other alternative—”
“You were unable to reach him because he doesn’t want to be reached.” He started to shut the door.
Bartholomew stuck his foot against the door to bar it from closing. “Bitch, did you just interrupt me?”
The butler kept his hold on the door. “If you would so kindly remove your foot…”
“Tell him I’m here to see him.”
The butler kept trying to slam the door on his foot.
Bartholomew wore military boots—so he didn’t feel a thing.
I grabbed him by the elbow. “Come on, let’s go—”
“Open the door.” A deep voice emerged from behind the butler, a voice I recognized even though it’d been a really long time since the last time I’d heard it.
Bartholomew withdrew his foot and gave the butler a seething stare.
The butler stepped aside and revealed him standing bare-chested in just his sweatpants, covered in sweat like he’d been working out in his home gym, and he held a shotgun—which was aimed right at us.
The butler grinned.
Fender came forward, his gun still aimed, his stone-cold face set in a look of malice. “You talked your way through my guards.”
Bartholomew didn’t reach for his gun or look remotely concerned. “That’s what I do.”
He came closer, his heavy feet loud against the tile. “Now they’ll be executed—because of you.”
He gave a shrug. “A dime a dozen, right?”
When he was close to the door, he lowered the shotgun to his side. His eyes took in Bartholomew’s face, his dark eyes shifting back and forth as if he was reading words off a page. “You must have a death wish, coming to my residence.”
“I tried to call—but it’s been disconnected.”
“You know damn well that I’m retired. There’s no promise of fortune that’ll bring me back into the game. Now get off my property before I pump these bullets into your chest.”
“Not trying to bring you back,” Bartholomew said. “Just need some advice. How about your butler here makes us a hot pot of coffee, and we’ll discuss—”
“Hospitality is issued to guests—not intruders.” He raised the gun and held it out to his butler, who took it without question and carried it away. “But because of our history, I will grant your request.” He abruptly turned around and stepped into an entryway that led to another room.
I gave Bartholomew a stare. “That went well.”
“We’re here, aren’t we?” He went first and wiped his muddy boots on the rug.
I looked at the pile of mud and shut the door behind me. “Like the butler doesn’t hate you enough as it is…”
“He’ll hate me more by the time I leave.”
We stepped into Fender’s office and found him sitting in one of the two sofas that faced each other. His butler had already gotten to work and had a pot of coffee and three mugs on the table.
Fender sat there, elbows on his knees, his seething stare shifting back and forth between the two of us.
In the tense silence, the butler placed a tray of morning pastries between us—even though none of us would eat them. He finally departed and gave us the room to converse.
Fender stared at me for a while. “What happened? You left far sooner than I did.”
“It’s a long story. My daughter was taken. Bartholomew agreed to help me get her back—in exchange for my servitude.”
Fender flicked his gaze back to Bartholomew. “That was fucked up.”
Bartholomew kept up his bored look. “He left out the part where he deserted me and everyone else.”
I rolled my eyes.
Fender stared at us for a while longer before he sat back. “Ask your questions.”
“Daddy!” A little boy ran through the door, maybe three years old, and headed right for Fender.
The look he gave his son was drastically different from the one he gave us. He actually smiled—and I’d never seen him smile. His arms were ready for the boy, and he scooped him up into his chest in one fluid motion. “My boy.”
I remembered Claire at that age. I remembered every single moment of her short life.
Then his wife emerged, her stomach so big she looked as if she could give birth any day. She stilled when she saw us. “I…I didn’t realize we had guests.” Her eyes were filled with suspicion, as if she didn’t like us one bit.
“They aren’t guests.” Fender got to his feet and carried his son back to his wife. “They’ll be gone in a few minutes.” He gave her a kiss as he placed one hand against her stomach, his son in one arm.
She gave a nod then took their son by the hand out of the room.
Fender returned, and as if that scene had never happened, he scowled. “That’s what you’re keeping me from. So be quick.”
Bartholomew rubbed his hands together. “I’m taking on the Skull King.”
Fender smiled again, but it was a different kind of smile than the one he showed before. It was sarcastic, incredulous. “Still ambitious…”
I didn’t bother to voice my objection because I’d be living in Canada soon, not getting wrapped up in this idiocy.
“Yep. Any contacts, intelligence, and advice would be most appreciated.”
“Acquiring my business wasn’t enough?”
“If you’d stayed in the game, you would have made the same decision too. If the Skull King were removed, we could plant our own men there and acquire an entirely new line of business. If I want to scale up, I need to acquire more clients and more distributors. Makes the most logical sense.”
Fender gave a chuckle, and it sounded strange coming from him, a man who never cracked a smile.