There was one skill set I’d never lose though—cold-blooded killing. If Billie needed me, that skill was far more useful than hacking. Back home, I’d been the muscle. The silent death stalking you in the night. They called me The Maker, as in, you’d just met your maker, and I would be the last fucking thing you saw in this world.
The sun had all but set by the time I left my office and wandered back into the main living area of my house. I was debating a shower or food when there was a knock at the door. Since I lived in one of the most secure estates in Naples, there was no fucking reason for anyone to be knocking at my door.
Only Rhett and Jace had free access, and those fuckers would be out of their minds by now, unable to speak, let alone get their asses here. Moving toward the door, I lifted my Glock from the entry drawer and palmed it by my right side. When I reached the door, I sure as fuck didn’t peer through the peep hole. Or as I liked to call them, target holes. It was one of my favorite ways to blow someone’s brains out without even having to see them.
Grabbing the handle, I counted to three, ready to yank the door open so fast that whoever was on the other side would be taken by surprise. That split second was all I’d need to end them if they were here trying to fuck with me. It had been a long time since I’d had to worry about an assassin on my tail, but after reaching out to my old contacts, there was a risk. I’d no doubt reminded those evil assholes that I’d gotten out and was living my own life.
Then there was the Ricci family. They might have picked up on Johnson and were here to deal with the issue.
Regardless, whoever was on the other side, they were in for a big fucking surprise if they thought I’d go down easily.
Putting my plan into action, I silently twisted the handle and jerked the door open. My gun was in their face in the next second.
When a very feminine gasp registered, I winced and relaxed my grip on the weapon.
“Of all the people I wasn’t expecting to turn up on my doorstep…” I tucked my gun into the back of my jeans and folded my arms, glaring down at the girl on my porch. “What do you want, Florence?”
She chewed her lip as she met my gaze, her own eyes scared and uncertain. “Gray… I need your help.” There was a whine to her voice that she never used to have. It betrayed weakness and, honestly, didn’t give me even a flash of compassion for her situation.
“You made your bed, Flo,” I replied, ready to close the door in her face. I was still pissed at her for what she and Tom had tried to do. They’d set Billie up. They hadn’t given a shit what the Riccis wanted to do with her—to her—and hadn’t said a damn word until she was long gone.
“Gray, please,” Flo begged. “I can’t… Please don’t shut me out. You guys are all I have, and I’m sorry, okay? I’m so fucking sorry, but there was no harm done in the end, right? Billie went with them willingly, so she is probably grateful that we called her boyfriend.”
My teeth ground together as I bit back the need to tear her head off. She didn’t know I’d put a tracker on Billie, and if I showed anyone those surveillance photos, they’d say she looks fine.
Fucking fine. Such a pile of shit. But without any concrete proof, it was just the suspicions of a paranoid, angry man.
“What do you want, Florence?” I asked again, instead of saying everything I really wanted to say.
She wet her lips, her fingers twisting in the hem of her Bellerose tour t-shirt. “We still owe the label a new record, don’t we? I know they aren’t happy about us canceling the rest of the tour, so I thought—”
My bitter laughter cut her off, and her hopeful expression drained away. “You thought, what? Get the band back together and make some music?” I shook my head, then ran a hand over my hair. “You’re deluded, girl.”
“Gray!” she exclaimed, slapping her hand against the door when I tried to close it. “Come on, I’m serious. I can’t… fuck, I can’t afford to pay the label back for our advance, and if they sue…”
I frowned, peering at her harder. “How? Where the fuck is all your money, Flo?” As far as I knew, she didn’t own property or cars and always dressed in thrift-store clothes and band merch. Even without our tour—which we were in deep legal shit over cancelling—we still made crap loads from album sales. None of us should have to work again for the rest of our lives.
Her eyes dipped to the ground. “Tom took it all,” she whispered. “I’m totally broke, and I’m desperate.”
My lips parted in shock as her confession sank in. Then my fist balled up and I punched a hole through my wall while picturing Tom Tuckers face.
“Shit, Gray!” Flo exclaimed, reaching for my hand as I shook drywall dust off my knuckles. “Dude, what the hell?”
I gently extracted my hand from her grip, not feeling the cuts I’d opened up over old scars. “You’re a fucking idiot, Florence, you know that?”
She grimaced. “Yeah, I know.”
I gave a heavy sigh and nodded. “It’s not up to me, and you know it. If you’re going to come back to Bellerose…”
“I know,” she whispered, “I need Rhett to forgive me.”
“That’s gonna be harder than you think,” I told her, squinting down at my hand. Shit, it was bleeding on my cream carpet. “I’ll get you in to see him; the rest is on you. So I suggest you come up with a fucking impeccable argument because you won’t get another shot. Clear?”
Flo bobbed her head frantically in agreement. “Clear.”
I cast my eyes to the sky, wishing for not the first time that I had faith in a higher power. Maybe then I could shirk the weight of everyone’s problems onto someone more qualified.
“I’ll call you,” I grunted, making it clear that I wasn’t inviting her inside. She didn’t need to see my surveillance notes and photographs of Billie scattered all over my coffee table. It’d only make me look obsessive and desperate, when really, I was just concerned.
Florence looked like she was going to hug me, so I gave her a little nudge back out of my doorway, then shut the door fully this time. I hated people coming to my house. The next person who showed up unannounced probably would get shot.
“Okay, thanks!” she called through the door, her voice muffled. “I’ll just… I’ll wait for your call! It was good to see you, Gray!”
Huffing an irritated sigh, I went to clean up my hand. Fucking Flo… we should have known Tom was screwing her over. Hell, we did know, just not that he was also stealing from her.
If I got my hands on that slimy shit…
My fist tightened around the bottle of antiseptic I’d just pulled from my bathroom cabinet, crushing the plastic and squirting brown-orange liquid everywhere, picturing Tom’s head exploding. If that was the worst that happened to Tom Tucker, he’d be getting off easy.
three
RHETT
“One tequila… two tequila… three tequila…” I sang to myself between shots of amber liquor, barely even feeling the burn anymore. Hell, my veins stopped pumping blood weeks ago; I was pure alcohol and cocaine now.