“Brooks is a problem,” he states and leans forward in his seat, grabbing a paperweight off my desk. It’s a small slate cube, heavy with sharp edges. He runs his finger down one side.
Although he’s not a threat to me, I can only imagine what he’d do with a weapon like that. I roll my eyes at what he just said and stretch my neck to look out of the large windows again as the sun sets behind us, darkening the room. I can’t take another person telling me I’ve fucked up. I get it. I need someone to offer me a solution to fix it, not tell me the obvious.
“No shit,” I say, waiting for his eyes to meet mine. It only takes a moment, and his movements stop.
“Are we offing him?” he asks me.
My blood turns cold, sending a biting wave through every inch of my body. It takes its time, slowly coursing through my veins. I don’t take death lightly. Ending someone's life isn't as easy for me as it is for Charles. He grew up around it, made a career of it; killing is simply a way of life for him. They all have it coming and for good reason, but he’s quick to take it that far.
I break the hold his dark eyes have on mine and stare at the large clock on the left-hand wall. It’s simple and modern, so there aren’t any marks on it. It's just a large white circle with contrasting black hands. The second hand sweeps by, rhythmically and perfectly. There’s no sound, but I can only imagine the soft tick, tick, tick in sync with my own heartbeat.
I click my tongue, feeling the smile fade for a moment before turning my attention back to Charles.
“Who did he give it to?” I ask him. Brooks had the money in his account. I know for a fact what Danny Brooks was worth when I loaned him the investment. It should have been a good return, had he done what he was supposed to do.
“A bookie,” Charles answers in a rough deep voice, setting the slate paperweight back down at my desk.
A huff of a humorless laugh rumbles up my chest.
“I’m guessing he thinks the bookie breaking his legs is worse than what you would have done to him,” Charles adds and then cracks his neck and settles easily into his seat. He’s probably right. Most of these men who work with contracts think I’d settle a dispute using the legal systems.
I’m sure Brooks thinks I’ll sue him. But that takes so much time and sets a poor example. It would tarnish my spotless reputation as well. I don’t set foot into courtrooms. I’m not interested in a lawsuit or having anything in the paper.
When someone doesn’t pay me, I make sure I get more than my money’s worth of retribution. I think back to the dozens of men who have tried to get away from me and their debts in the past. They can’t run though. They can’t hide behind the law, or in the shadows; I own both.
“So, what are you going to do?” Charles asks me, pulling me back to the present.
I sit up in my seat and lean closer to him, feeling that slick smile on my face. My blood heats and the resulting adrenaline fuels me. I speak slowly but firmly, staring hard into Charles' unforgiving stare as I say, “I want to know everything about Danny Brooks.”
Chapter 2
Arianna
“They had rabbits, dildos and pulsators,” Natalie shamelessly continues as she sets down her paintbrush in the cup of now-dirty water that sits between us. She’s got an asymmetric grin on her face as she rises from her seat to step back and survey her handiwork. “It was awesome,” she says and the smile doesn’t fade as she stares at her canvas.
I stop my brush midstroke to look at her, arching a questioning eyebrow. Even dressed in pale blue overalls with old paint stains all over them, Natalie looks beautiful. She has the kind of natural beauty that comes equipped with confidence. Her dark brown hair cut in a short side bob sways as she crosses her arms and nods her head, and her large brown eyes widen as she steps forward and smudges a small spot on her canvas with her finger. The smile only fades for a moment until she’s satisfied with the adjustment.
She lets out an easy sigh and her eyes sparkle as she meets my stare. I force a small smile back but avoid her gaze as I take in my own canvas. I’ve been in a cruddy mood all day. I was hoping painting would cheer me up. But so far, all I’ve done is paint a weeping willow that’s truly crying because of how damn dark the picture is. A frown mars my face as I realize there’s no fixing this.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
“Pulsators, huh?” I ask halfheartedly. “That’s a new one.” I shake my head as I set my brush down into the cup, dismayed with my lack of progress.
I pull my hair over my shoulder and twirl the ends as she continues, “Yeah. It’s a little ball that goes into your cooch and vibrates.” I stare at Natalie, slowly processing what she’s saying. Thank fuck I have her as my roommate, sharing a two-bedroom apartment together in the middle of downtown. We split the rent to make costs bearable. But more than that, she’s been my friend for years. Even through the darker times when I pushed her away. We picked up everything right where we left off when we reconnected.
Right now, I just don’t give a shit about whatever sex toy party she went to last night.
I clear my throat trying to muster an ounce of her excitement as I say, “That sounds… fun.”
Natalie pouts, her eyes dimming with concern. “What’s wrong, Ari? Considering the stuff you’re into,” she says, eyeing me curiously, “I thought something like that would be right up your alley.”
I feel like shit, but I just want to be alone. “I feel off. I’m just tired.” I swirl the brush in the dirty cup to get some of the paint off the bristles. I speak without looking up, staring at the murky water, “I think I need some sun or something.” I didn’t expect her to come in here and join me, but I wasn’t going to tell her no. Natalie’s frown deepens and then she looks past me toward my bedroom door. “I’m sorry I’m being such a downer, Nat,” I say, flashing her a weak smile. “I just feel like I woke up on the wrong side of the bed or something.”
Nat stares at me for a long moment, chewing on the inside of her cheek before finally saying, “I’m a little worried about you, Ari.” Her voice is delicate and cautious, but she doesn’t need to be. I’m okay. I’m not where I was before.
I wave off her concern. “Don’t be. I’m good.” I nod at my canvas. “Just let me finish this up.” I stare at the painting for a minute before pursing my lips. I should probably just trash it or paint the whole damn thing white and start over.
Nat gazes at me with suspicion. “You sure?”
I nod, picking my paintbrush back up and pressing the bristles against the side of the cup to get rid of most of the water. “Yeah. Tell me more about the party,” I say, trying to change the subject back to her preference: sex. “It sounds like it was a lot of fun.”
Nat nods, but her enthusiasm from earlier is dimmed, which makes me feel like shit. I hate spreading negativity.
I avoid her gaze entirely, shoving up my sleeves to add a bit of white paint to the background of the canvas. “It was. There’s a bonus right now-” Nat pauses, and reaches out for my arm, her fingers wrapping just below my elbow. Her grip is so strong she nearly pulls me backward. “What the hell happened to your arm?” Although it’s a question, there’s an accusation underlying her words as she stares at my arm in horror.