In all the commotion, I'd forgotten that my truck was still at Vixen's. Graham, a sullen man, and my father's best friend, had dropped it off at my condo the next afternoon, and, together, we traveled the hour out of town to The Warehouse. The meeting was looming, and a tense atmosphere filled the car as I navigated the busy roads of Santa Fe.
Switching the radio on for my some respite, I'd hoped it would bring us a moment to think of something other than Amy, Carter, and the impending auction, but Graham had other ideas. Using a small cloth, he sat in the passenger seat and wiped his gun over, scrubbing the grip until it glistened. "How is Carter doing?"
I cracked my neck from side to side as I slowed down for a red light. "Not good; not ready to be left alone, that's for damn sure," I replied, thinking back to this morning and how much of a mess he had been.
Graham gave me a sideways glance, "It's bad timing, son, but your father needs you by his side today." I nodded and put my foot to the floor as the light turned green.
"I know, it's just all so fucked."
Graham was quiet for a moment. The road opened up before us, and the hairs stood up on the back of my neck, nothing like the open road and the sound of my trucks' engine to soothe me.
"We'll find who's responsible, Jax. We may not all have the Murdoch name, but we're a family. Amy was family."
Having had to look after Carter, thinking about how to help him, holding him after another nightmare, and helping him to the bathroom so he could throw up, I hadn't given myself the chance to mourn the loss of a friend I'd had for years. It was Graham's words, "We're family," that caused the sadness to wash over me, the grief to smack into me, leaving me ice cold and with a lump the size of a fucking golf ball wedged in my throat. Graham interrupted my thoughts, "Something big is brewing, Jax. Something none of us will see coming, and we need to prepare for any eventuality." His words hung around us as The Warehouse came into view. It was an enormous piece of architecture. It had cost my father millions to have built, the security alone must have taken up have the budget.
Graham and I looked towards the imposing, metal building, and we watched the men patrolling the grounds outside, the business continuing as per, and it felt weird. Knowing that life carried on when some of us are dealing with the unimaginable. However, there was no point speculating what may or may not happen, all we could do as we drove along the winding trail of The Warehouse, was hope the meeting brought things to light, and not leave us shrouded in a darkened eternity.
Twelve men, three including myself, my father, and Graham sat around a large table, steaming, untouched coffees in front of us. Father sat at the head of the table, with glorious views of the desert behind him, he clasped his hands together, his eyes glued to the cell resting on the table.
No-one had a clue where to start and, so we waited for my father to break the silence.
The Warehouse was stifling today. I'd unbuttoned my shirt, and I still felt far too hot. Graham mopped his brow with a handkerchief and gave me a small smile, letting me know he, too, was suffering.
Growing up in the heat, most folks think you get used to it, and for the most part, I had. The mixture today, of Santa Fe's summer sun and the uncertainness as far as family went, left me feeling uncomfortable and fidgety.
Mike and Olly, brothers from Arizona, sat opposite me, they twiddled their thumbs, and their grave expressions reflected how the rest of us felt. Occupying the other seats were cousins, uncles, and family friends who had given their life for my father and his business. Archibald Murdoch was one son out of eight, most of whom had long since turned their backs on him, preferring the safety of accounting, a house in the 'burbs, and the law on their side. But two sat here today, and I gave them both a nod, thankful to have them here.
Clearing his throat, all eyes focused on dad. He straightened the navy tie at his throat before speaking.
"Fellas, thank you for coming today. I hope it's safe to say I don't need to explain the reason for being here." His Murdoch eyes flitted between each man, and we all murmured something along the lines of, "No, sir."
Getting to his feet, he sighed heavily, the sigh of a man with a thousand and one problems on his mind. "On Friday evening, Amy Blackburn was found dead at her home, which she shared with a man, a man we all know and love, Carter Paulson.
The circumstances surrounding her death are still being determined, and please know that I have only the best working on it. A Murdoch, whether by blood or not, who is murdered, does not slip by me. I give you all my solemn vow that we will find who done, and they will pay." Father turned his attention to me. "Jax, how is Carter? Has he said anything, anything at all which may help us in the investigation?"
We've lost people before. Men. Good men, and usually, my father would visit the spouse, family, whoever, and speak to them himself. When the family were feeling up to it, he'd ask questions, gently poke for information that may help. You'd be surprised how one man's random trip to the gas station could make a world of difference in a murder investigation. But, Carter wasn't just anybody, he was sensitive, fragile, and my father had left me to try and get him to think back, remember anything Amy may have said that was out of the ordinary.
I sat forward, resting my arms on my knees and shook my head, replaying each conversation Carter and I had since Friday. "Not a dicky bird, pops. He said this morning that the only reason he left me at the club was because he couldn't bear to be away from her any longer. What with the pregnancy and all." The mention of the baby had my voice cracking, and I cleared my throat, looking into my damn lap.
Father's eyes closed, his lips pulled into a thin line, and when he opened them again, we could all see the tears. "Okay. And does anyone else have any information? Doesn't matter how small or non-relative you think it is. Let me be the judge of that." He looks from face to face, but they all shook their hands. "Shit, okay. Well, I want eyes and ears everywhere. Find out who she spoke to outside us, we have her cell, Olly managed to swipe it before Vlad got hold of it. Hopefully, that will give us some clues. Until then, though, bear in mind that we have enemies, and Carter certainly does, one of the people involved be someone we know, or know of, no way in hell was this a random kill. It was too personal."
As my father paced the room, walking behind each man, wringing his hands, I took this momentary silence to down my coffee. Fuck, I needed something stronger.
"That leaves us with the hiring."
"Is it true he wants two this year, Archie?" My uncle, Nate, asked. We all raised our eyebrows at his question. "Not a chance, brother. Vladimir and I came to this agreement many years ago, and it is non-negotiable, I'm afraid."
No-one wanted to go to Vlad's alone; having a brother in arms would have made it a little easier, but Vlad didn't want too many Murdoch's running amok. We worked for him, yes, kept our heads down and worked fucking hard, yes, and yet the bad blood between the two families was still as present as it ever had been.
No. One Murdoch would suffice, two would have been far too tricky for Vlad to control and keep an eye on.
The cell rang, the vibration causing the room to silence and it to dance across the wood. All the goddamn air evaporated from the room.