John and Tuck were on Doncaster patrol. With their enemies scouting the building too, they needed to cut off any attempts before their heist. Two more days.
Which left him with an empty house, an empty bottle, and an empty heart.
His phone buzzed, and he wanted to ignore it. He’d need to start weaning off the communications with Dan—no cold ghosting, but he couldn’t keep indulging in the flirty texts. Not when each one sliced another cut into his already covered arms. He scanned the wire and pine shelves of their booze rack, but he wasn’t in a quiet enough mood for gin, and vodka just made him meaner.
Fuck it, he’d drink coffee. The idea of going to Polished Knives was scrapped, after he’d ruined the joint by taking his mark there. When had he gotten to be such a careless idiot? He ran ops better than this. Grif always worked more like a spider spinning a web, watching from a noticeable distance as his enemies got themselves tangled up. Yet ever since the botched Nevarra job, he and the Outlaws had been sloppier than ever. Luck hadn’t just abandoned them, it had lobbed them off Swallow Cliff.
Grif hopped up and strode over to the coffee maker, tugging his grinder and beans from the overhead shelf. Within seconds, the beans were ground, and the rich scent wafted his way while his machine sputtered to life. Numbness clung to his fingertips, but the bottle of Jameson hadn’t done the trick to douse the nerves, because his heart still fucking hurt.
And when he hurt, that was when the memories encroached.
The first night alone, every creak of the floorboards, every scratch of the tree branches against the siding had made him think they were still here. Any moment, the door would creak open, and Mom or Dad would pop their heads in, Dad with a random fact he learned on NPR, and Mom with her doe-eyed concern, always remembering to check in.
Well, lah-dee-fucking-dah, a stroll down memory lane was what he had lined up on this shit-eater of a day.
Grif flexed his fingers and poured himself a cup of joe. The steam was hot enough to scald, but his numbed hands didn’t feel shit right now. He always froze over like this every time he let his mind drift to the past. Parts of him ceased to work, like something integral had died with them. Grif tugged out his phone and skimmed over his texts.
The twist of bitterness on the rocks turned to disgust when he realized Luka had sent the texts.
Luka: On the ropes.
Luka: 1935.
Luka: Eagle.
Great. Code. Exactly what would make this night more riveting. He dragged his cup of coffee over to the table in time to hear the front door slam open.
“Bleeding,” John barked, the sound carrying from the entrance.
Grif rolled into action, bolting down the opposite corridor to the shared bathroom. Their overstuffed first aid box was wedged right beside the toilet. Grif tossed it open, snagging the gauze, disinfectant, and a needle and thread. He crossed through the corridor in loping strides, making the turn to the left to reach the foyer.
John crouched beside Tuck, who gripped tight to his ankle. Black days and bleaker nights.
Grif slammed to his knees in front of them, the supplies tumbling from his arms and onto the floor. He scanned for the wet spot in the fabric. He didn’t have to look hard—Tuck’s fingers were soaked in blood.
“Bullet?” Grif asked. Tuck nodded, his jaw clenched tight enough to see the strain. “Grab a hot towel and water.” He didn’t bother looking at John. The man was already slipping toward the kitchen by the time the command arrived.
“Keep holding tight to your leg,” Grif ordered. Tuck nodded and clung tight to the spot as Grif snagged out his knife and placed a hefty slash through his pants. He cleared the fabric off the leg in the span of seconds and tossed his pocketknife to the floor.
John dropped to the ground beside him, some water sloshing from a filled bowl. Grif reached out to grab the wet towel before he offered it, and he started cleaning out the wound.
“Eyes on my pretty face, Tuck,” Grif said while he worked, moving the man’s hands from his ankle to press the wet towel to the wound. Tuck’s eyes honed in on him with all his might, his skin shades paler than normal—blood always made the guy queasy. Based on the busted skin, the bullet had grazed, not buried itself. The wound was right above the Achilles, so hopefully he hadn’t sustained tendon damage. After spending so much time in underground fights, Grif had gotten real good at home patch-ups.
“Mind explaining to me what happened?” Grif asked while he made a one-hand grab for the disinfectant, fumbling with the cap, and then splashing the liquid onto the open wound.
“Fuckshit. You’re a bastard,” Tuck swore, reaching for his leg. Grif batted his hands off. With the way the wound was frayed rather than pierced through, gauze should do the trick rather than a stitch job.
“Doncaster’s out for blood, that’s what,” John muttered, wringing out the wet towel into the water. “The man had set patrols on the streets around Aon Center. Any infiltration’s going to mean getting past those bastards too.”
“Lady Luck’s just knocking us down and spitting in our face at this point,” Grif responded as he placed a swath of gauze on the spot and began to bind the wound. Tuck’s skin grew sallower, but he forced down deep breaths like a champ while he zoned out. He must be bobbing along on the currents of the pain at this point.
“Ever since the stupid Sunset Ruby heist,” John murmured, his voice low.
“Agreed. I made a bad call on that one,” Grif said, even as his chest squeezed tight.
John’s hand clapped onto Grif’s shoulder. “We made a bad call. We’re the Outlaws, not Locksley’s Merry Men.”
Grif tied off the bandage and glanced to John. He clapped a hand over his. The resolve that had been so elusive tonight settled back over him like slipping on a trusted pair of Everlast gloves. He’d chosen each of these individuals—John, Scar, Alanna, and Tuck—all wildly different, and yet each of them had inked their mark on him deeper than any tattoo. The world was full of traitorous scum, but he and his Outlaws were cleaning it up, one heist at a time.
And in five days’ time, they’d hit the Aon Center.
Fourteen
The glimpse of sunlight brought by Greg’s visit got doused in charcoal clouds and torrential downpours with the way the rest of Dan’s week had shaped out. Truth be told, any morning in this building would probably be a bad one. He had yet another board meeting, as if they needed to argue with each other for the fiftieth time this week.
Today, he needed to convince the board to again postpone the vote on the new acquisitions. If they pushed for the vote today, the response would be no. Dan glanced to the clock again, hating the glare of the numbers as they ticked closer and closer to yet another confrontation, another push against a company that didn’t want him here in the first place. Vanessa and Leo were the sole things keeping him in the game at this point.
That, and maybe a certain stunner of a blond who had captured his attention.
Dan stood, smoothing the wrinkles out of his dress shirt before he slipped his suit jacket back on. Phil and his cronies would seize upon any perceived flaw, whether it was the new policies he tried to introduce or the way he parted his hair. His heart twisted hard at the memories of a mere year ago when he’d been making pennies in comparison, but he’d been innovating, working on projects that mattered. He missed those days more than he missed the old pond from their first house. However, the idea of getting excised from his family scared him just enough to keep slogging through.
The merciless city stared at him through the window. The peaks were so familiar, the breadth of the landscape, the sprawling blue of Lake Michigan a gorgeous that pierced his heart. The view of the city from here summed up everything about this business—cutting, grandiose, and filled with more corruption than could ever be cleansed.
Based on the reports Vanessa kept digging up too, the connections between the deaths of former employees had his alarm bells clanging. This didn’t just seem to be average corporate corrupt
ion. If someone working for the company was tied to this? They were wading into far more dangerous waters than he could’ve ever imagined, far out of their depth.
Dan strode to the door. Time to get to this meeting.
Two hours. They’d been in this stupid room for two hours bickering like they were back in kindergarten and didn’t want to drink the apple juice. The scribbles he’d made of potential growth from the new companies had been viewed with glazed-over eyes. He’d spent hours collating the research and forming the charts, but the reception was the forehead to a brick wall—same as always.
His skin itched as he sat at the head of the table, gazing across the room at the twelve dour faces staring back at him, apart from Vanessa’s. She took the opposite end of the table.
“We have to look at what’s fiscally responsible,” Phil Brennerman said, pointing to the paper in front of him. “A lot of these companies you’ve brought to the table are new and untested. They could fast turn into a money drain for us, and based on the terms of contract, we’d bear the weight.”
Dan hated him. He hated him and his perfect arguments and counters to everything he proposed. The man had been doing this for years and years longer than him; he understood that. Yet sitting at another of these stifling, noxious meetings while Brennerman swayed the entire team to his side delivered another blow to the stomach when he’d already suffered a dozen. When he dropped into the company, he had been determined to make a difference here, but each day he butted heads with his CFO chipped away at his resolve until he’d soon be reduced to mere gravel.
“We also can’t stop acquisitions,” Dan countered. “It would be irresponsible to not continue the company’s growth.”
“Agreed,” Phil said, his sharp blue eyes flicking his way. “However, there are plenty of viable options out there to acquire that wouldn’t be as much of a risk.”
Again, the man with his relentless undermining.
Dan forced his temper back, keeping his palms flat on the table.
“The two of you have been rehashing the same points for the past hour,” Rita said, one of the few people in the room who didn’t make his hackles rise. “We should just put this up for a vote.”
Dan glanced to Vanessa on the other end of the table, hoping the pleading in his eyes flashed clear to her. However, his sister sat there looking like she’d seen Medusa, her lips tight as she met his gaze. He needed someone besides him to argue this, and she wasn’t stepping in with an assist.
His gut sank like a stone. A couple of the other board members voiced their agreement on bringing it to a vote, Brennerman just as enthusiastic.
No one recommended postponing the vote, not even Vanessa, which meant he faced off against the rest of his company alone. Again.
Dan’s palms broke into a sweat as those stares all turned to him. Of course, as CEO he needed to weigh in. “Let’s vote on it,” he acquiesced. At least then, he might stand a chance of swaying anyone to his side instead of appearing intractable.
He shot Vanessa a pointed stare, but she averted her gaze. They’d talked last night about this, and Vanessa had been on his side. She’d been swearing up and down about the old cronies in this company and stringing together colorful lines that would’ve gotten their asses beat back in the day. Had Dad said something to her too?
“Everyone in favor of abstaining from acquiring these companies and starting the process over?” Dan said, even as the words pained him. He stared out at the faces in front of him, all familiar from the year he’d spent working by their sides.
Phil Brennerman led the charge by raising his hand. “Aye.”
Eight more popped up as his hope crashed like dominoes. Rita kept her hand down, as did Jeremy. Niles wavered for a moment but put his hand up.
“Anyone else?” Dan asked, even as his heart sank to his feet. Having to break this news to Neo-National would be miserable.
Vanessa’s hand rose. She didn’t look at him. His stomach lurched, but he sucked in a breath to stay steady. Out of everyone, she had been just as adamant about stopping Brennerman. He counted on two people to have his back in this company: Leo and Nessa.
She hadn’t just run him over—she’d switched to reverse and backed up too.
Dad must’ve said something. There had to be a reason.
All those stares zeroed in on him. Shit, they were waiting on him to continue.
“Majority rules,” he pronounced. “We’ll abstain from acquiring the companies and start the process from scratch.” God above, he hated this place. Dan’s chest ached, and all he wanted to do was slam his fist into a wall, flip this behemoth of a conference table, and talk to Vanessa in private.
“The meeting’s adjourned,” Dan finished. “We’ll continue this at a later date.”
As if he’d shouted fire, every member of the board rose from their seats in a clatter of metal squeals against the floor. The thump-thump-thump of his pulse pounded louder and louder. Nessa had been one of the only reasons he hadn’t walked away, the big sister who he had always trailed after like a puppy. His legs were already carrying him toward her.
She hunched over, gathering the last of her things to bolt like the rest of them. Not gonna happen. He refused to postpone this talk.
Vanessa looked up when he stopped to stand in front of her. Her dark brown eyes bled guilt, as did the firm slash of her mouth.
“Vanessa Angelica Torres,” Dan started, his tone low enough she alone could hear.
Her eyes widened, and she took a step away.
A hand tapped his shoulder. “Dan, might I have a word?”
The voice sent a wave of nausea rolling right through him, a Pavlovian response at this point. He bit back his rage. “Sure. We’ll catch up later, Vanessa.” He cast her a careful glance she was quick to avoid. She all but bolted out of the room, leaving him with Phil Brennerman.
“Hope you’re not feeling sore about the vote,” Phil started in a manufactured conciliatory tone. “I tried to warn you ahead of time about how big of a risk the acquisitions would be. I know you’re coming in heavy because you want to make your mark here, but the board isn’t used to movers and shakers.”
Uh-huh. Dan didn’t buy the sympathetic bullshit for a second. A caring mask might twist Phil’s features now, but those eyes were doling out hefty doses of strychnine. He leaned against the table, placing his fingertips on the surface. Today had been long enough already and he needed to drink.
“We’re fine, Phil. Though I hope you don’t think this means Len is back on the case. I still want to field our newest acquisitions, since they’ll be reflecting on my name. Not my father’s.” Sure, baiting Brennerman wasn’t the best idea, but Dan lost his last fuck during the meeting.
Phil’s gaze darkened even as his smile remained radiant. “Actually, Len is going to need to be back on the case.” He ran a hand through his hair, ducking his head as he stared at the ground. “We need someone with years of experience in acquisitions bringing new partners in,” he murmured, his voice low with an edge that frayed at Dan’s nerves. He opened his mouth to argue.
“You know,” Brennerman continued, “there are a lot of temptations that crop up in acquisitions, which is why it’s so important to have someone who’s experienced on the job. The last thing we would want is a scandal. Higher ups taking advantage of clients, getting intimate with them in supply closets, copy rooms… hell, even this boardroom.”
Dan’s fingers numbed. Oh, fuck.
Oh, he knew. He knew about Greg Locksley and the way they’d locked lips in the boardroom yesterday. Dan had been so worried about Brennerman bugging his office that he never even considered the boardroom. Not like he stood a chance at finding proof—if Brennerman was bringing up the threat now, the man would’ve covered his tracks.
“So,” Brennerman continued, his gaze skimming over his pared nails. “I’m sure you can understand why we need Len to be in acquisitions again while you stick to more important tasks.”
Dan’s s
tomach lurched. He’d been spiraling before, but this shoved him right off a high-rise with no parachute. Words gummed in his mouth even though he needed to respond, now. Focus, Torres. He leaned a little harder against the table, trying not to sag.
“All clear,” he responded, his own voice sounding foreign. “Len can resume his responsibilities.”
“Good on you, son,” Brennerman said, clapping a hand on his shoulder before he stalked off to leave the boardroom. It wasn’t until the door clicked shut that the shakes descended. He’d been so stupid. He indulged in a lapse when he couldn’t afford one, not when the people in this place were an infection waiting to spread. Now he’d failed to bring Neo-National on board, probably for good, and Brennerman had blackmail on him.
His stomach lurched, and nausea rolled through him in a sinuous wave. Everything spiraled out of his control, and he couldn’t even begin to sketch out a blueprint of how to fix this mess. He was screwed. His sister backed out on him, Brennerman threatened to out him, which would sever things between him and Dad, and he didn’t know how he would approach his acquisitions to tell them he’d failed. How he’d face Greg. Hell, his job could be on the line too.
Dan pushed off from the boardroom table. He needed to get to his office.
He floated through the hallway, the sounds muted compared to the turbine roar in his mind. His feet barely touched the ground as he drifted toward the office that had become a prison.
Dan stepped into the waiting room where Leo paced back and forth. His lanky friend’s eyebrows furrowed, and he pursed his lips. Because of course, more problems had to arise. The exhaustion stole him in one staggering sweep, like hours ticked away waiting in a hospital.
“Hey, Leo,” Dan called to get his attention.
His friend’s head snapped up, and he looked at him, his blue eyes framed by his black-rimmed glasses more serious than ever. “We need to talk.”
Dan didn’t bother responding, just offered a nod and led the way to his office. He slumped into his seat, falling apart like he’d been slow cooked. Whatever Leo wanted to level at him couldn’t hit as hard as all the other problems.
Midnight Heist (Outlaws Book 1) Page 11
