Slow Dancing (The Second Chances Series Book 4)
Page 25
Then he roared, his hand swiping the Lalique decanters and crystals in the wet bar. He paced slowly, his hands planted on his hips, his head thrown back, his eyes blindly staring at the ceiling. He spun around and grabbed his phone from the table.
Bethany, please. If you don’t want to talk, I understand. Just let me know that you, Amara and your parents are okay.
Drake rubbed the ache that had formed in his chest since Bethany had disappeared. He had been looking forward to helping Amara with school for fuck’s sake right after Amara found out he was good with numbers.
His phone buzzed.
We’re okay.
A sigh broke through his nose. Relief was as sharp as a pin piercing a balloon letting the rubber whirl around the room until it fell, spent. He wasn’t going crack as he landed hard on the couch. He wasn’t going to fucking cry like a baby as his elbows rested on his knees and his fingers grabbed his hair. He needed to be strong for Bethany, as he rocked on his butt for God knows how long. He needed to be okay for her. For Amara.
For himself.
Crying was a sign of weakness. The streets taught him that. When he needed a good cry he’d hide from the street bullies, crack heads, pimps and pushers or they’d gang up on him and probably kill him. He’d ran and ran and by the time he could no longer pull air into his lungs, the urge to cry was gone.
His phone rang. He didn’t answer. He was just too bloody tired to talk to anyone. He hurt. He fucking hurt all over like he had open sores or something that tweaked pain at intervals over his heart. The desire to open the waterworks was so strong that he inhaled a long harsh breath and looked around the loft. He blinked several times, pushing his thoughts of self-pity to the back of his mind. Who said only women hurt and cried was a total wanker.
You did.
Oh yeah. He’d been a wanker.
Fuck it, he was going to die with the pain!
“Rosen. Open up man!”
“Leave me alone, Cray!”
“Okay fine. Self-pity your sorry ass. Just so you know, Andrew Tabler is in custody. My custody.” Oliver stressed. “I’m going to give him a piece of my mind for hurting Lissie. You’re more than welcome to refuse—
Drake flung the door open. Oliver did a double take.
“Did you suddenly develop a cold?”
“Screw you.”
Oliver grunted. He pointed at Drake. “You and I. We’re going somewhere.”
Drake looked at his watch. His eyes burned and his face felt tight. “It’s one in the morning. Won’t Lissie mind?”
“No, she won’t. She knows I’m doing this because Bethany’s in danger. She’ll be safe here.” Oliver said, his face grim.
“I’ve no doubt,” Drake said. Oliver had probably made Bridgewater Lofts the safest building in the city. “Be right there.”
“Oh and Rosen,” Oliver added, “don’t worry about Bethany. We found them.”
“Where?” His heart did a somersault before diving. He blew out a breath, waiting for gratitude to replace the emotions going haywire this side of sanity. Otherwise, he didn’t have anything left.
“Just be assured they’re safe,” Oliver said. “Aiden is watching them with some of the men he hired to join C-Five.”
“C-Five?”
“The security company we put up. It’s actually a military transport but it’s our moniker for our military backgrounds.”
“I thought it was named after your junk.”
Oliver made a strangled noise and pointed at him. “Your crude humour will get you into trouble one of these days.”
“Right, like you don’t have one.”
“I do, I just don’t use it often.”
“Sure because you’re already pussy whipped.”
Oliver snorted. “You should try it sometime. You just might like it.”
Drake shrugged. It was better than wallowing. He could have retorted but he had to defer to the man who had been able to find Caius, bring his sorry carcass back to the country, and unearth Andrew’s illegal activities.
“Thank you,” he said. “I don’t know how I’m going to repay you but yeah, I owe you big time.”
“You don’t owe me anything.” Oliver said. “Just make sure you don’t sell your flat. I’ll kick your ass to the next planet if you do.”
Felicity emerged from their flat and gave him a wan smile. “Are you okay?”
Drake nodded curtly, not trusting himself to speak.
“Both of you take care.” She walked to Oliver and rose on her toes to kiss him. “I’ll wait till you come home.”
Drake looked away, unable to prevent envy from stirring inside him at seeing his friends’ happiness. If only Bethany realized he had always been hers from the very start.
They took Oliver’s Subaru. Drake didn’t think he was unruffled enough to keep to the road.
“Where are we going?”
“Back to the hangar.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Andrew’s smile stretched from ear to ear.
He was still fucking invincible! On top of the world! Power was addictive and he had it in spades. Things always went his way, never had to stay more than twenty hours in jail because his name always collected favours, new ones being added inside desk drawers or palms during handshakes. Monetary settlements kept people’s mouths sewn shut with a lock and throwing the key away. His father, Charles Tabler, made things go away and he had always looked after Andrew’s interests.
Except for that time that bitch’s parents reported him to the police. The head teacher of Wood Park High, a close family friend, couldn’t eradicate the whispers. A scandal broke, further fanned by statements of other parents of pathetic low life students. What the fuck. He was just having fun! It wasn’t his fault someone suddenly tripped or a girl’s ass got flicked as she passed by. They should be more careful.
Bloody stupid Brooke family. Because of them, he made the six-o’clock news. They didn’t mention his name but mentioned the school. By the time Andrew arrived in school the next day, a multitude of cars hogged the street in front of the school and angry low income parents not worth his salt pitched their sorry asses in the school hall. They threatened to remove their children from the school. They shouldn’t even have their kids there in the first place!
Dumb fucks.
The head teacher gave in.
Fucking twat.
He shouldn’t have returned from the States. He was already doing well there, for fuck’s sake! While he had ears close to the ground in England to let him know what was happening, his father refused to let him come home. But that never stopped him. He flew in once in secret, checking on his contacts, watching and waiting for his father to croak so he could take over.
His arrival, though, was leaked to the press, his face plastered on television screens and newspapers. The moment Charles Tabler found out, he had people hauling Andrew off to a waiting plane and back to America.
Then, he heard about Drake Rosen.
He re-lived the rage that ate at him. A man like Rosen who didn’t have any pedigree shouldn’t make it in the world. The world was only for men like him, not some dumb schmuck who fought his way from expulsion.
No one had the same entitlement as he had. No one deserved to find happiness when they were poor. They were supposed to just keep their faces rubbed in the muck and keep their heads down. Not aspire to be greater than his family or any other family of his social station. They didn’t deserve it and never would.
Andrew had his people find the weak link. Caius Harvey. A man so deep in debt, shit in the sewer paled in amount. He arranged a meeting with Caius, paid all his debts and took Caius’ shares as collateral. Andrew nearly crowed in triumph when Caius handed over Drake’s shares. He didn’t give a fuck if the transaction was illegal. He had a team of lawyers who’d make sure it stuck, making his illegal transactions as pure and clean as a baby’s butt. After all, they made his gun smuggling activities disappear on paper. Money laundering was g
ood for business. Andrew craved more of the opulence it gave him.
His cell door opened. He stood, taking his coat that lay on the foot of the hard bunk. He winced when he flexed his shoulders and saw red when phantom sensations tweaked his junk. Bethany had become feisty, not the mousy type he had played with in the past. That made her sexy and he had developed a hard on even after she kneed him.
He smirked at the memory of terror in Bethany’s beautiful eyes when she realised who had cornered her. Who would have thought the bar he had decided to eat in would produce the girl who was the highlight of his high school life?
“Sign here,” the desk officer grunted and pointed to the ‘x’ in the release form.
“Told you boys I wasn’t staying.”
“Good to know,” the desk officer said, like he heard that line every day. “You’re free to go.”
He sauntered casually out of the station. Dawn was on the horizon. Andrew hooted with laughter. He looked around. Normally, one of his father’s minions or solicitor would meet him. No one was around. Bemused, he strolled to the parking lot and saw his father leaning against his BMW. Beside his father’s car was a Range Rover Velar he didn’t recognise. Maybe it was his ride. He was definitely going to ask his father to gift him one.
“Are you now in the habit of bringing bodyguards, Father?” He grinned. “Thanks for the bailout. I knew you wouldn’t let anything happen to me.”
Charles Tabler straightened. His dark hair greying at the temples. The coming daylight lit his father’s pinched features. Teal eyes weathered with age filled with disappointment. Anger. Despair.
Andrew halted when he noticed the last emotion.
“What have you done?” Charles’ whisper sounded like the air around them.
Andrew stiffened. “What? I got assaulted by a slut and I end up in jail.”
“I’m not taking about that.” Charles slashed the wind with his hand impatiently before pulling out a folder from the open window of his car. “I’m talking about this!”
He threw the contents at his son. Andrew flinched.
“What the fuck?”
“Don’t use that tone on me, boy.” Charles snapped before all fight left him. “I can’t help you with this.”
Dread made Andrew’s heart stutter. His pulse began to beat in the middle of his throat.
“Pick it up.” Charles ordered
Andrew didn’t comply.
“Pick it up,” Charles roared.
Andrew blinked. The humiliation of being screamed at hit him squarely in the face. Cheeks burning, he bent down and gathered the papers. Some of the words on the documents caught his attention. Wry amusement rumbled his chest.
“Money laundering? And what’s this?” He suppressed his laugh. He read the documents further. It was the agreement Caius Harvey signed. His grin fell. “Where did you get this?”
“It doesn’t matter where I got it,” his father’s voice was wintry. “Is this true?”
“No!”
“Then where did you get the money to buy those shares which even Altman says is illegal. No amount of grease money is going to make this go away.”
Hearing his father’s solicitor’s name, the noose slipped around Andrew’s head, slowly tightening around his neck. It felt so real it was hard to swallow.
“You’ve got friends in high places, Dad.” Andrew scrambled. “Use them.”
Charles huffed, shaking his head.
“My mistake, and one I’m going to regret for the rest of my life, was always saving your sorry arse.”
“Just this one last time, I swear.” Andrew approached his father then stopped at the unbanked fury in his father’s eyes. It made Charles more ominous. Deadlier than the persona he portrayed as a judge. Andrew’s throat dried up. “Dad, I swear, this is all a mistake.”
“It’s no mistake.” Charles shook his head still in disbelief. “Whose money did you use?”
“Mine!”
“How did you get it?”
“What the hell are you on about?” Andrew shot back angrily. “I made it good on my own! Without your help in America.”
“With whom? Don’t lie to me, Andrew. I’ve been keeping tabs on your expenses since you left. You live, eat, breathe because of my money. So where did you get the money to bail out this Caius Harvey?”
Andrew widened his eyes. “You son of a bitch!”
Hurt flickered in his father’s eyes.
“Yes, I am a son of a bitch.” Charles agreed. “Which is why you’re going to know what kind of S.O.B. I am. No one, not even my friends will be willing to extend even a straw to save you. Tell me where the money came from.”
Andrew lost his ability to speak and was about to lose his bladder.
“That money came from gun smuggling.” Charles hissed through clenched teeth. Anguish warped his face. “Guns to equip home grown terrorists? Why Andrew? Why?”
For the first time, Andrew watched his father shed tears. His body, a representation of defeat.
Andrew’s eyes darted at the Range Rover. Three men came out. One looked like a heavy weight Russian mobster who sneered at him. One looked like his skin had been weathered and dried by the sun. The other looked unobtrusive. He looked Chinese. Andrew’s eyes widened at the sight of a huge knife, the length of a short sword, attached to the Asian man’s belt.
“That’s illegal.” He pointed to the knife. “Who are these men?”
Charles looked away. “They’re here to take you.”
“Take me where?”
His father didn’t answer.
“Take me to where, Dad?” he shouted. He was snivelling now. If his Dad wasn’t going to bail him out, he was going to die.
Charles opened the car’s door. “To answer for your crimes.”
He started the engine, closed the door with finality. His throat muscles moved, his jaw hard with strain.
“Goodbye, Andrew.”
“Dad!” Andrew bellowed as his father drove away. Terror like the one he experienced when speaking to representatives of fundamental jihadists immobilized him.
He stepped back as one of the men approached him. The weathered man was broad shouldered and carried a weapon underneath his jacket. Andrew almost heaved.
“Mr Tabler, please come quietly.” The Asian said with a trace of sincerity. “We wouldn’t want to have to run after you and slit your throat even before the law has a chance to protect you.”
The oldest of the men placed a phone to his ear.
“We have him, suh.” He paused listening to something Andrew couldn’t decipher. “Very good, suh.”
He ended the call.
“Well Mr Tabler. Welcome to the end of your life as you know it.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Oliver glanced at his rearview and side mirrors before switching lanes leading to the private landing strip near the airport.
Drake’s nostrils flared before looking out of the window. “I feel so dumb ass stupid, man. Fucking stupid.”
“Then fix it and don’t wallow.”
Drake’s lips flattened. “Did Caius have more to say? Is that why we’re going back?”
“Caius is no longer there. He’s in jail and will be dragged to court tomorrow.”
“So why?” Drake turned to his friend in puzzlement.
Oliver smirked. “You’ll see.”
They arrived at the hanger both climbed out of the car. The car doors slamming echoed in the wide open space.
“There’s beer in the fridge if you want one.” Oliver offered, slumping down on one of the seats along the side of the passageway leading to the interrogation room. He rubbed his knee.
Drake had taken a liking to drinking cold beer during his sojourns across the pond during fights. Now he was looking forward to the harsh scratch of bubbles down his throat.
He offered one of the beers he grabbed. He pointed the mouth of his bottle at Oliver’s leg before taking a swig. “Your leg giving you trouble?”
Oli
ver took the proffered drink. “Not as much now. Only when I’m really tired. I’m having another prosthetic made but that’ll take some time.”
Drake made a sound. He paced while he took swigs from his bottle. “Who’s this visitor?”
“Patience isn’t one of your virtues, is it?”
“You think?”
Oliver leaned his head back and closed his eyes. His legs stretched in front of him with ankles crossed. “So you and Bethany. Have you known her for a long time?”
Drake stopped, his jaw tightening. “None of your fucking business.”
“’Kay.” Oliver made himself more comfortable. He rubbed the scar on his neck. “You know what I like about staying in hangars? Its wide open space doesn’t make me think of dense jungles where you hardly see what’s in front of you or tunnels under cities that smell enough to make you puke. Smell that?” His chest expanded as though he was enjoying a tropical breeze. “Jet fumes. Evidence of civilization. When I smell even just a whiff of that in the forest, that becomes my North Star. My team’s beacon to escape the hellhole we’ve just been in. Glad we’re no longer working that theatre. Felicity is my North Star now.”
“Bethany was the girl I protected fifteen years ago,” Drake blurted before his voice softened. “Until I couldn’t do it anymore.”
Oliver raised his head. His gaze, curious. “Do you really want to talk about this?”
“You asked me.”
Oliver snorted and drank his beer.
Drake nodded. “I need to or else this tightness in my chest might just squeeze me enough to crush my ribs.”
Oliver’s head moved imperceptibly.
Drake ambled some more.
“I never knew who my real parents were. I was found in a dumpster as a baby, perhaps thrown by the woman who gave birth to me. The orphanage was the first home I knew. We were often left on our own because we were so many. Boys. Girls. We were left to fend for ourselves before we could even walk.” He took a swig. “So we crawled and kept crawling until the only way to gain even just a small amount of affection from those looking to adopt us was to learn to stand. To be the tallest even if you were the smallest just to catch the attention of people who could become your parents. I got Henry and Sonia Rosen.”