by P Mulholland
He shot me raven-scowl.
“I didn’t think you were into modern art.”
“If it was an Andrew Lancaster piece the rat would be wearing pink pajamas.”
True. “Is it a warning?”
“I don’t know.”
“It doesn’t have anything to do with me?”
“Why would it?”
“The article in the Tribune and all that media attention me and Jake have been getting.”
“Hardly.”
“Then what’s going on?”
“Empty threats,” he said.
“From who?”
“Not your concern,” he said, pointing to the door for me to leave.
Chapter Twenty
Jake
“Do you know about the charity ball next weekend?” Sophia asked as she walked into my office and rested her arm on the filing cabinet.
“No.” She looked different.
“Didn’t Red buy a ticket for you?” she smirked.
“Probably not.”
“Anyway, I need a date.”
“You want me to go with you?”
She cringed. “No, dearest brother. I want you to hook me up with someone.”
“Who? Croy?”
“Hell, no!”
“Who then?”
“Well…since you live with his aunt, I thought you could give him my number.”
“Aunt?” It took me a few seconds to figure out who she was talking about. “No fucking way!”
“C’mon, little brother. Do your sis a favor.”
“Are you serious?”
“Extremely.”
“This is a guy that has dead rats delivered to him.” With a Barbie head, but I didn’t want to go into details. I was already creeped out about it.
A sly look appeared on her pale face. “Does he have a liking for taxidermy? Oh how exciting.”
“I’m not getting involved in that.”
“Why should you be the only one to date a Malone?” she asked in a slippery tone. She always had a weird attraction to dangerous and/or inappropriate men. Married men. Men much older than her. Ex-cons. Okay, so she’s not the only one to like the idea of an ex-con. Except my ex-con wasn’t put away for drug trafficking or the illegal selling of anabolic steroids at the local gyms. So I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that she fancied Leon. But I still hated the idea of it.
“If you don’t want your head ripped off and thrown into a septic tank, never call her a Malone to her face.” I chose not to correct her about dating Brydie because I wasn’t really dating Brydie, just sort-of dating Brydie. I took her out to lunch and we kissed once, no twice.
“Fine. I’ll bypass you and go straight to O’Neal.”
“Fine.”
“Good.”
“Good. How do I get tickets to this ball?”
“Ask Red. Do you have O’Neal’s number?”
“No.”
“Liar. Has Corey?”
“Why would he have it?”
“I don’t know, shall I ask him?”
“Seriously Soph, Malone’s bad news.”
“I’m a big girl, Jakey.”
As soon as she left, I messaged Brydes.
Me: My sister wants Leon’s number.
Brydes: Why?
Me: She likes him.
Brydes: Does she like men who hang upside-down in closets
and feast on the blood of virgins?
Me: Lol. No. Yes. Probably.
Brydes: Fair enough.
She text me Leon’s number and I reluctantly wrote it down for Soph. Every cell in my body did not want to give my sister Leon Malone’s number. I slid the notepaper into my trouser pocket, then went in search of Red. His office was empty as were Trent’s and Corey’s. I then spotted them in the boardroom talking with two of our lawyers.
“Trouble in paradise,” Sophia’s voice echoed behind me.
“What’s going on?”
“Tying up loose ends with Neptune Fisheries bailout,” she said, “so they don’t come back and bite us on the ass.”
“I thought that would’ve been done ages ago.”
“There were issues, apparently.”
“What sort of issues? Why weren’t you invited to this meeting?” I asked, perplexed. Sophia was smart, smarter than us three brothers put together. Red treasured his only daughter’s opinion, so it was unusual for Soph not to be in a meeting.
She shrugged. “Not needed. Which reminds me, did O’Neal sign a gag contract to stop her from going to the media about you?”
“Not that I know of. I wouldn’t worry about her. She’s not a snitch type.”
Soph shot me a wink. “And your glasses are what color?”
I rolled my eyes.
“Shall we say, pink. Let’s make a deal, lil’ brother. If I get you a ticket for the charity ball, you’ll give me Leon’s number.”
I paused and slid my hand into my trouser pocket to find the notepaper with his number on it. I did not want my sister having anything to do with Leon Malone. I couldn’t do it. She can get his number her own way, I wanted no part of it. I screwed the bit of paper up with my fingers.
“No deal,” I said. “I don’t care if I go to the ball or not, Cinderella.” I’ll try and get tickets from Red. I’d love to take Brydie to a formal gig like that. To see her in a figure-hugging sexy dress and heels, then arriving in a Limo, stepping out onto a red carpet with the blonde siren on my arm. Keep dreaming. I doubted it was Bryde’s scene. Unless… “What is the charity for?”
“Maria Shelter,” Soph said, “a shelter for homeless women and children who’ve had to escape an abusive relationship.”
“That might work.” I said trying to figure out what was different about her. “Have you done something different with your hair?”
She scowled. “I got it cut last week. And you only notice now?”
“I don’t see you that much.” I examined her hair. “Oh yeah, it was long before.”
“It’s called a bob,” she said, stroking her slightly wavy dark hair severely cut below her chin.
I wasn’t convinced it suited her, but I wouldn’t dare tell her. I knew that much about women.
“I didn’t have a fringe before either,” she added.
“Looks good.”
“So you’ll get me his number?”
“No fucking way. I already said I want nothing to do with match making you with the mob.”
She snorted. “You can’t talk, you’re living with the fucking mob.”
“Brydes has nothing to do with their shady business.”
“She works there at nights. How do you know she isn’t commissioned to whack folk off who can’t pay their debts?”
“Whack off? It’s not year nineteen thirty four, Soph.”
“See, you don’t know. You have no idea what ‘O’Neal does at night in her job.”
“Yes, I do. She’s sorting out the accounts.”
Soph cracked up laughing. “Is that what they call it now? The accounts? O’Neal is the ‘Accountant,’” she mocked, using her fingers as quotation marks. “Or maybe she’s paying off her debt by being a grouse or a cuddle cutie.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
‘Google it,” she said, before slithering back to her office.
When I got back to my office, the only office without a view, unless you count the sea of secretaries and receptionists, I went to my filing cabinet and pulled out the A’s. I’d been thinking about this for a while. As a company, we had to play our role at being responsible in our choices of what companies to invest in and which ones to turn away from.
My role in AGI was to oversee the small and Angel Investments. Just because we’re billionaires, it doesn’t mean we’re completely heartless. Soph and Corey oversee the medium-sized to large non-real estate investments, Trent and Red oversee the real-estate side, Jacqueline oversees the design of the real-estate side.
Individually we made very little
profit from each small company we partially own. As a collective, though, the profit was good. Many of these businesses were innovative start-ups which would crumble if we were to pull our funding. On the other hand, we had to make sure that the businesses we invested in stayed healthy. It was always a risk with start-ups, but they were the most interesting to me. Some of the ideas and inventions people came up with were incredible.
The obstacle was whenever I wanted to invest in a company or start-up, I had to take the proposal to the other members of AGI, my family. Most of the time, they slammed the idea, and I had to break the news to the enthusiastic, hopeful people that we wouldn’t fund them. To be accurate, my secretary had to break the news that we wouldn’t fund them.
What had been bothering me was we didn’t look closely into the ethics of the companies we invested in. I wanted to start with my portfolio which was large enough. Then I’d move in to Soph’s. What I was looking for were companies that used slave labor, unsafe and illegal practices in the workplace, and practices that were hazardous to the environment. It was about time Austin Group Investments took responsibility for these actions, since we’re making a ton of money. I visualized AGI leading the way in clean, green business.
It wasn’t just Brydie’s influence on me that was making me do this, it was the way of the future and if AGI didn’t act now, we’ll be left behind.
It was a massive job and I needed help with the research and investigation of each and every business. Someone who could physically go into each business, perhaps undercover, and take notes, then report back to me. Someone who was loyal to a fault and was good at keeping their mouth shut. I knew the perfect person.
Me: Need a job?
Mac: Doing what?’
Me: Sleuthing
Mac: When do I start?
I couldn’t wait to tell Brydie my plan when I got home. I brought a stack of files to go over that evening, knowing that Brydes would be working on her night job. I had to keep busy when she wasn’t there.
It’s been over four weeks since leaving rehab and Old Rip Van Winkle was still in the back of my mind. When I was alone in the apartment, Old Rip cantered to the forefront, obsessively. To deter my thoughts away from my bourbon buddy, I’d play Grand Theft Auto, watch movies and TV series, munch on organic cashews, study for my business degree, and chew my fingernails. All the while, I’d watch the clock for when it was time to pick Brydes up.
Time ticked slowly those nights. Like death dawning. But as soon as she climbed into the car next to me, Old Rip vanished back into the Kentucky corn fields.
Brydes had that effect on me. She was my medicine, alcohol and bestie all in one. All that was missing was good ol’ fashioned sex. There were countless times when I wanted to run my hand up her thigh and slide my fingers into her wet center, or bite her nipples, or just fuck her senseless. I’d look at those rosy bee sting lips and imagine slipping my tongue into her mouth, pushing my body hard against her, listening to her moan. Hell, I’m human after all.
But I wasn’t losing hope. I could see subtle changes in her. The way she looked at me, the smiles, the laughter, the odd innocent touching here and there. This twenty-one year old was slowly breaking down her defenses. One day she won’t be able to resist me and I’ll happily become a slave to her desires.
I tried not to count how many weeks it’s been. Shit! I’d never gone this long without getting laid. For obvious reasons, I was abstinent in hospital. I got a bit in rehab until we were caught, then none since leaving rehab. Why? Because all I want is Brydie O’Neal and that’s been my focus ever since.
“What exactly do you do out there with Leon?” I asked Brydes when she sat at the dining table next to me. The conversation with Soph was still fresh in my mind.
“I told you. I sort the accounts,” she said, placing a crumbed cauliflower floret into her mouth. She hummed at the flavor. “Yum! This is good.”
I filled with pride whenever she complimented me, which was hardly ever and mostly about my cooking. But I had to ruin the moment. “Is Malone whoring you out?” I liked to slip a filthy remark in, just to see if I could make her blush.
She frowned at me. “No.” She had a sprinkling of crumbs on her lower lip.
“How much?” I asked.
“For what?”
“For a night with you? A smorgasbord. Just you and me on a bed for an entire night. We don’t even need sheets.”
“I’m not up for hire, and my brother is not whoring me out,” she said, half laughing at the ridiculousness of my comment.
“Let me rephrase it. If I were to contribute a sum of money to Ocean Warriors in exchange for a night with you, naked by the way, just to make that clear - how much would be written on the donation slip that my father signs off?”
She paused to read the expression on my face to see if I was joking or not.
“I’m serious,” I said.
“Another indecent proposal?” she asked, licking the crumbs off her lip.
“Correct.”
She shrugged. “A million.”
“What?” I protested. “I wouldn’t even pay the real Charlize Theron a million dollars for one night.”
She tipped her gorgeous head back and laughed. A laugh that made every cell in my body sing. Did the Bear make you laugh like this? I think not. Then I noticed it. The reddening of the cheeks.
“Wait! Am I making you blush?”
“No!” she rebuked, pressing her palms against her cheeks to feel the heat coming off them. “It’s a fever. I think I’m coming down with the flu.” She sniffed to prove that she was clogging up.
“Sure,” I snorted, “A fever of arousal. Of all the smutty things I have said to you, this is what makes you go red. Now I know.”
Her face was burning up big time. “Know what?”
“How to get to you. The answer lies in do-gooder stuff, especially if they involve animals and coral reefs. And kindness, empathy and all those other overrated memes that female friends pollute my newsfeed with. Admit it, Chucky, you’re turned on right now.”
“Firstly, coral are animals,” she bit. “Secondly, come up with the million for Ocean Warriors and I might consider it.”
“Spoken like a true Malone,” I replied swiftly, pushing her limits. She knew I couldn’t come up with the money, hence why it was safe for her to say that. It’s not like the Austin family didn’t have a spare million, but too many questions would be asked for a sum of that size to be released.
“O’Neal,” she corrected, shooting me a look that could make a man of steel crumble. “And don’t you forget it.”
I grinned. Man, I liked her. A lot.
She got up from the table and walked to the bathroom, probably to splash cold water on her face. “There goes that million dollar ass walking away from me again,” I called after her.
She flipped me the bird. I’d suck that finger, if she’d let me.
Chapter Twenty One
Brydie
I was greeted by an enormous mountain of a man when I stepped out of the elevator into Elite Security Services. Immediately I spotted the logo on his shirt and knew he was one of Malone’s heavies.
“Name?” he asked, stepping in front of me.
“Brydie O’Neal.”
“Let her in!” I heard Leon call from inside.
“Be careful where you step, ma’am,” he said, pointing to the floor. It was covered in shattered glass.
The doors were completely absent leaving a gaping hole and another heavy was in the reception area sweeping up the glass.
“What happened?” I asked Leon.
“What does it look like?”
“A deliberate hit?”
He pointed his thumb behind him. “You’ve got work to do.”
I thought I’d have all the invoices sorted by now, yet I’m not even half way through. Every time I come to the bottom of one box, there’s another waiting for me.
It didn’t help that I was struggling to keep my mind on
the job. I was feeling shaky and apprehensive, my pencil and stapler slipping repeatedly from my hand. Leon yelled at me from the other room, “You break it, you pay for it!”
I took a deep breath to calm my shaking hands and pounding heart. I opened a fresh box of invoices and set to work pulling each and every one out, placing them in alphabetical order. The repetitive work was therapeutic, and soon my mind drifted from the concocted fears in my head to focusing instead on the present.
About twenty minutes in and Leon appeared at my door. “I’m heading out for a while,” he said.
“You’re leaving me here alone with no front door?”
“Sledge and Holmes will guard the door,” he said, then promptly left.
“Goodbyyyee!” I mocked. “Have a lovely tiiiime.”
I sunk back into my box of invoices while Sledge and Holmes chatted away to each other in the distance. I couldn’t pick up the actual words uttered, but the rhetoric made me think they were talking about sports. I noticed no police presence, unless they had been and gone, or hadn’t yet arrived. I doubt the police were called when the rat-doll arrived in a box and the red X was painted across Malone’s doors.
A little while later, I needed to use the bathroom and was surprised to find Leon in there drying his hands on a paper towel.
“I didn’t know you’d returned,” I said, immediately noticing the blood splatters on his white buttoned shirt.
He ignored me and left the bathroom. When I examined the paper towel in the wastebasket it was pink from watery blood. I quickly came to the conclusion that he’d got a bloody nose. What else could it be? He might have sinus problems and polyps.
I used the bathroom and dried my hands, still thinking about his blood-splattered shirt. When I opened the door out into the hall, Leon was leaning casually against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. His dark, empty eyes were glued onto my face.
“Come with me,” he said evenly.
I followed him into his office where surveillance footage was playing on his laptop. He sat me in his chair and leaned over my shoulder to use the touchpad to open a file.
