I can tell that Damon is afraid of Liam. Intimidated by him. And is not very likely to take him head-on. I can see that at the heart of it, where it matters, Damon is nothing more than a coward. A bully. He's more than happy to pick on somebody weaker than him, but stack him up against somebody his size and he'll fold like a shitty lawn chair every damn time.
“Are you afraid he's going to kick your ass?” I ask, my tone mocking.
“Watch your mouth.”
I laugh. “Wow. Liam was right. You are a giant pussy.”
I jump in my seat when Damon slams his fist down on the table. He hits it so hard, he makes everything on top of it rattle and shake.
“I said, watch your mouth,” he says, his voice low and menacing.
“Get out of my house, Damon.”
“Gladly,” he says and nods to the goon behind me.
For a split second, I actually think they're going to leave. But then, I feel the goon's hand on the back of my head, quickly followed by a rag being forced over my nose and mouth. I breathe in the fumes and my vision begins to waver. A few seconds later, darkness begins to creep in at the edges of my vision.
And after that, everything goes black.
ooo000ooo
When I come to, I feel like I'm having a panic attack. The world around me is still dark and I start to freak out, thinking that they'd done something to my vision. Something to my eyes. I try to move my hands and legs, but find that they are held fast by something tight and binding.
As my head begins to clear and I become more aware, I realize that I'm sitting in a chair. There's a hood over my head, and judging by the feel of it, I'm bound to the chair by zip ties. And I know that I'm not alone. I can't see them, but I can feel them in the room with me.
“Damon, it's not too late to fix this,” I say, my voice thick. “Let me go and nobody ever has to know things happened this way.”
There's no response, but I know they're there. It's like their bodies are displacing the air around me, lending a physical pressure to their presence.
“I know you're there,” I say. “Just, let me go and we'll call this square. Nothing bad needs to happen to anybody here.”
I hear the scuffing of a shoe and a second later, light floods my eyes as the hood is removed. I blink rapidly, my eyes trying to adjust to the flood of illumination. When I get my vision back, I'm looking up at Brittany, who's staring down at me with a sinister smile on her face.
“Hey, girlfriend,” she says and giggles.
My mind is racing as fast as my heart as I try to figure out what in the hell is going on. I have no idea what Brittany has to do with Damon. Are they working together? And if so, to what end?
I look around and we're sitting in what looks like a warehouse of some sort. It’s mostly empty, except for some rusted out machinery and stacks of large wooden crates, many of them rotting away or with large, gaping holes punched into them. The air around me smells musty and the whole place reeks of disuse and abandonment.
“Wh – what's going on?” I ask.
Damon's voice comes from behind me, sending a chill down my spine. “What's going on is that we're going to settle this,” he says. “Tonight.”
“Tonight,” Brittany says, smirking at me.
Damon and his goon step into my field of vision. Brittany walks over and pulls the goon down into a long, passionate kiss. Damon looks at them for a moment and then turns, looking at me, with that predatory smile on his face once more.
A moment later, Brittany looks at me and smiles. “This is Travis,” she says. “Travis is all man. A real man. Way more of a man than Liam could ever dream of being.”
“I thought you and Liam were getting back together,” I ask, still not comprehending.
I feel like all the puzzle pieces are starting to line up. The picture is beginning to come together, but it remains maddeningly out of focus. There are just a few pieces I don't have that would complete the picture for me – pieces I can't quite get my head around.
“I'm afraid Brittany was having a little fun at your expense,” Damon says.
“Like I'd ever get back together with that loser,” she says and looks at me, a cruel grin on her face. “I was just trying to get under your skin. Looks like it worked too.”
“I don't understand,” I say. “What's going on?”
“What's going on,” Damon says. “Is that we tried to play nice with Liam. But, he insists on being an asshole. He insists on being defiant and not giving me what I want – which is for him to pack up and leave Port Safira.”
“And what I want,” Brittany chimes in, “is to be filthy stinking rich and live a life of fun, adventure, and shopping.
“Which means,” Damon says, “in order for Brittany and me to get what we want, Liam Anderson is going to have to die. Tonight.”
Chapter Thirty
Liam
It's well after five and fully dark by the time I step out of the small gift store. There's a cold chill in the air, but I'm still running hot. The earlier interaction with Damon has me wound up tight. Though, given the fact that I have a verbal agreement with Mrs. Bryant, the nice older woman who runs Red Door Gifts, the tension that's got my body in a vice grip is somewhat eased. At least that's one more business Damon isn't going to get his filthy, disgusting hands on.
I text the legal department at ADE to draft up the agreements and give them the email address they need to send them to. I want the contracts signed ASAP before Damon has a chance to swindle Mrs. Bryant and talk her out of it. If there's one thing that Damon does well, it's slinging bullshit. He can charm the pants off anybody and sell ice to an Eskimo.
I won't give him that chance. I'm going to scoop up as many businesses in Port Safira as I can and block him at every turn. So far, I'm the only one doing business on Sapphire Avenue – the town's main artery. Damon's dealings are on the outer edges of town to this point and I'm going to keep him out there. I'm not going to let him touch anything closer to the heart of town. Not if I can help it.
I doubt she's still there, but I walk up the street to Bookworms anyway. The shop is dark, the door is locked, and the closed sign is in the window. Paige has left for the day.
“Damn it,” I mutter to myself.
I slip my phone back out of my pocket and punch in her number. Holding it to my ear, I listen to the call connect, but it goes straight to voicemail.
“Shit.”
I key in a text message and send it. I just want to talk to her and hope she's going to give me the chance to explain. There has been a horrible misunderstanding about this entire affair. She's thinking that I'm doing something shady. Something terrible. That I am conspiring to gut her hometown. But that's not the reality of the situation. And all I want right now is the chance to explain that to her. To lay out all the plans and paperwork and show her what I’ve been doing.
A few minutes go by and there's still no response from her. Since I don't actually where her house is, I can't just pop by. I have no choice but to hope she gets back to me tonight. Otherwise, I’ll have to wait until tomorrow when her shop is open again.
With a frustrated sigh, I turn and head back to my car, and from there, I head home. There's nothing more I can do down here. I just have to hope that Paige's cooler head prevails and that she'll talk to me.
The drive home is quick and as pull through the gates, parking my car in the circular drive. Hemingway bounds over to me the second that I step through the door. I take a minute to kneel down and give him some scratches behind the ears and belly rubs when he flops over in front of me.
“You're lucky, you know,” I say to my dog. “Dogs don't have to worry about messy things like relationships and emotions. Frustrating things.”
He looks at me with his tongue hanging out of his mouth, a big doggy smile on his face. I stand up and Hemingway follows me into my office. I fish a couple of treats out of the bowl on my desk and toss them to him. He eagerly snaps them up and looks to me for more.
“If I keep giving you treats,” I say. “You're going to be so fat, you won't be able to get off that bed.”