Deacon knew.
Rhash, Raid, Marcus, Sylvie and Creed—Knight’s closest friends and strongest allies, now Nick’s friends—they all knew too.
If the same happened to them, this was the path they’d be on.
With no chance of veering off.
“I need you to teach me,” Nick said straight out.
A muscle jumped in Deacon’s cheek.
“You know I need you to teach me,” Nick pushed. “You know if you don’t, I’ll get someone else to do it. You know, Deacon.”
“Your brother wants—”
Nick shook his head. “Love my brother, means everything to me how he’s kicked in. How he’s given me his family to help me get through. But sometimes Knight can’t get what he wants. You know this is one of those times. Fuck, he knows this is one of those times.”
Nick looked beyond Deacon to the wedding-goers milling about the wildflowers, the streamers, the balloons, the tables laden with food and booze, to a band setting up well beyond the gazebo.
He looked back at Deacon.
“Enjoy your wedding. You deserve it, man. Enjoy your honeymoon. You’re in, we talk when you get back. You’re not, no hard feelings.”
Deacon moved closer.
Nick braced.
“You just looked at what I got,” Deacon’s voice rumbled low. “I thought I lost it all and you just saw all that behind me. Streamers. Balloons. A fucking German shepherd with a pink bow around her neck. And a woman tied to me I couldn’t even build in a dream. You can move on. You do not need to do what you think you gotta do.”
His voice suddenly raw, Nick whispered, “I had my woman I couldn’t build in a dream. And I sat, tied to a chair, powerless to do anything, looking right into her eyes when they blew a hole through her head. That mission is not complete. Our mission. The one I had with her, our fucking mission. It isn’t complete. There’s work to be done. For her.”
They locked eyes.
They didn’t move.
Deacon broke it.
“I’ll teach you.”
Nick nodded.
Deacon drew breath into his nose.
Then he lifted a hand and slapped Nick on the arm before he turned and walked to the woman that was now his wife, a woman who was beyond even a dream.
Chapter One
His Girls
Olivia
Four Years Later
“Liv, you need to come…now.”
I lifted my gaze from the electronic ledgers I was entering numbers into in my computer to see Tommy, his scarred but still handsome face tight, standing in the door to my office.
I knew that look so I didn’t delay in rolling my chair back, pushing to my feet and moving swiftly across the floor his way.
I didn’t give anything away in any way, not ever. I didn’t raise my voice. I only allowed the minutest reactions to show on my face, to leak from my eyes, to set in my frame.
So my voice was soft because it was always soft, and without inflection because it was always without inflection, when I asked, “Who does he have?”
“Green,” Tommy answered as we moved quickly down the hall.
Green.
One of my men.
My soldier.
Green was not his real name. It was a nickname my older sister, Georgia, had given to him. It had been Georgia who had used her special skills to recruit him years ago. He was so eager, and so stupid, fresh, na?ve…green.
And that was who he became.
He was no longer stupid, fresh or na?ve.
But he was still Green.
I walked down the hall, my strides fast but restricted due to the tight skirt I wore.
As I did, my mind was moving from annoyance at what I was certain was happening in my father’s office to wondering for perhaps the thousandth time why he insisted we continue to do business in this foul, possibly rat-infested warehouse.
It was the middle of a sunny day and the hall was ill-lit and murky, the floors filthy, the walls grubby.
Even in my office, which I’d insisted—like Georgia had with hers, like my father had always had with his—was clean and decorated (mine with a classic elegance; Georgia’s a modern sharpness; Dad’s a lavish obnoxiousness)—the windows were grimy (on the outside).
But my father’s father started the business there. Now Dad felt it sent a message. He was convinced in its top-to-bottom filth that it terrified anyone who might think they shouldn’t take us seriously.
He also felt it said we were one with our roots.
He was right.
My grandfather had been a lowlife thug who was willing to do anything for money and power.
And he did.
He’d done very well. He’d built an empire.
My father was also a lowlife thug with the same mission.
He wasn’t as successful.
I saw the double doors at the end of the hall, Gill standing outside them.
But I heard my father shouting.
“Is Georgia around?” I asked, eyes to Gill, my question aimed at Tommy who was at my heels.
“Nope,” Tommy answered.
That was not good.