“We’re here, aren’t we?” He went first and wiped his muddy boots on the rug.
I looked at the pile of mud and shut the door behind me. “Like the butler doesn’t hate you enough as it is…”
“He’ll hate me more by the time I leave.”
We stepped into Fender’s office and found him sitting in one of the two sofas that faced each other. His butler had already gotten to work and had a pot of coffee and three mugs on the table.
Fender sat there, elbows on his knees, his seething stare shifting back and forth between the two of us.
In the tense silence, the butler placed a tray of morning pastries between us—even though none of us would eat them. He finally departed and gave us the room to converse.
Fender stared at me for a while. “What happened? You left far sooner than I did.”
“It’s a long story. My daughter was taken. Bartholomew agreed to help me get her back—in exchange for my servitude.”
Fender flicked his gaze back to Bartholomew. “That was fucked up.”
Bartholomew kept up his bored look. “He left out the part where he deserted me and everyone else.”
I rolled my eyes.
Fender stared at us for a while longer before he sat back. “Ask your questions.”
“Daddy!” A little boy ran through the door, maybe three years old, and headed right for Fender.
The look he gave his son was drastically different from the one he gave us. He actually smiled—and I’d never seen him smile. His arms were ready for the boy, and he scooped him up into his chest in one fluid motion. “My boy.”
I remembered Claire at that age. I remembered every single moment of her short life.
Then his wife emerged, her stomach so big she looked as if she could give birth any day. She stilled when she saw us. “I…I didn’t realize we had guests.” Her eyes were filled with suspicion, as if she didn’t like us one bit.
“They aren’t guests.” Fender got to his feet and carried his son back to his wife. “They’ll be gone in a few minutes.” He gave her a kiss as he placed one hand against her stomach, his son in one arm.
She gave a nod then took their son by the hand out of the room.
Fender returned, and as if that scene had never happened, he scowled. “That’s what you’re keeping me from. So be quick.”
Bartholomew rubbed his hands together. “I’m taking on the Skull King.”
Fender smiled again, but it was a different kind of smile than the one he showed before. It was sarcastic, incredulous. “Still ambitious…”
I didn’t bother to voice my objection because I’d be living in Canada soon, not getting wrapped up in this idiocy.
“Yep. Any contacts, intelligence, and advice would be most appreciated.”
“Acquiring my business wasn’t enough?”
“If you’d stayed in the game, you would have made the same decision too. If the Skull King were removed, we could plant our own men there and acquire an entirely new line of business. If I want to scale up, I need to acquire more clients and more distributors. Makes the most logical sense.”
Fender gave a chuckle, and it sounded strange coming from him, a man who never cracked a smile.
“What?” Bartholomew asked.
Fender shook his head. “You remind me of myself.”
“Then I take that as a compliment.”
“You shouldn’t—because I was mad.” Now he turned serious again. “You want my advice? Here it is. You already have everything. You know what everything plus more of everything equals? Everything. There’s no difference, Bartholomew. Enrich your life with something else, perhaps a woman that your dick worships, gain immortality through your sons and daughters. This stupidity risks not only your business and your life, but your sanity. Gross wealth fixes a lot of problems, but it doesn’t fix everything.”
Bartholomew’s face remained stony and steady, as if none of that meant a damn thing. “You know that’s not the advice I want.”
“Advice is objective,” Fender said. “Not subjective.”
“It’s fine that you decided to settle down and play house, but that’s not me. It’ll never be me. I want everything plus more of everything, and if it claims my life in the process, so be it. I’d rather die in the prime of my life than live to an age where someone is paid to wipe my ass every day. That’s your future—not mine.”
Fender brought his hands together, his gaze hard.
“So, tell me what I need to know—for old time’s sake.”
We stepped into the house, the girls still there from yesterday.
“You know he’s right.” I followed Bartholomew as he went for the bar.
“Fender’s lost his mind.” He poured himself a glass then turned back to me. “Why else would he give up everything for a woman? Why would he give up an empire to change diapers and screw the same pussy every single day?”