“Well,” Garrett continued, “your father has certain amount of control over certain high-ranking officials thanks to these businesses.”
“Let me guess. He owns the notes to more than a few home titles and is a capital investor is many business ventures of certain high-ranking officials.” I deduced.
Garrett smirked. “Spot on, Slugger. Your father, despite being a fucking twat, is a shrewd businessman. In addition to making a fuck ton of money he also gained influence.”
“So that’s what Clark wanted—Dad to blackmail some city official?” I interrupted. It was the logical conclusion, but I didn’t think something that simple would result in me getting involved.
“In part,” Garrett replied slowly, his face hard. “Clark was more interested in the Silversdale deal.”
I sat up straight, shrugging Brock’s arm from around my shoulders. “You mean the deal I closed?” I asked quietly. I ignored the hand at my back and the eyes I could feel on me. I focused on my uncle who nodded, mouth set in a grim line.
“That deal not only had your father’s company importing milk products from around the world, it also gave him significant control over the docks. And since he had control over not only what came in but also the people that let it in, he was of particular interest to Clark Devon,” he explained.
I was silent for a moment. “I’m guessing Clark wanted to smuggle something into the country and didn’t want to declare it to customs,” I said dryly. “What exactly was he trying to get in? Elephant tusks? Fake designer bags? Freaking illegal immigrants?” I rattled off sarcastically. In truth I knew the probable substance that would warrant all of this shit and account for Clark’s wealth.
“Drugs,” Garrett answered, proving me right, his eyes flaring in distaste. “Clark Devon is a major player in the heroin and cocaine game and had been trying to get access to a deal like the Silversdale one for over a year. When your father’s company closed the deal it was a prime opportunity for him.”
I got up quickly, ignoring the glare I got from Gwen. “So you’re telling me that the deal I fucking facilitated was what got my father involved with Devon in the first place?” I said, my voice bordering on shrill as I paced the room.
Garrett’s face turned soft. “Slugger…”
I didn’t let him finish. “My mother was right, it is my fault I got kidnapped.” I laughed without humor. “By trying to prove to both her and my fucking father I was good enough for them I shot myself in the goddamn leg,” I paused. “Or more aptly I stabbed myself in the leg,” I laughed coldly again.
As I was in the midst of working myself into hysteria I hadn’t noticed Brock get up off the sofa, but strong hands at my shoulders which stopped my pacing got my attention. He pulled me close to face him, his hand going to my neck, eyes intense on mine.
“Don’t you dare fucking say that,” he ordered roughly. “Don’t you ever blame yourself for one minute of this fucking nightmare. None of this shit is your fault,” he declared fiercely, his hand tightening at my neck. “The blame for this shit rests solely on your father’s shoulders. Sparky, he is the one who got involved with that piece of shit. He is the reason you almost fuckin’ died.” His voice shook with restrained fury, then his eyes softened. “The only reason you’re standing here today is because you’re the strongest, bravest, most stubborn person I know. That’s what you’re responsible for—you survived when not many other people would have. That’s the only thing you’re responsible for,” he told me quietly, pride in his voice.
I blinked, my anger fizzling like a deflated balloon. My fragile emotional state could not handle declarations like this. Luckily the soppy stuff was short lived.
“Now sit the fuck down. You need to rest your legs and pacing like a mad woman is a stupid ass thing to do when you have healing stitches,” he growled, directing me back to the sofa.
I glared at him, but did as I was told. I caught Gwen’s eye and her face was hard but determined. “Brock’s right, Ames, none of this was your fault. Don’t you dare blame yourself.” She screwed her nose up. “This is all your father’s fault. I wish I had kicked him in the nuts when I had the chance,” she muttered angrily.
I laughed at the frustrated look on Gwen’s face, and I wasn’t the only one amused by her angry proclamation. Cade smiled, shaking his head before he pulled Gwen tightly into his shoulder, kissing her.
I shook my head slightly, needing more details. I turned back to Garrett who was watching Brock and I with a small smirk. “So what was in it for Harold?” I asked. “I doubt he just said, ‘Sure, I’ll break the law for you and face federal prison. Just buy me a beer later and we’ll be square’.”
“Money,” Garrett replied, his face hard. “Devon paid him a lot of money. Plus no one says no to Clark Devon. Not without ending up floating face down in the Hudson.”
I chewed on this for a moment.
“No one says no to Clark Devon,” Gwen parroted in a sarcastic voice. “Who is he, freaking Vito Corleone?” Her voice still held an irritated note.
“He’s a lot more dangerous than a movie character, baby,” Cade answered softly, his face blank. “He’s got serious connections to all of the four families and not someone to be taken lightly,” he said.
“Well, maybe you guys shouldn’t be looking to ‘take care of him’,” I cut in, slightly panicked. “Or else you all might end up sleeping with the fishes.” Despite my use of a corny Mafia quote, I was supremely worried my best friend could become a widow because her husband’s club felt obligated to avenge my kidnapping.
To my surprise Cade laughed. “Amy, the fucker may have a shit ton of money and some greasy friends, but we’ll burn him and his entire fucking outfit to the ground without breaking a sweat,” he declared flatly.