I wash myself down, realigning my thoughts to more important things. Like who just tried to blow me up. I brush my teeth, pull on the jeans that are hanging on the back of the chair in the corner of my bathroom, and make my way into the bedroom.
She’s gone.
Good.
* * *
After finding a bandage in the kitchen and doing a piss-poor job of redressing the wounds on my arm, I head for my office. I ignore Brad’s curious look when I enter. “The ice has melted,” he says, placing the tumbler in my hand as I pass. I ignore his subtle observation of the time it’s taken me to get down here, slumping down in my chair. I also ignore the fact that it hasn’t escaped his notice that I have a tidy blemish on my cheek. But he doesn’t mention it. “Didn’t you have time to get dressed?”
I look at my chest that is missing one T-shirt. “Fuck off, Brad. Tell me what’s going on.”
“You tell me, Danny. Your arm is shredded, your nose looks broken, and to top it off, some fucker just tried to blow you up.”
“My arm and my nose aren’t your concern. Let me worry about that.” I glare at him across the desk. “They’re getting closer.” I neck my drink and immediately hold up my empty glass. Ringo grabs the bottle of Scotch and refills it while Brad settles in a chair opposite and the rest of my men move in. “How the fuck did they get a bomb in my jet ski?”
“Monroe’s been on watch down there for the past two days.” Brad sighs, rubbing at his head, which is undoubtedly aching. “I’ve got him speaking to the staff. Checking the bookings, the deliveries. With no CCTV, we’re kinda fucked. You should reconsider having it installed.”
I get up and start pacing, needing to feel my feet. “CCTV is more of a risk than a gain. The police come sniffing around, they’ll see too much of what we don’t want seen.” I neck the rest of my second Scotch and this time refill it myself. Whoever did this is getting too close for comfort, and I don’t just mean to ending my life. We operate out of the boatyard. I can’t have that being exposed. “Someone was watching us.” I look at Brad, who’s frowning. “There was no trigger on the jet ski that set the bomb off. I wasn’t on it. The engine cut when I dived in after Rose.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying someone watched me ride out from the boatyard. I was too far out to be seen from the shore. They detonated the bomb assuming I was still on the jet ski.” Rose catapulting off the back was a blessing in disguise. “Any news on the Mexicans and Romanians?” I ask.
“Badger checked in earlier. The Mexicans are in Mexico and Romania has a new small-time organization making waves.”
“Waves?”
“Amateurs. Drugs, hookers, petty crimes. With Dimitri gone, it was only a matter of time before some wannabe gangster tried to make a name for himself.”
“No threat?”
“They can barely coordinate an orgy. No threat.”
I sigh, trying to breathe through the building frustration. Then who, for fuck’s sake? Who?
“Listen, about your dad’s funeral.”
I look at Brad in disbelief. “Do I look like I want to fucking talk about my dad’s funeral?” I get up to leave, grabbing the bottle of Scotch as I go. I fucking miss him, but I haven’t had a minute to stop and grieve. Don’t trust anyone. No second chances. I want more than just those words to deal with this fucked-up state I’m in. I should go on a rampage. Shoot to kill. Wipe out all the fuckers. I’m pretty sure that’s what my father would have done. I’m forced to shove my bottle of Scotch under my arm when my phone rings from my pocket. I look down at the screen and up to Brad. “Adams.” I reverse my steps and place the Scotch on the desk, answering on loudspeaker. “Tell me.”
“The Jepson kid woke up this afternoon.”
“Fuck,” I spit, closing my eyes and wondering what other obstacles are going to be thrown in my way. “And?”
“And he got off lightly, considering. Should be out in a week or two.” He sounds beaten.
Brad dramatically slumps back in his seat. I would too, if I was sitting. Instead, I pour myself another Scotch and sink it, preparing myself for what needs to be done. “And Byron’s Reach is in a trust until he’s twenty-one?” I ask, needing to hear the situation loud and clear one more time before I take action.
Adams is quiet for a few moments. This isn’t just shitty news to me. This is shitty for him. Because he’s not getting Rose back until I get that marina. “It’ll be released in ten years and seven months.”