Stone Cold - Ashby Crime Family

Sadie gave a sharp nod. “That’s all anyone can ask. Do better. Be better.” She tapped her pen on the desk and said, “Now run along. I’ve got work to do.”

With those words, I slowly made my way to Calvin’s part of the massive mansion, soaking up the sunshine and the flowers. The fresh air. But once I got there, I felt restless. Anxious. Unable to sit still.

I laid on the bed for a few minutes and got up to pace the length of the room, hoping maybe it would tire me out or relax my mind enough that I could take a nap, apply for a job, or do anything that required more than a few moments of attention.

Pacing didn’t help, so I went across the hall, hoping the celestial relaxation space Cal had created would work on whatever this was that I was going through.

It didn’t work.

Next, I went downstairs, but the size and breadth of Cal’s computer equipment left me feeling nervous and clumsy, so I quickly left the living room and found myself standing in the middle of Cal’s kitchen. A very nice kitchen with new appliances. My fingers twitched a little as a thought took hold.

Food. I’ll make some food.

I couldn’t remember the last time I ate a real meal or a full one, which explained why all my clothes were a little loose lately, and suddenly I knew exactly what to do. A home cooked meal would occupy my mind and my hands, plus it would be a great way to forget about everything that had happened today.

And if it came out well, it would be the perfect way to show my appreciation to Calvin Ashby.

Chapter Fourteen

Cal

“What do you mean you think you saw Brendan Rhymer,” Jasper asked, disgust dripping from every word. “That motherfucker is dead. Has been for a few weeks now. Big explosion, remember?”

Working with family made everything harder than it had to be most of the time. Instead of listening to me like I was a grown man who knew my own mind, Jasper treated me like I was still the seven-year-old who believed in monsters and comic book villains. Since I wasn’t a total dick, I inhaled a deep breath and closed my eyes until my lungs were empty and then I looked at my oldest brother.

“No fucking shit, Jas. This dude looked just like Brendan; except he had a huge fucking burn scar on one side of his face. So, tell me…if he’s dead, where’s the body? When was the funeral? What the fuck?”

Jasper shook his head, unwilling to listen. “It’s not possible. You saw someone who looks like him.”

I looked to Virgil and then Ma for backup but none came. “Fine. I’m out of here. Good luck, fuck off or…whatever.”

“Where do you think you’re going?”

I stopped in the doorway of Ma’s salon and turned to face my family. Everyone but Kat was in attendance, which probably explained my frustration. These three were a unit, could easily operate without me or Kat, and had always been a team of sorts.

“I’m going to my place. You don’t need or want me here, and you don’t listen. So, when you have some silly fucking task for me to do, you know how to find me.”

With those words, I walked out of the office and down the hall, stepping out into the darkening sky to the entrance of my own part of the Manor.

Thank God, we all had separate living quarters, otherwise I’d live someplace else, like a penthouse apartment in New York or a fancy London flat, maybe even a beach house in Malibu. But here I was, still at Ashby Manor, walking around the mansion that had been my home since birth.

I loved it here, I really did. But days like this made me wonder, not why I stuck around but why I wanted so badly to be a major part of the Ashby organization. The answer didn’t come easily. I tried to shake it off before I stepped inside, but my thoughts were interrupted by the scent of garlic and herbs. Someone was cooking. In my house.

“Hello? Bonnie?”

“In the kitchen!”

I couldn’t help but frown at the smile in Bonnie’s voice, not because it wasn’t welcome, but because it was so out of place. And when I actually stepped into the kitchen to see the chaos all around, I had to shake my head to make sure I hadn’t walked into the wrong house. Pots and pans everywhere, tomato sauce splattered on a dozen different surfaces, Bonnie’s cheeks flushed red and the kitchen, filled with music and the most delicious scents. “What’s going on in here?” I asked, half-smiling, half-worrying she’d gone off the deep end.

She looked up, eyes a little too bright and her smile just on the wrong side of brittle, but it was a big difference from the woman who’d been moping around the house for the past few days. Depressed and sullen, quiet and withdrawn. Today she was different.