Page 30 of Wreck Me

“You mean a stalling tactic?”

“Call it that if you wish. But know this: I am obtaining proof that Bane ordered that hit on your parents and Wayne Thorn. However, it will take time. Stand down until then. I do not want war with you. I don’t want to hurt Jameson’s heir. Nor do I wish for unnecessary bloodshed. I want justice. I know you desire the same, so believe me when I tell you, I am not it. Sometimes true justice takes time, but it’s always worth it. As it will be when Bane is forced to answer for his crimes against us both.”

“We have a deal.”

“Excellent. I’ll be in touch.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

With that, I ended the call and slumped back in my desk chair.

That had been a lot to absorb.

The ramifications were intense.

If Bane was responsible for their murders, there would be hell to pay.

Blood would flow and it would never fucking stop if I got my way.

Forget justice, I’d exact a brutal form of vengeance beyond his darkest imagination.

I’d destroy him and everything he loved.

A knock at the door had me jolting from my depraved thoughts.

“Come in, Daria.”

As the door opened, my Executive Assistant stepped into the room. Well, swept in was more accurate.

I registered the folder in her hand and smiled. “Right on schedule.”

She arched an eyebrow. “On schedule? Never. Ahead of schedule by several minutes.”

I chuckled. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

She opened the folder and placed it down in front of me. “The Hessfield contracts, Mr. King. All ready to go, containing everything you asked for, including that nifty little caveat.”

A clause that would protect King, come what may.

You could never be too careful.

That was something that had become immediately apparent to me with the state of the company when I’d taken control. It would never fall into that hole again. Not while I drew breath.

“I have no doubt you’ll take your time reviewing them. Just know that we need to close by the end of the business day.”

“I’m well aware.”

“Of course, Sir.”

As I went to do just that, I found her hovering, instead of following her usual protocol of popping in to deliver what I needed, or providing updates on this and that, then making herself scarce so I could concentrate. Time was precious day in and day out, I couldn’t afford to waste away time with lags of any sort.

“What is it?” I asking, glancing up at her from the documents.

And why was she hesitating?

That wasn’t her.

I took her in, wringing her hands in front of one of her go-to pantsuits—this one a beige number. Her pageboy haircut, a mousy brown that was the complete opposite of her bold and no-nonsense personality. Caleb had gotten it right on the money when he’d called her a tough cookie. It was the essence of the woman through and through. She balanced that very well with her professionalism in all things too.

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