Page 13 of Burned Dynasty: Part One

I’ll take what I can get, I think, and hopefully that includes a little of that pizza. I have a feeling I’m going to need the energy to finish this battle with Damion and his father.

Chapter Ten

Forty-five minutes later, we’ve eaten pizza—Damion a full pizza, me three slices of another—and we’re both in jeans and T-shirts. No bikini, even with a cover-up, is allowed for a meeting with a bunch of rough and tough Walker Security men, apparently. He felt strongly enough on this point that he had my bags brought to me so that I could change.

And finally, we’re getting down to business.

We’re presently sitting at the kitchen table with Adam and Blake, one of the founding brothers of Walker Security, who I’ve just met. Blake is a big man, with dark hair and dark eyes and an outwardly easy-going personality, though there is something intense about him, something quite focused. The fact that he’s a hacker, who makes it known rather quickly that he’s in deep in West Senior’s private matters offers comfort, at least to me.

“I don’t disagree with Alana,” Blake states. “Not only do I believe she’s made West Senior nervous, I believe desperate people make stupid mistakes, and we’ll be there to exploit them.”

“But?” Damion asks. “Because I feel the ‘but’ in that statement.”

Blake doesn’t even hesitate in his confirmation. “He’s got a superhero complex that can create a sense of being untouchable, and therefore he will be bold in his actions.”

“In other words,” Damion surmises, his eyes on me, “he’ll come after you.”

“Good,” I say. “I want him to come after me. Better me than someone else who doesn’t have the protection you’ve made sure I have. It’s the only way to end him, Damion.”

Damion shakes his head. “The only way we end him is a grave.”

“How about you settle for a jail cell of his own making?” Blake suggests.

“I seriously doubt you’re going to get that man behind bars,” Damion says dryly. “He donates to law enforcement for a reason. He’s got them in his pocket.”

“They’re not as in his pocket as you think,” Blake assures him. “I’ve been talking to the Feds. He’s on their radar. They see blood.”

I sit up straighter. “The FBI came to see me,” I say, and feel Damion’s heavy gaze on me. This is going to freak him out and take us ten steps backward, but I can’t hold it back. I tell them everything. “They cornered me in front of the police station when I went to talk to them about my accusations against Damion’s father. It was like they didn’t want me to go inside. It felt off. And then I got a weird vibe about the guy I hired, and I called an Uber and left on my own.”

“What the fuck?” Adam and Damion murmur at the same time, with Adam’s gaze shooting to Blake’s. “Do we know about this?”

“No,” Blake states, and snatches his phone from his pocket. “Do you have badge IDs or names?”

“I have a card,” I say. “I’ll have to go grab it from my purse.”

“Get it,” Blake orders. “Did you talk to the police?”

“I was too spooked. I told Craig, the off-duty officer I hired, I was making a call, but I ordered an Uber, and then faked talking to someone.”

“That was smart,” he says. “Get the card.” I push to my feet, and when I start to walk away, Damion grabs my arm.

“You know they were my father’s goons, baby,” he says softly.

I don’t play naive. “Yes. I know.”

He stares up at me as if he wants to say more, but Blake says, “Card. I need that card.”

Damion reluctantly releases me, and I rush away, my heart thundering in my chest at the idea of how close I came to something really bad happening to me. Damion’s right. Those men were his father’s goons. I reach the bedroom, and my purse is on the king-sized bed. I snatch it up and dig out the card before rushing back to the kitchen to find Blake with a laptop open in front of him and a chat window open.

I hand the card to Blake, and he glances at the information on it and types a message. I claim my seat and glance at Damion. “Anything?”

“There were no agents sent to talk to you,” he says grimly.

Blake looks up from his computer. “No agent Reynolds,” he says, tossing the card on the table. He shuts his computer and shoves it aside. “So, let’s talk. My guess is that they intended to convince you they were investigating Damion’s father and would have drug you along until they concluded there was no evidence.”

“But the FBI doesn’t even get involved in murder cases, do they?” I ask.

“Not local cases like this one,” Adam replies, “but we know Damion’s father is involved in far more than just your father’s murder. So these ‘agents’ could have easily claimed they were investigating him for more.”

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