Page 76 of Unwanted Vows

We hurry down the stairs, not taking time for the elevator, through the lobby, the garage door, and into a small SUV. Austin is waiting for us in the driver’s seat, Ark-Ark is, as promised, riding shotgun.

We do not peel out. Austin guides the armored vehicles at a legal clip through the deserted streets, to the hospice. A variety of vehicles, ranging from a row of motorcycles to a long, sleek Limousine are parked outside.

A pale-faced attendant meets us at the door, beckoning for us to come in quickly. “They have guns,” she whispers. “Is the old man in danger?”

“No,” I say, “And neither are you or the other patients if you follow directions.”

Maddy enters at my side, Austin and Ark-Ark follow. “Sir, the dog . . . “ the attendant begins.

“Support animal,” Austin says. “He keeps me from going ballistic without assistance from medication.”

The attendant takes in Austin’s blond hair, surfer-dude muscles, his tattoos, especially the “Semper Fidelis” on his right bicep. “Sure,” she says, backing up a little and going a shade paler. “Support animals — always welcome.”

We move down the hall at a professional clip, keeping the medical motto, never run to an emergency. As we enter the room, Grandfather Aims is sitting up in bed. Men and women sit in chairs, arranged in a semi-circle around the bed. None of them are visibly armed, but neither are we.

“Where’s the boy?” Grandfather asks.

“At home in bed,” Maddy says. “He has a strict schedule of sleep, meals, study, and play. It assures good development.”

“I thought . . .” Grandfather begins.

“I’m afraid the only instructions I heard were to come at once, that it is important,” I say. “Since you have already designated me as his trustee, I will stand in his stead. Should there be something that is appropriate for a nine-year-old child to decide, I will ask him when we return home.”

A woman dressed in a miniskirt so short it barely covered her assets gives a giggling snort. “About all a kid that age is good for is choosing refreshments or the color of the flowers at your funeral, old man.”

“Shut up, Liza,” her companion said, “Before you get yourself killed.”

“You gonna do it, Grizzly?” she asks. “Cause I got a black-belt says you can’t.”

“Enough,” Aims put in. “I see now that Andrew is right not to bring his son into this mob. You are all here to meet your new boss.”

“Same as the old boss,” someone hums.

There is a general hiss of laughter, then all is still.

Show time.

FORTY THIEVES, MORE OR LESS

MADDY

Austin steps aside, giving Andrew center stage, but making it clear that my husband has his support. I slip my hand around Andrew’s left elbow, even though as far as I know he has neither a gun nor a sword.

He smiles down at me, and pulls me in, close to his side. “Please allow me to introduce Madeline Lane, mother of my son, who is heir to the Aims Corp organization. If anyone has questions that I cannot answer, she will take care of them.”

It is the first time I have been introduced as Andrew’s wife. Despite the audience, it gives me a warm, tingly feeling. I don’t embellish the introduction. This is Andrew’s moment.

Grandfather introduces his people. The only one I recognize or remember is Jason Wintergreen, the man who had intended to marry Rylie.

One fellow, who has the look of a lawyer, says, “What is your vision for Aims Corp?”

“It is time for it to go legit,” Andrew says.

The man nods. “I’ve been saying as much for some time. Crime pays, but too often you have to pay for the crime. Unfortunately, it is easier to say “go legit” than it is to do it. Do you have a roadmap for this process?”

I feel the slight tremor in Andrew’s arm as he takes a deep breath, but no one, not even I, could hear it in his voice. “I met with other family members last night. We will have backing and support for this process. But make no mistake, some of you,” he seems to focus his gaze on the woman in the mini-skirt, “will have to accept a reduction in income.”

“I got debts,” the woman whines. “I got needs.”

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