Page 35 of His Pretty Little Duet

Clay

"Apakah Anda menyebut saya pembohong?"I ask casually as the Statesman pulls into the garage. I grip my jaw, rubbing the short bristles along my chin and cheek, feeling the insomnia I fight all night, testing my patience with the fucker on Bluetooth. The morning sun hangs low in the sky, but its heat is already burning through the black tinted windows.

The Indonesian prick on the other line jumps right in, his anger flaring through the speaker at my accusation that he has shorted us nearly a hundred thousand worth of ammunition and weapons.

Vinny, my capo, twists in the front passenger seat, his dark Italian gaze meeting mine. He shakes his head in reference to the discussion. He understands a bit of Indonesian but not enough to speak it. Being an ex-military man, Vinny follows orders seamlessly and respects the hell out of everyone who earns it. His word is solid. If he tells me there is missing stock, then there is missing stock.

I lean back in my seat as the man yells down the phone.

"Kami mengirim apa yang Anda pesan, Anda bajingan,"He ends the call with a slam.Well, then.There may be an awkward interaction on Saturday night.

"I think he just called you an arsehole, Boss," Vinny says with a chuckle in his tone.

"Yes, I believe he did."

Despite the car being parked with its ignition switched off, I don't move. Pulling my phone out, I check the satellite image of the fire burning through the national park in Stormy River. I release a gruff sigh. "I'm not happy with how damn close it is to the docks, to my warehouse."

Vinny opens his arms. "You think it’s a pointed attack?"

Que hums from the driver's seat; his knowledge of my business is thorough, his loyalty absolute, and his shot, almost as direct as mine. "It could bring a fair amount of unwanted attention to the docks, Boss."

I stare at the glowing red mass as I rub my jawline. "Another coincidence or..."

"Or arson," Que says what I'm thinking before stepping from the car.

Yes, or arson.

Vinny scoffs. "They wouldn’t dare light up your city, Boss. Are they fucking mad?"

"Lots of mad-men out there, Vinny. Go home. Sleep. You need it." I nod towards the door, and he understands, leaving me alone in the vehicle.

I stare at the satellite image of my city. It has always been my intention to run it from the top and, as we have since the seventies, from the underground. We have so much power in this city. And since stationing ourselves in powerful roles, scattering our influence across industries—Max in the building industry, Xander moving into law—we are in every crevice of her, every deal. I run this city, so this fire is for me.

My finger taps the phone gently as I fight the urge to open the home security application and flick through the rooms to find her whereabouts. Over the past few days, I've spent far too much time fighting that particular urge. If something happened to her or the baby, I'd get a call within seconds, so my desire to monitor her isn't rooted in necessity, and yet the thought of my men watching over her sends displeasure climbing up my spine.

Staring at the phone, I imagine one green eye and one grey, sparkling with awe as her baby flips around inside her. She shared that moment with me, in a way she might her friend. Silly girl.

I think about the sensation of her stomach pulsing softly beneath my palm. Aurora and I decided long ago we would never have children. Bronson and Max will continue this legacy, and their children after them. Producing an heir to our empire was never essential. Neither she nor I tolerate children well, and yet, when I felt that ripple, when I saw my little deer's eyes mist over with emotion, I felt a kind of feral possessiveness.

My little deer.

Christ.

And somefuckerput that inside her while she was high. I grit my teeth, fending off the volatile heat sweeping over me, threatening to become me.

I shove my phone into my pocket.

Exit the car.

Que waits by the garage entrance to my house, opening the door for me to enter. I'm fucking hot with exhaustion as I head into the kitchen, finding Bolton, Xander, and Jasmine conversing, but my little deer is nowhere to be seen.

"She is by the pool, Boss," Bolton states immediately. His entire career—life—depends on his ability to pinpoint her exact whereabouts.

Xander turns to acknowledge me while Jasmine straightens, twisting her arm behind her back, hiding the slice of cake she was carelessly scoffing when I strolled in.

Not giving a damn about the cake, I look at my brother. My brows knot in tight at the sight of his ballooning eye, at the raw slice a knuckle surely inflicted.

I sigh roughly. "Who got the hit on you?"

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