Page 2 of Dash

In the painting, the rake’s gray eyes twinkled with mischief. A debonair shock of white hair swept away from his forehead and brushed the back of his suit’s collar. The ridiculous coat of arms he’d bought from some penniless Scottish peer was embroidered on his lapel. Even more absurd was the kilt he worewith the so-called Astor colors.

Richard Astor had never worn a kilt in real life. He’d never been an aristocrat. Or noble. Hell, he’d been the antithesis of noble. Watching him, I’d learned that obscene fortunes can only be made by ruthless assholes with callused hearts.

That was the sort of man Richard Astor was.

Before he was rich, he was a hard-drinking day laborer with a gambling habit. Rumor was he’d won the land and the oil and gas leases that made him rich during a poker game. His empire these days included mining, pharmaceuticals, hospitality, ranching, industry, tech, banking, finance—the list kept going.

The asshole probably farted money in his sleep.

It was so easy to hate Richard Astor, to loathe everything he was, and yet once upon a time, he’d practiced his brand of premeditated charity on me. As his son’s best friend, Richard had found me convenient.

Nix was the oldest of Richard’s brood and his only son, his golden boy, destined to be his heir and forcibly educated to succeed his wealthy father. Whereas my sperm donor had been an alcoholic piece of shit who’d worked at the Astor stables. He’d brought me to the ranch as a little boy to do most of his work for him. That’s where I met Nix when I was four years old.

Nix and I became inseparable. Since he refused to go to boarding school and rub elbows with the global elites without me, Richard Astor wrenched me out of the claws of poverty and pretty much bought me through some sketchy fostering agreement from my piece of shit father, who went on to die in a drunken stupor shortly thereafter.

Richard set me up at the ranch and paid for my education. I grew up with his kids. There had been times when the old man had treated me as if I were his son. Or maybe he saw potential in me back when.

Nah.

Richard did everything for Richard. He used charity to buy people for his own purposes. He misfired with me. It turned out my soul wasn’t for sale. As time went by, I took on the role of protecting his kids. I grew up watching Nix’s back, not because Richard ordered me to do so—which he had—but because his sonearnedmy friendship, respect, and loyalty.

Damn, how I missed Nix.

From the depths of his portrait, Richard’s wide lips curved up, mocking me even now. The Astor patriarch had legions of minions at his disposal and more lawyers than any man should have. All of them would’ve been happy to partake of Astor’s fortune by taking care of the old man’s post-mortem fuckery, but who did he choose?

Me.

The rebellious kid who’d challenged him at every possible turn. The insolent teen who’d defended Nix from his father’s frequent fits of rage. The maverick who’d stood up for the rights of his neglected daughters and against the tyranny of his antiquated views on women.

Richard had chosenme.

The MIT grad who’d snubbed his job offers in order to serve in the Marines alongside Nix, who defied his father and followed in my wake. The Raider who’d turned down Richard’s overtures and rejected becoming one of his brainless yes-men. Me, the man he blamed for wrecking his family.

This was so fucked-up.

If Valhalla did exist, Nix was probably laughing his ass off just about now.

“Why should I give a fuck?” I muttered at the presumptuous portrait. “Why not dump all your crap in someone else’s lap, someone who’d follow your orders and actually liked you? Oh, wait.” I swallowed a snort. “Nobody likedyou. No-fucking-one.”

I was banged up from my latest mission, but I wasn’t nuts. I didn’t usually address gigantic oil paintings of dead men, but today, I was pissed. I had more questions than I had answers. The bastard had avoided my interrogation by dying.

Forget the old man, Marine. Focus on the mission.

Fighting my impatience, I fidgeted with the cane lying across my lap. Cradling the pewter knob on the palm of my hand, I twirled the ebony shaft between the fingers of my other hand. It was a habit I’d developed since the cane had become my full-time companion.

My friends at Elite Team had special-ordered the cane, gifting it to me on the day I checked out of the hospital. The knob was engraved with the Raiders insignia—an eagle with spread wings wrapping its claws around the hilt of a stiletto dagger. The latter was my favorite weapon, perfectly designed to neutralize the enemy. It was as durable, reliable, and old-fashioned as I was.

My senses alerted. The hallway outside echoed with voices. The clicking of a pair of high heels attacking the fine parquet preceded the shuffles of a small crowd of additional steps. My pulse’s uptick irked me. It indicated lack of control and a failure of self-regulation. It also announced my wariness at facing my life’s only weakness.

Get your shit together, Dagger. You’re a better operator than this.

I straightened my tie, and after settling the cane on my lap, sat at attention. Drawing on my training, I took a few leveling breaths, slowed down my pulse, and prepared for battle. I’d be more at ease if I knew the Taliban were about to raid the room. Right now, I was about to face a much more formidable opponent.

The doors flew open. Instead of the terrorists I’d haveno qualms fighting off, the beauty who’d terrorized my heart since I was a kid marched across the threshold. She was a vision dressed in a white power jacket and pencil skirt that embraced her slender figure to magnificent detail, emphasized the perfection of her ass, and showcased her long, svelte legs as she balanced atop her stilettos.

I pushed my chair back, braced my cane on the floor, and, repressing a wince, stood and buttoned my jacket. I’d been born poor, but Nix and the fancy boarding schools we attended together had superimposed the fine veneer of a gentleman over my feral soul. I was also a Raider. I had the discipline to rise above the past, ignore pain, and remain cool under pressure.

I followed the woman with my gaze as she marched across the expansive room, tracking the changes in her. She was as shockingly gorgeous as I remembered. She’d been a natural brunette once, but these days her thick, highlighted mane shimmered with blond strands. Today she wore her luxurious hair in a sophisticated, braided updo.

---