Page 17 of Hunter

“Why the fuck are we here?” I shout, moving to grab the second glass, but Damon nimbly plucks it from my grip. He’s due to get a knife between his ribs if he keeps pushing my buttons.

“Mine,” he says. “He drank yours.” He waves a hand in Russell’s direction.

Without waiting for any further jibes or harassment from the men who are meant to be my friends, I march off toward the elevator. My mind whirls with a combination of fury, embarrassment, and confusion. I’m the one usually taking the piss out of them and their pathetic love lives, though they are all happy and settled now. I am the last single man standing.

“Where are you going?” Harrison calls to my retreating back.

“Fuck off. I’m going home. I didn’t come here to be railed by you lot.”

“Sit down, Devane. We need to talk.” I hear the clinking of glass. “I’ll sort you a drink. Put the knife away, and come sit down.”

I look down to find my right hand clutching my blade. Where I pulled it from, I don’t know. It happens on instinct more and more. No wonder I was caught on CCTV threatening to slit someone’s throat. My self-control gets more pitiful with each year that passes. With no one waiting for me at home, I have nothing to lose most of the time. Risking my life doesn’t seem like a dangerous game.

Eventually, the five of us sit around the table, waiting to discuss whatever business needs our attention. The last time we sat here, I was told to make a deal with my wife and then focus on repairing my broken reputation. I have taken action on my part of that plan. Perhaps not seamlessly, but Isabella is currently at my house, so that’s a start.

“Where’s your rottweiler?” Connor asks, his eyes widening in curiosity. “He could be useful to utilize.”

“I assume you mean Greyson? He’s on assignment. One of those combat operations he gets paid ridiculous amounts for.” My bodyguard is currently in an unknown country, doing unknown things for an unknown customer. I don’t ask when he requests leave, but I take ten percent of whatever he earns for the inconvenience.

“When will he be back?”

“By Christmas, I think he said. Well, that is assuming he survives.” I take a sip of the whiskey Harrison laid in front of me. “He thinks I don’t know he’s saving money to escape this life. He wants to retire.”

“Retire?” Russell scoffs. “What age is he? Forty?”

“Mid-thirties. He got knocked out cold once at the gym and came around talking about how he wanted to move to Thailand. I’m sitting on that information for now.”

“Imagine being retired on a beach before turning forty,” Russell muses. “I’d be bored out of my skull.” His brother chuckles, and Russell scowls. “What?”

“I was just thinking, brother, about whether you really want to continue working. I would be more than happy to take Sam off to a beach somewhere and retire. I’m confident I could devise plenty of activities to keep us occupied.”

“Over my dead body.”

“Maybe one day,” Connor says with a shrug. I half expect a war to ensue; that typically happens after a tit-for-tat conversation regarding their girlfriend. I will never know how Samantha puts up with the two of them. She must constantly be refereeing arguments or sucking one of their dicks. It would be like babysitting a couple of toddlers fighting over a toy car.

“Anyway, why are we here?” I ask, wanting to return to the business at hand so I can get on with my day. Or get back to the house so I can discuss preparations with the team for tonight’s dinner. I want Isabella to feel welcome in my home, the house that was meant to be hers.

Harrison clears his throat, bringing the chatter to a close and starting the meeting we came for. “We have a suspicion that our Russian friends may have leaked the footage,” he says. “Perhaps payback after that shipment didn’t reach St. Petersburg. They’re not happy.”

“What? The Rolls and the Range Rover?” He nods. “I told Rodion we would make that right. It’s an unfortunate bump when transporting by sea. It was three months ago; we are locating and reacquiring the same vehicles.”

“I spoke to him, and his customer wasn’t best pleased with the ‘ship sank’ explanation. The Bentley was a twenty-first birthday gift for a rather spoiled daughter of an oligarch. Rodion said we were getting lax, and they could look for another source for prestige cars.”

“I can’t control the fucking ocean,” I mutter. “That wasn’t the only container lost.”

“No, but it was the one that mattered most.”

Russian dignitaries are blocked from purchasing high-value assets in the United Kingdom due to sanctions placed on the country. Over the past few years, we have constructed a lucrative system of acquiring luxury cars to order and then shipping them to our customers in Russia via Africa. It worked well for all involved until it didn’t.

“And because of that, they leaked footage from my gym? Seems far-fetched. How would they know?”

“Are you seriously dense enough not to consider that they perhaps have eyes on you?” Connor says, his tone conveying complete disbelief that I could be so naïve. “What’s the old saying? Keep your friends close but enemies closer.”

“You think there could be someone on the inside leaking information?”

“Possibly,” Harrison says. “But for now, let’s keep that theory within these walls. I’ve assured Rodion of a fresh shipment next month. Can you make that happen?” He looks between Damon and me.

“Sure, we’ve located the necessary vehicles to fill the ten containers. All we have to do is acquire them. I’ll get on it this week,” Damon replies casually. It’s hard to believe he used to be a boy in blue himself. Since leaving the force almost a year ago, he has settled comfortably into our world. Although we’ve worked together for years, I never believed he would move over fully. But life pushed, and he jumped; he seems more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him. It’s been surprising.

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