Page 31 of The Reluctant Hero

Does she know him? A conquest? With Cade, that isn’t unusual. She doesn’t seem his normal type, though.

The sudden fist-clenching avalanche of jealousy that strikes me is unusual and definitely not welcome.

“You?”

The bewildered tone of Cade’s voice is as surprising as all the rest of our reactions to her. It seems the dislike isn’t shared. Where is his seductive, suave assurance that she should make herself comfortable while she waits?

This woman has all of us out of sorts.

“You know her?” I try to make the question casual, a wasted effort because Cade won’t stop staring at her. I want to demand he wipe that look off his face right now. Ace lets out a rough sound that doesn’t carry farther than the desk. He seems to agree with my irritation.

At the sound of my voice, her blush gets darker, her body leaning toward me in an unconscious gesture that’s natural instead of fake. My voice turns her on. I can work with that. I wouldn’t mind seducing honesty out of her.

“Yeah. From Muay Thai class. Did I tell you about all the women who joined suddenly? She’s one of them.”

The dark frown he gets saying that surprises me. There’s no trace of the usual charm he naturally exudes. Whatever she did or said to him made him dislike her enough that she doesn’t warrant it.

Gold diggers elicit that reaction from him. I’m back to money. I don’t think I’ve ever been this disappointed before. Considering my life, that’s saying a lot.

“I see,” the words come out grimmer than I like. Amanda is so busy staring at the floor to hide her expression that she doesn’t notice.

“He said that’s all, Vanessa,” Jake pipes up in his usual upbeat tone. He’s staring at Amanda so intently that it makes my shoulders stiffen for another reason. His interest is blatant. He’s not smoothing it over with boyish laughter. It’s forceful enough I’m surprised Amanda hasn’t been knocked over by it.

Vanessa continues her posing until she gives up and leaves, closing the door quietly behind her. Now that she’s gone, I can begin.

I ignore her presence, working through paperwork and making notes. The tactic of pretending she doesn’t exist will make the tension she’s under unbearable. She’ll break this meek character and start trying to seduce one of us in minutes, I’m sure.

I focus on the paperwork in front of me. Every sheet has Fullerton’s name on it. This box of paperwork disappeared when we relocated to this building. No one knew where it went, including the head of the filing department. Meanwhile, the sensitive information has been rotting in the filing room. No legal documents should be on the first floor.

Each of these reports is about the purchase of land. All of the random names highlighted so far have had their homes taken from them for a multitude of reasons. From zoning issues to debt being called in. All under the name of Justin Blake. I need to find out what’s happening with these properties. If the purchases were public or well hidden. Whose money backed it. Surely, this many people would build a lawsuit against Blake.Even if the courts brushed it off, there would be some form of paperwork.

All information Amanda has according to all this neon ink.

I spin the pen my mother gave me absently. A force of habit I can’t seem to quell. My attention moves to the metal, admiring its shine for a moment. The inscription she had put on it has faded over time and constant handling, but I still remember it.

“Gabriel Matthias - A pen for good luck.”

It’s brought me nothing but misery. She gave it to me on the day she died, and it hasn’t left my side since.

The fact that I was spared physical harm that day would be considered lucky to some. I would have preferred dying along with her. The misery her absence left behind is still shrouding me in ghosts. However, I should probably blame her killers for that instead of her. Emotions are illogical at the best of times.

My father’s decline into vindictive manipulation began that day and hasn’t released me from its hold since. We’re all chess pieces to him. He didn’t have much affection for me to begin with. My presence at the moment of my mother's death tipped that scale into the negatives. Now, instead of indifference, I have to suffer through constant reminders of my failure to protect her. At the mature age ofeight. What was I supposed to do? She told me to hide, and I did. I’ve learned to be ashamed of following her instructions. Even his employees have more empathy for the situation than my father.

Matthias could have released me from my agony easily in a multitude of ways. Therapy. Care. A simple, comforting touch or an ounce of understanding that I was too young to take on four fully grown men.

No. He chose to remind me every day of my cowardice. The fact that I refuse to dirty my hands in his business dealingsis another failure. My skills lie in subtler manipulations that he doesn’t have the patience for. It isn’t enough. It will never be enough. He placed himself on a self-righteous pedestal while taking advantage of young men and women suffering through their own tragedies. He doesn’t take any better care of them than he has his own children.

Where was he when Ace was ready to kill himself to get out? Or Mikael stopped bothering to try living in a typical fashion. His hand-picked guards. When Jake tore apart an entire syndicate with only a burnt-out Cade as backup. They both almost got themselves killed and thought nothing of it. They all started seeing themselves as a means to an end instead of people.

I’mthe one who saw it. I’m the one who shifted things behind the scenes to get people off the field and into as comfortable a retirement as I could get them. The men that surround me now all saw my interference for what it was and decided to watch my back instead of retiring. First, an ungrateful Ace. Then dispassionate Mikael. Jake and Cade were added a few years later with their fake juvenile antics. Between the five of us, we’ve built a self-sustaining unit built on mutual trust and respect.

A rough, obnoxious cough gets my attention. The sound is so forced, angry, andloudthere’s no ignoring it.

Every man around me tenses up in anticipation. I realize she hasn’t said a single word or moved from her tense position near the doors until now. I glance at my watch, surprised that it’s been over an hour before she broke.

“Is there a problem, Ms…” I let my words trail off. Her name is somehow engraved into my brain. Pretending I don’t know will help me maintain my holier-than-thou attitude while insulting her at the same time.

She bypasses the blatant cue to tell me her name.

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