Page 12 of Tortured Eyes
“Does Carter know you’re here?” he eventually asks.
I exit the elevator, unsurprised that he’s more bothered about Carter’s feelings on this matter than my own. I don’t answer because no, he doesn’t. I don’t offer up my diary to anyone, least of all Carter Wade. The fact that I have lawyer’s documents telling me I'm owed jack shit from this place, that I'm basically cut out of the family business, has made me far from forthcoming when it comes to giving them warning. Cut out? Just because I had a differing opinion? Cunts.
All of them.
He comes around in front of me, blocking my route to Carter’s office. I tilt my head, wondering what he thinks he’s going to do to stop me making his precious son’s life difficult. He’s old now. Weak. He knew it when he handed the business over years ago, and he certainly does now.
“You should have called. Organised this,” he snaps.
“Why, so he’d be ready?”
Another body turns into the corridor. Carter’s uptight, second in command and the Cane family lawyer—Landon Broderick. I glance at him, admiring his suit if nothing else, then dismiss his ineffective scowl to return my gaze to something slightly more worthy. My father sighs and keeps looking at me, shaking his head. “It doesn’t have to be like this, Logan. If you just come home, we can…”
I bypass his frame, knocking his damn shoulder on the way, and glare at Broderick in case he thinks he's gonna try something. Home? Fuck him and his home. That place is nothing but a memory. A distant, fleeting second of time that I no longer want or need in my life. But this building, this enterprise that’s been built, has my damn name on it, and I want what’s owed to me because of that.
My hand barges the first set of doors out of the way, my eyes taking in yet more Cane wealth. I couldn’t give a damn for the status or the family anymore, but there’s a lot of assets tied up here that I can leverage. If that makes Carter’s life difficult, so be it. He either gives me what I want, or I bring New York kind of trouble all over this damn city and all over him. He won’t know what’s hit him.
The second I push the office door open and walk in, Carter stands. He glares at me, as much animosity crossing his features as are on my own.
“Logan.”
My lips tip up, amused at the brotherly hatred that radiates between us. It’s been a while since we were this close-up and alone. He looks good for a boring cunt. Age suits him. Maybe that’s what happens when you fuck a girl eleven years younger than yourself. I should get one of those. Or maybe it’s just that Vico blood he bonds with. She is, after all, from a decent bloodline. Even if she does reject it.
I go to stand by the window, gazing out at the city. So clean and perfect. No litter on the pavements. No grit or dirt. I bet this asshole has forgotten about the streets he used to keep under lockdown out to the side of these pristine avenues, forgotten how to use his blade.
“You like it?” I ask, tipping my head at the outside world.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Your clean city. Do you like it?”
He comes to stand beside me, looking down at it with me.
“I grew up, Logan. It’s a safe city now.”
“Is it fuck, Carter. You just choose to ignore what’s still all around your feet. We both know what's there.”
The statement seems to fluster him, not that many others would know it, but I do. I grew up with him, watched him, and learnt the slight lines that crease his face when he’s offside about something.
“What do you want, Logan?” he asks, turning away from me and heading back to his desk.
“What’s mine.”
“As if you need any of this now. I know about Vico’s holdings. And I also know exactly where you're at in your screwed-up existence.”
“Then you’ll know I’m serious.”
He sits down and looks at me, his shoulders pressed back into my father’s chair. That’s what this space is—my father’s. I turn for the view again, dismissing him sitting there like he owns the building he’s in. Carter hasn’t got the balls or the intelligence that my father had all those years ago. He’s weak in comparison. Nothing but a kid who found a man to guide him in the right direction, and then an idiot who allowed a woman to tame him back from that edge. It’s laughable, really. My father picked the wrong son. He chose valour, or maybe reliability, over what could have been so much more in my hands. And now Cane sits here weak and exposed against the threat I bring as if no one ever questioned my ability to build something against them.
“You’re weak, Carter. You know it as well as I do. Give me what I want before I bring hell over this damn place.”
“You’re a dick, Logan. If you think they’ll follow you, you’re wrong. You've got nothing but money and…”
I smile and knock at the window, ringing the sound of death bells on the glass. “They already are following me. Contracts written in blood before the old man died. There’s nothing you can do to stop me,” I muse, wandering back to sit in front of him. “All the New York congress is pocketed. Both cartels there are under my influence. Your friends in Columbia? Never your friends in the first place. And your biggest cartel here, Mortoni, who you have squandered and let run riot while your wife plays with idiotic ideals of a better world, is also not your friend. How quickly do you think you can readdress your weakness?”
He scowls at me, fingers resting under his chin.
I look around the room, giving him a little time to toss that around his mind. He always was one for quiet contemplation. Interesting really. I would have thought he’d be more sensible than this. Would have thought, regardless of his wife, he’d cover his bases more efficiently. But he hasn’t. There’s nothing here now but legitimate business. No fear. No reason for anyone to do as they’re told anymore.
