128
Ten years later…
Weston
As I strode through the lobby of the resort and casino, I shook my head. I had to give it to the man, he’d made a fortune over the years. Not that Clinton Cross hadn’t been born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Well, the truth was that so had I, yet I had a feeling I’d worked harder to achieve billionaire status than he had.
Especially since a good portion of the Cross family wealth had been made through unscrupulous methods. Although I was a man who had crossed the line more than once or twice. Chuckling, I headed into the lounge, immediately finding a seat at the bar.
“Whatdya have?” the bartender asked within seconds.
“Macallan double cask single malt.”
“A man of impeccable tastes. Chuck, I’ll have the same. This is my very good friend, Weston Augustine. Take good care of him and whatever he wants is on the house.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Cross.”
Grinning, I turned my head then stuck out my arm for a shake. “Clinton Cross, as I live and breathe.”
“Who did you expect to find?” His eyes twinkled as he accepted the gesture, pumping my hand as if in recognition of the number of years it had been since we’d seen each other. “This is my empire. What do you think? I should add, one of many.”
“Now you run several empires. Still arrogant as fuck.”
“You know it. Well-deserved, I might add.”
“That remains to be seen.” I’d seen pictures, the eligible bachelor appearing in several glossy magazines with one gorgeous woman after another adorning his arm like prized poodles.
He laughed, and as soon as Chuck placed our rocks glasses on the napkins, he lifted his drink for a toast. “It’s been too long, my friend.”
“Yeah, it really has.” I’d almost resisted calling him after making plans on traveling to Chicago on business. The last thing I wanted was to rehash old memories. I’d moved on with my life. But as had happened before, I wouldn’t be allowed to get away without talking to him and maybe Christian as well.
“What has it been, six years?”
“About that.” I took a sip of my drink and scanned the bar. “Ten years of freedom from the City of Hope.” Shit. Now, I was the one who’d mentioned the place where the Damned had fucked up several lives. The entire system had crumbled after we’d left, the myopic society that had once held the world in the palm of their hand collapsing. Maybe it was better for all involved, although I doubted the three of us would ever be invited to a reunion.
Clinton hunkered over the bar. “It wasn’t all bad.”
“Speak for yourself.” After the incident, I’d taken my last exam and left without bothering to share in the graduation celebrations. I’d planned on never seeing a soul again, including my two buddies, but it seemed fate continued to find the need to remind us of the tragedy. We’d gotten together every couple of years, the first under less than pleasant circumstances.
“What brings you to Chicago?”
“Business for one. Elite business for another.”
“Elite business?” He turned so he could face me. “What happened?”
I took a deep breath, glancing at the crowded space before answering. “I think The Iceman is still alive.”
His eyes opened wide. “What makes you say that?”
“Because I was attacked last week in my office. The asshole almost succeeded in putting a bullet in my brain.”
“Don’t take offense, but you’re no poster child for good will. What makes you think it was him instead of one of your other enemies?”
I held up my arm, wiggling my fingers. “Scar on his right hand. More like a burn but strangely ornate like a symbol. Right?”
Clinton took a deep breath. “Yeah. Exactly like that. I heard it was from a botched assignment. I’m curious. Did you get a good look at him?”
“No. He knocked out the power before coming inside. The only reason I managed to see his hand was because I almost broke it while smashing it into the window. The moonlight gave me a split-second look.”
“You let him get away?” He smirked.
“Let’s just say I wasn’t expecting an assassin at my private office for which no one knows the address. I didn’t have my weapon on me at the time.”
“Now you’ll learn never to go anywhere without it. It’s funny how the Iceman has a way of finding whatever information he wants. The guy has to be in his sixties minimum by now. Plus, there hasn’t been a sighting or report on him for…”
“Eight years,” I answered for him. So the idea was farfetched. That didn’t make it impossible. “Since the last time an attempted assassination was made.” Clinton had been lucky to survive, the bullet centimeters from shattering his heart. He’d spent three weeks in the hospital while Christian and I had attempted to track the assassin down to no avail. He was like a ghost.
Two years later, Christian had been involved in an attempted assassination that couldn’t be confirmed as the work of the notorious man.
He rolled his eyes. “Don’t remind me. Why now, after all these years?”
“No clue. Maybe the anniversary of the death of his daughter.” The ten years since Ava had been hit by one of the Elite members driving like a maniac had recently played fresh in my mind. I’d never been able to get the horrific visions of her broken and bleeding body out of my mind. Fuck. I’d held her as blood had oozed past her lips, terror in her eyes as she’d gripped me with one hand until the ambulance had arrived. Just before she’d been taken away, she’d pressed her fingers against my face.
There were times when I looked into the mirror and could swear her bloody fingerprints had permanently stained my skin.
“I’d forgotten about that.” He took a gulp of his drink.
He hadn’t forgotten. None of us had. I could tell by the shadow crossing his face he had the same nightmares that Christian and I had. Ava had hung on for a week in the hospital after falling into a coma, but there’d been no brain activity, her parents finally pulling the plug. It had nearly gutted all three of us, although Clinton had never admitted it.
“Ten years is a long time to suffer and grieve,” I offered.
“Maybe so. Perhaps he’s simply preparing to finish his list before he dies.”
List. The member who’d been behind the wheel had had been killed only six months after graduating, his lifeless body found thirty feet in front of his penthouse. While his death had been ruled a suicide, the three of us had known better. We’d expected The Iceman to continue his bloody path of revenge then, but the man had waited for eighteen months before attempting a hit on Clinton.
Then Christian.
