Page 15 of Damon

“Evening Damon,” Harrison calls when he sees me. He leans forward and plucks a beer can from the bucket then throws it across the room. I catch it ably between my palms. “Good catch.” As I snap the ring to open it, the white foam fizzes and splashes over the side of the cool metal and my fingers. I lift the green can to my lips and drink greedily, finishing it within seconds.

“Thirsty?” Connor asks with a chuckle.

“Throw me another,” I reply. He repeats the process, and I open the next one with the same result.

“So, the note,” Russell barks. He glowers at me, obviously furious that I never told him directly about the contact I had from Connie’s killer this morning. “Not just the fucking note, the email too.”

“Russ,” Harrison says, glancing at his long-time friend and business partner. Their relationship has become more strained in recent years as his career has overtaken Russell’s. “McKinney has only just arrived. Give him a minute to explain.”

“Explain?” Russell snaps. “Not much point in explaining anything to Connie, is there? If the fucking police had taken the first warning seriously, she would still be here.”

“She is my wife,” I snarl. “Do you not think I’m well aware of my shortcomings contributing to her death, you bastard? Do you not think that I beat myself up every damn day about it? That if I had insisted she stay home, or take a guard with her, things would be different? That if I had never moved into the world I am living in, our life could have been long and happy? A life together growing old and gray like we wanted to?”

Connor, Russell’s brother, watches our altercation quietly. He’s the member of our group that blends into the shadows. He assesses situations and forms his own opinions before acting on them. He rarely volunteers information, but when he does, you know it’s well-thought-out and has a purpose.

Russell, on the other hand, is explosive and reactive. He stands, and the black leather chair he was sitting in is thrown back onto the wood floor. His huge frame storms in my direction. He’s big, but I’m bigger. He looks up at me with furious brown eyes.

“Her blood is on your hands. Know that every time you look at a photo that doesn’t age, you never protected your own wife,” Russell states bluntly. My chest constricts. He’s pointing out a hard truth. It fucking hurts.

“Anyone would think your feelings for Connie were more than platonic friendship,” I say, leaning down to him so we are nose to nose. Harrison appears beside us, placing a hand on each of our chests and applying light pressure.

“This isn’t helping,” he says, soft but firm.

“She would have been better off with me,” Russell mocks.

“In your fucking dreams,” I mutter and roll my eyes at him. “You had a teenage boy’s crush on my wife. She was mine, and she always will be.”

“That’s why she’s dead,” Russell says with a sneer.

“Chase,” Harrison snaps. “For fuck’s sake. There is no time or place for this. Rein it in, now.”

I grab Russell’s collar and push him backward to the windows, his body slamming against the reinforced glass as the elevator pings again, announcing someone else’s arrival.

“Where’s the popcorn?” Hunter shouts as he and Greyson step out into the room. “I didn’t realize there was live MMA fighting tonight, or I’d have brought my gear.”

“McKinney and Chase are having a disagreement,” Harrison explains.

“What about?” Greyson asks, and all eyes turn to him, the man who normally isn’t included but is here because Hunter thought it could help.

“Most likely the fact that Russell was in love with Damon’s late wife,” Hunter suggests, and the elephant in the room, which was glaringly obvious but never discussed, is brought into full view.

“Bullshit,” Russell snarls as I apply more pressure by moving my hand and wrapping my fingers around his throat. He gurgles slightly as he searches for air. I lift an eyebrow and cock my head to one side. I’m furious with him. I always knew he had developed feelings for Connie. The way he looked at her told me as much. For an ignorant selfish idiot, he was an absolute gentleman around her. Always.

“We both know that it isn’t bullshit,” I say as I scowl at him. He holds my stare with a matching one. “You overstepped the mark more times than I care to remember, but I always knew you were no threat. Connie and I are soulmates. She would only ever be a wet dream to you.”

“Think what you want, you idiot. She was my friend.”

“She. Is. My. Wife.” My voice roars around the room. All the other men now stand, silent, waiting to see if they need to intervene.

“And because of you, she’s dead,” he snarls, his voice intense despite me crushing his windpipe.

Chapter seven

Emma's Apartment, Canary Wharf

December 2021

Emma