Page 7 of Damon
“But you told us there wasn’t one.”
“We weren’t invited,” I repeat as a way of explanation. “Emma went along with my mother. Connie’s family places the blame for her death firmly at my door. Her mother called me and asked that I stay away. My presence was not welcome.”
“That’s bullshit,” Hunter snarls. “Who the fuck do they think they are? Banning you from your own wife’s wake.” I shrug. “Connie was your partner; you should have been there.” He jumps to his feet and pulls a small, concealed blade from his waistband. “I’ll skin the bastard alive.”
“Calm down, Devane,” I mutter. “Put the knife down. With the volume of alcohol in your blood, it will be your own fingerprints you’ll remove.” He rolls his eyes but replaces the knife in the discreet holder and sits back down with his drink. “With the idle gossip circulating amongst the family, it’s probably best I wasn’t there.”
“What gossip?” Harrison prompts.
“About me and Emma.”
“What?” he snaps. “What fucker said that?”
“My father-in-law.”
“Gerald Blackmore?” Russell says, clearly stunned, and I nod. “But you two were tight. What the fuck happened?”
“He appeared here yesterday, shooting his mouth off and accusing me of having a relationship with Emma.” The familiar fury builds as it has every time I rerun our conversation in my head. Gerald is a man I thought of as a father figure. He’s been in my life as long as I’ve known his daughter, first as a neighbor, then as family. His allegations had been hard to take, and unanticipated. Our shared family’s support is something I’m used to being able to count on. Not anymore, except for my own mother, who continues to be a rock in my life.
“What’s the situation with the girl? It certainly is a unique scenario,” Connor asks. His question sits in the air between us all. A few moments pass before I speak as I consider what to say.
“Nothing changes. She can have the baby then move on once our contract is up.”
“And do you have a plan for how you will care for a child on your own?”
“My mother will help.”
“She’s offered her services, or are you assuming this?” Connor continues to pick at the already-open wound. He watches me intently for signs that I am lying. It’s a lawyer trait—my three friends who practice in the city all have shrewd eyes and a never-ending list of questions, which they often ask at what feels like inappropriate times.
“She is my mother. This is her grandchild. If I need a nanny eventually, I’ll get one.”
“And the girl?”
“As before, she will have the child then move into alternate accommodations. After six months, her obligations are complete, and she can finish her studies with my financial support.” The men all stare at me as if waiting for more information. “Waite has kindly agreed to take her on as an intern around her studies to provide her more on-the-job experience. I will fulfill my end of the arrangement, then we will go our separate ways.”
“That’s it?” Connor says.
“Yes,” I snap. “That was always it. Stop looking for something that isn’t there. For Emma and me this is no more than a business contract. She does not want a child, she assured us of that, and the last thing I need is a friend like her. Connie was the one with an interest in the girl, not me.”
“Noted,” Harrison mutters, his tone conveying skepticism.
“It’s fucking true,” I insist.
“Caring about her isn’t an issue, Damon. She’s pregnant with your child. It’s understandable. Don’t be an asshole because you’re hurting.”
“I’m not being an asshole.”
My friends all stare at me. Russell raises an eyebrow.
“You just were,” he tells me.
After a further hour of drinking Harrison’s rare whiskey collection, my friends leave my home. They each embrace me in turn, then walk down my garden path toward the two waiting black cars.
Harrison, Russell, and Connor climb into the first car; their driver has stepped out of the vehicle and opened the door for them. A second man, their security I assume, stands, surveying the area until his bosses are safely inside, then moves into the passenger side. The three men all have apartments in one of the most expensive buildings in Canary Wharf. They own the top two floors called The Level. It not only holds their three homes but also houses a private boardroom, a good location for highly sensitive business meetings that need to be conducted away from their office.
Hunter is collected by a similar vehicle. There are additional men in the back seats who exit and walk toward him to accompany their superior from my home. Hunter Devane has the longest list of enemies of us all. He conducts business within London and across the United Kingdom. Very little of it is within the realms of the law. Many of my days since moving to my new position within the police force are spent sweeping away his misdemeanors. He is both a powerful and dangerous man to be involved with; I’m grateful that he’s on my side.
The location of Hunter’s residence remains unknown. He owns countless buildings in London and beyond. Surprisingly, he has a wife from an arranged marriage in his early twenties, though they live apart and, as far as I am aware, rarely speak. Each live independent lives away from one another.