Ryder (The Razer Series, #1.5) Page 2

  “Is she gonna bring my girl home?”

  Fixating on the dock outside I turned my daydreams toward the summer nights of feasting on good food and wine and hoped I’d get the opportunity to show Taylor how beautiful we could be. Those thoughts made me feel worse, scared I wouldn’t get the chance. Laura wasn’t bringing Taylor home. I had to be the one to make it right and bring her back. I had my regrets, but not a single one lay at Taylor’s feet. I had to be the one to show her my life was hers, she belonged where I was.

  “I think you can answer your own question, bro.”

  And I had, hadn’t I? “What’s she doing, Lucca?” I asked, as if he had an answer for me I could get my head around.

  “No idea.”

  He clasped a hand around my shoulder and stood by my side as I wrapped my arm around his waist. Fuck it, I needed his contact, his reassurance. We held each other up as we stood in companionable silence until a courier rapped knuckles on the wooden frame of the open double doors. They’d been flung wide to let the air in, trying to eradicate the ‘new’ smells of furniture and the adhesive used to seal the floor. The windy breeze was better than the sting on the nostrils, we couldn’t have toxic smells in the restaurant come opening day.

  “Delivery for...Sapori D’Italia?”

  “Yeah, that’s here, mate. Thank you.”

  The signage wasn’t up yet, currently leaning against the far wall awaiting fixtures and some company that specialised in erecting shop front panels. They’d cost a pretty fortune but looked exquisite, upmarket. I hoped the name of the place lived up to the expectations.

  The courier disappeared and came back within ten minutes with two boxes on a trolley. Looked like our promo stuff had arrived, invites and flyers that would need to be sent and distributed. Sure enough, when I signed the paperwork he handed me the invoice which told the contents of both boxes. I guessed the rest of our day was booked.

  Four hours later with the sun long disappeared, Lucca stuck the last stamp on the last invitation. Laura’s. Taylor’s was underneath. I’d thought about hand delivering them, but her warning to stay away had me changing my mind. Taylor had made it clear she didn’t want to see me, for whatever reason I couldn’t fathom.

  “That it?”

  He kissed the envelope. “Last but not least.”

  Pussy whipped...

  I chuckled at the love-sick dork. “Next time we hire some local kids for this shit. My mouth tastes like arse, Lucca!”

  “You wanna head up to mine for some food? Sleep in a decent bed for a night or two?”

  Food and bed was appealing. “Ayden home?” Not that I minded if he was.

  “Nah. Two weeks until he’s back. Needs to knuckle down for some finals, says he’s behind a bit.”

  “All right. Sounds good.”

  Lucca could cook, I’d give him that, his mama had taught him good. Many a time in our early days he’d held down the fort when chef’s up and left us in the lurch in one of our restaurants or hotel bistros. Leaving abruptly appeared to go hand in hand with kitchen work.

  “What you cooking me, mother?”

  A punch to the shoulder, delivered precisely, had me laughing. “Come on, funny guy.”

  He motioned to the restaurant doors with a tip of his head as he slung his parka jacket on. Call me a wuss if you like, but I followed Lucca like a lost puppy, the thought of sinking into a hot bath far more appealing than whatever he was going to put on my plate for eating. Taylor had turned me into a freak - who loved baths. Had to have bubbles, oh yes, bubbles on top of bubbles. The bath in our flat was tiny and I barely managed to squish my big body in beside Taylor when we attempted it, but Lucca had this huge clawfoot tub thingy I could drown myself in for an hour and wind down.

  Check - man card still holding strong.

  * * *

  Nearing midnight, I let out a yawn, watching Lucca do the same. It had been a long day.

  “She telling you what’s going on?” he asked suddenly.

  We’d skirted ‘women’ talk all day, I didn’t get why he was bringing it up now when all I wanted to do was crawl into bed and forget about another day without Taylor. I hadn’t talked to him about it, was thinking maybe I should, no good bottling crap up. My smart friend might see what I was clearly missing.

  Except what could I tell Lucca? He’d switched off the tv, the movie we’d been watching, forgotten.

  “Not really. She’s cross at me for a reason though.”

  “Maybe Laura can talk some sense into her? Get her to come home.”

  “You think? I ain’t so sure. Taylor’s stubborn at the best of times. She’s got a bee in her bonnet no one’s talking her out of.” I scrubbed my hand down the rough stubble across my jaw only just realising how long my facial hair had become.

  “Yeah...you need to clean up, bro. You look like you were dragged off the street.”

  He was right, no point arguing the truth. “Any news on Stella?” I asked.

  “Nah, she’s in the wind.” He shook his head in disgust. “I don’t like it. You read the gun report?”

  The police had been kind enough to share some of the findings from the fire they’d scraped together so far, more out of wanting to clear some details up, namely the gun found in Laura’s room. It was clear she hadn’t fired the shot that killed Adam, her hands had been tied. I wouldn’t have blamed the poor woman if she had though. It only left two scenarios. Adam had shot himself or Stella had done the deed. The fire had destroyed any evidence the gun may have yielded, or Adam may have given away, and the way I saw it was simple, made the most sense. If Stella was going to shoot anyone, it would have been Laura. Adam and Stella had been fucking around for over fifteen years, he was her sidekick, why would she kill him? It was Laura she wanted rid of, not him.

  The fact she’d walked away said it all; Adam had come to his senses and put a bullet in his own brain. Which made Stella being missing a very bad thing. The likelihood of her crawling back out from the woodwork couldn’t be dismissed and I’d bet my arse she’d create havoc when she did. Which put our women at risk, still. Taylor being away from me was worrying for more than just my ego taking a battering that my girl didn’t want me anymore. Stella didn’t care who she dragged down with her and I feared she’d want us all.

  “There’s nothing conclusive in it. You told Laura to be careful, right?” He groaned, and I saw how much it ate at him. “Hey, this isn’t your fault, Lucca.” I assured.

  “I know. But those girls have been watching their backs for over eight years. Adam’s dead yet they must still be concerned for their safety because my ex-wife is a fucking psycho. It’s bollocks, you know. I need to find her.”

  “They’re smart. They’ll be fine. Besides, they’re with Phil, he isn’t stupid or slack. He hid them both for years.” My words were meant to convince both of us, I felt the same way but the only person to blame was Stella. Not Lucca.

  “What’s left on the restaurant?”

  I grinned at him, excitement over opening doors on a new place taking over my apprehension for the first time in a long while. “Not much. We got interviews,” I pointed at him, “which are your department. Next week. Choose wisely, dude. The place looks awesome, we need a kick arse chef.”

  “It does. We do.” He chortled, a throaty sound, giving away his age. You could see the laughter lines around his eyes had crinkled more and the salt and pepper through his hair had become more prominent. “You twisted my arm on a good one. You think it’s gonna work? Turn a profit?”

  Not that it mattered but it was bad business to run a venture at a loss, something we didn’t do. Sapori D’Italia was different, riskier. “As long as we break even, I don’t care. Do you?”

  Shaking his head, he got up and collected the discarded beer bottles from the coffee table. “Nah, not really. I wanna stay here and as much as we don’t need the restaurant, I hope we can run it with at least a small profit, so it can stay open.”

  I wondered fleetin
gly if it would fail because we weren’t hungry enough for it, because Sapori D’Italia succeeding had no bearing on our day to day lives, or our bank balance. I slapped the thought away. The difference was, we loved the place. The urgency to make a quick penny was replaced with a mindset other than profit margins and elitism. Moreover, every business Lucca touched, he turned to gold, I swear he had the Midas touch. His business brain was quite the marvel I’d never hope to understand. Maybe we’d be okay after all?

  I needed to fix my personal life then it would be ‘Happy Ever After.’

  Four

  Brighton eventually called me home, louder than it ever had. With no sign of Taylor coming back to the flat in Beaufort, I’d rented a dingy back street property above a Chinese takeaway. The smell was almost nauseous, and the flat’s wallpaper was peeling from the walls, but it was furnished and suited my mood. Damp. I needed somewhere to lay my head until I could figure out which direction my life was going.

  All dependent on Taylor. She hung my moon, was the stars that lit up my night sky. If I stood still for more than a second I’d remember my life was too dark without her and how much it hurt. So, I didn’t.

  It was half past eleven at night and I was restless. Half a bottle of Johnny Walker had disappeared down my neck over the past half hour, it wasn’t enough to dull my senses even though the buzz was kicking in. Being in this shit hole of a flat depressed me almost as much as being in Taylor’s flat.

  Grabbing a jacket and pocketing my keys, I made the decision to hit Monty’s for a couple of hours. Regardless of it being a strip club, I could sit at peace surrounded by noise, I didn’t have to think too hard where I was. I could get nicely sloshed and wander back to the flat when I was ready to collapse into bed. The eye candy wouldn’t hurt, even if it would pale in comparison to Taylor.

  I made my way to the club and by the time I was waved through by the bouncer, I was ready for a drink or two. I plonked my arse onto a bar stool and slapped my hand on the counter like the impatient fucker I was. Looking around the expansive room that was busy for a Thursday night, lights and lasers sporadically lit up the space, the girls danced with far less enthusiasm than I had. Over in the corner, a rowdy bunch of young blokes, not the suit and tie kind but the thug kind, gang kind, caught my eye. I made a mental note to keep away. The fettle I was in would only lead to trouble with a group like them. Mouthy blokes pissed me off and they looked like a gobby bunch. I attracted attention and sometimes trouble most places I went because of my size and my ink, but I wasn’t looking for it then no matter how enticing a fight appeared for letting go of some rage.

  “What do you want?”

  There was no mistaking the hostility from the bartender. I’d been in here a few times now and had never been particularly warm with her, deliberately giving her attitude though not enough to get me thrown out. I hadn’t wanted to risk being banned, needing to keep tabs on her.

  “That’s some way to talk to a customer,” I smirked.

  “Yeah? Reserved just for you. Seriously, I’m busy. What do you want?”

  “Jack. Light on the coke.” Yip, three sheets to the wind sounded like a fantastic idea.

  She stepped away from the bar to pour what I’d asked for, hopefully not spitting in it. I swivelled back around on the stool, facing the club, so I could see the two runways the stripper’s strutted. The second had a pole, the first simply a stage. I wasn’t interested in the women at all, only Taylor got a rise from me in the last year and she outclassed these bitches any day. Only one pair of tits and arse got my engine going and I wasn’t exactly her favourite person right now - so my engine was stalled for the time being.

  The thud of a glass on the wood behind me grabbed my attention and I turned back around, plastering on the fake smile I always seemed to sport these days.

  “Thanks, Chrissie.” I lifted the drink and took a gulp while she raised her eyebrows at me. I stared my sister down, more than aware the sassy bitch had no idea who I was to her. I was more than good with that for now, time would come for proper introductions. “Problem?”

  “For a handsome fucker, you’re a total jackarse. You know that, right?”

  “Nothing I ain’t heard before, darling.” I grinned and winked at her then tipped the rest of the drink down my throat. “Another. Make it a double this time.”

  She mumbled under her breath before snatching my empty glass from me then marching back down the length of the bar. My focus veered back to the corner of the room, at the rowdy guys yelling lewd obscenities at the half naked chick currently upside down on the pole. All except one guy, one I recognised from outside Charlie’s back office door, many moons ago.

  His malevolent eyes followed my every movement, his scowl seemingly etched on his face. He was a runner, no doubt about it, but he didn’t look like he was high on his product. He was too focused - on me. Leader maybe? The guy certainly looked the part; all teeth and growl, metal piercings in his face and tattooed to within an inch of his life by the looks of things too. I didn’t look away, kept eyeballing him the way he was me, until his eyes shifted to beyond my shoulder to where Chrissie was slopping another drink down on the bar.

  Not bothering to face her, I asked if he was a friend of hers, nudging my head toward their table.

  “None of your business,” she snapped.

  “Got no interest in you, Chrissie. Maybe get your guard dog to stand down, huh?”

  She snickered, pushing the drink to the side so I didn’t need to move far to pick it up. “Twelve sixty.”

  Robbing bastards.

  I fished my wallet from my pocket then turned to throw a twenty on the bar. “Nice tip for you, make sure you get it all.”

  Another laugh, ‘big spender.’ She snatched up the note and left me to it. Plenty folks wanted serving, and it looked like she was it for bar staff, which was nothing unusual. Charlie was known for running his places with as few staff as he could get away with, to save money.

  The earlier notion of getting plastered wasn’t so appealing any more - the women no distraction, the noisy blokes in the corner annoying. I drank up the strong whiskey and decided the bare flat suited my mood better, at least there I wouldn’t end up with a busted nose or a split lip unless I fell out of bed through the night, which was a real possibility.

  Walking home, I tried to feel upbeat though nothing much instilled any hope in me. I was still going home to a lonely bed. Taylor was barely talking to me, when I called she at least still picked up for the most part, but conversation was strained and there wasn’t much of it. I wanted to give her time to sort out whatever was going through her head, but my patience was wearing real bloody thin now.

  I loved the woman, when the time was right, I’d fight for her, but it wasn’t right for now. There was no way I was giving up on her. I wanted to marry this woman, have a million kids with her - okay, over exaggeration, maybe - and I would wait for her to throw me a clue when it was time to wade in. But, I wasn’t waiting for ever, I wasn’t a patient man.

  When the time came, all bets were off.

  Taylor Hamilton was going to have an obnoxious ring on her finger and more than a baby or two in her belly at the first opportunity I got. I crossed my fingers she wanted it too. If not - I was utterly screwed.

  Five

  “Phil rang this morning. Emille’s not well so they won’t be coming.”

  I placed another starched white napkin on the folded pile and scowled at the other 200 off to the side. “No mention of the girls?”

  “Nope. Your guess is as good as mine.”

  It was judgement day. Doors were being opened late afternoon for a casual, soft launch where people could come in and try a specialised mini menu of what our chef would be offering once fully open. We’d lucked out finding this fantastic guy, Warren, who’d fancied a change of pace. London was too frantic for him, he’d said, after years of being in the same place, he wanted to slow down, different scenery. He’d relocated with our help and foun
d an upper flat in the village he could afford, was excited to come on board. I liked the guy and he’d promised he wanted long haul. With no commitments he was up for settling down and hopefully making home in Beaufort. As a young guy, well, if you called thirty young, he suited the business, looked great on our flyers, had plenty head chef experience. If anything, his good looks and suave attitude would bring the ladies to eat just for a peek at his face. He didn’t scream of an arrogance that rubbed me the wrong way; I had a good feeling about him and his food was to die for, with some great ideas - we’d given him free reign in the kitchen. I was quietly confident with Warren on board, we’d at least break even.

  It was suit and tie time, attire I hated with a fiery passion but a necessary evil for the evening. I’d tidied myself up, trimmed the beard now adorning my face and suffered a haircut. Thinking of Taylor wasn’t as all-consuming these days, four weeks of not seeing her face had dulled my senses, but today was proving difficult. Unsure if she would appear or not was giving me hives. She hadn’t replied to the RSVP, but her silence didn’t mean anything, and the idiot I was, hadn’t found courage to ask her on the phone, fearing she’d shoot me down anyway. I had to focus on smooching with guests not Taylor. I put my head in the game and plastered the most welcoming smile on my face I could dig up. I undoubtedly looked constipated and if Lucca’s loud, bellowing laugh when he looked my way was anything to go on, I was right on the money.

  Bastard.

  Polite conversation was not my forte and Lucca had to rescue me more often than not the more the night went on. Eventually, I escaped to the back of the room, Lucca following, stealing a minute to go over the results of the night.

  “Standing room only, bro.”

  “They like his food.”

  “You think it’s curiosity or a genuine interest?”