Authors: Bj Harvey,Jennifer Roberts-Hall
Copyright © 2014 by BJ Harvey
Edited by Jennifer Roberts-Hall
Cover Designed by BJ Harvey
Interior Design by
Cris Soriaga | Bookmarked Designs
Photo sourced from canstockphoto.com
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
To Nikki aka Bulldog
You’re the bestest friend I’ve never met.
My rock, my cheerleader, my motivator and most importantly a dear friend.
Sean will always be yours now ;)
I’m not one who is easily rattled.
In fact, my cage is so secure it might as well be anchored to the ground in concrete. It’s why I’m so damn good at what I do—corporate law. ‘The Shark’ is what they call me. I revel in it, thrive under pressure. In fact, cool, calm, and collected should be my middle names.
Then, like the flip of a coin, there is the other half of my life. The side that isn’t so organized. My personal life, the part of my life that should be under control, is a cluster fuck right now. And as always, it all points to one person.
By day, I’m like Teflon—shit doesn’t stick to me. I don’t let it. My work doesn’t get brought home; it starts and ends at my office door. Just the way I like it.
I should be sitting back in my soft leather recliner, drinking a well-earned glass of Macallan on ice. So why am I sitting in front of a computer screen watching security footage of my younger brother Ryan hand an envelope to an unknown man at the club?
Thankfully the video I’m watching isn’t a live feed. That would have been too much for me to handle. I have a pretty controlled temperament, but I’d be barreling down there and punching him in the face, then kicking his useless ass to the curb once and for all. Instead, I’m watching delayed footage from yesterday afternoon that my private investigator sent me.
Blood or not, nobody fucks me over. I suspect Ryan is putting the club and me on someone’s unwelcome radar, and I don’t need the attention or the bullshit. Yes, I know the fact that I have a PI watching my own brother speaks volumes. Ryan is a gullible son of a bitch with a magnet for assholes and trouble in equal measure. As soon as I had an inkling that he was involved in dodgy shit (again), I asked my friend Asher to step in and monitor the situation for me. It was a necessary step to take. He fucked up two months ago and I stood by him but now … well, enough is enough.
Let me explain how we got to this point. A quick run down memory lane, so to speak.
My name is Sean Edward Miller, first born son to Harvey and Annette Miller. Two years later, Ryan Anthony Miller was born. Two rambunctious sons that were very much wanted and loved by our parents. My brother and I were born into privilege, not wanting for anything. Unfortunately, this only exacerbated my brother’s sense of entitlement. Even at a young age, Ryan had a love of money and wealth rarely seen in a young boy.
When we were twelve and ten, our parents were killed in a carjacking. I still remember the day the police came to the door with our grandfather who had flown in from Chicago. They took us into the living room and told us that our parents had been killed and that we’d have to go live with our grandparents in Chicago.
Although it was twenty-one years ago, I still remember that day like it was yesterday. The soft floral scent of my mother’s perfume that filled the room as she was getting ready for a fundraising event in the city. The look of awe in my father’s eyes as he watched my mother walk down the stairs with poise and grace. The love poured into the kiss goodbye that she gave both of her sons as she left, and the smile my father gave us as they waved and walked out the front door, telling us they’d see us soon.
But it wasn’t just another night.
Those are the last memories I have of my parents being alive. It’s a moment forever burned into my subconscious and has been the driving force in my life ever since. Everything I’ve achieved, and everything I’ve ever done is to make my parents proud. I’ve wanted to lead a successful, happy and fulfilled life in their honor, and I like to think I’ve achieved that so far.
Ryan was affected in far deeper ways than I was and as much as I try to help him, he just can’t seem to stay on the straight and narrow, and I keep bailing him out of trouble. I’m his safety net.
I pull off my tie that hangs limp around my neck before undoing my platinum cufflinks and dropping them onto my antique Chinese Elm desk. Pausing the video, I leave the office and make my way through my dark empty condo to the living room, the sound of footsteps bouncing off the walls, echoing through the air. Stopping in front of my drinks cabinet, I wrap my hands around the crystal decanter of whisky calling my name and pour three fingers into the matching glass—a wedding gift that belonged to my parents and a rare antique that my brother has always coveted. Knocking back the burning amber liquid, I pour myself another, drinking it down as quickly as the first. The burning sensation in my chest eases into a nice warmth that quickly spreads throughout my tension-filled body. I pour a glass again, this time walking over to the refrigerator and adding two ice cubes before turning on a few lights in the living area and returning to my office.
I sit down in front of the paused screen and push play, watching in slow motion as my brother appears to pay someone off. It’s all assumption and hearsay at the moment. But an empty club plus a bulging envelope being handed over to a stranger who does NOT look like a banker or a security guard … well, it doesn’t look good does it?