Kestrel (Hart Briothers #3) (5 page)

Chapter
Four

Kestrel

That
was interesting. Or not. I want the house. It’s perfection.
The
girl—not so much.
She’s about as fucked up as I am. No, I take
that back. She may be worse. That room is a fucking shrine to her dead
daughter. Dead flowers were everywhere.
Cards and balloons,
too.
It was borderline psycho. I wonder what Gabby would think. Hell, I
know what she’d think.
That the good doctor needs to be
locked away in an asylum.
I’d be doing her a favor by refusing to keep
that room.

And
the way she threw herself at me. Christ! She was like kissing a fucking nun!
And I thought I had issues.

When
I get home I pour myself a drink and my phone rings.

“How
was it?”

It’s
Kolson.

“Perfect.
I made an offer. I have to meet with the owner on Friday night to talk about
the possible purchase of the furnishings. You wouldn’t believe the place.”

“What
was the asking price?”

“Four
point five. And she wants to rent the carriage house.”

“Seriously?
Rental income on top of that?”

“Yeah.”
I don’t tell him the rest of the disturbing story.

“So,
tell me about it.”

I
fill him in on the details of the house.

“Damn,
bro, you killed it on that one.
And the location.
It’s
exactly where you wanted.”

“Right?
You should see the place. It’s been completely renovated too. The kitchen is
unreal.”

He
laughs. “Like you give a shit about that.”

“What’s
that supposed to mean?”

“How
often do you cook?”

“Hey,
you never know. I may take it up as a hobby.”

He
makes some kind of grunting noise. He knows that’s complete bullshit. I hate to
cook. I can grill a steak and do a little bit here and there, but nothing
extravagant.

“Well,
I can hire someone to cook for me. And they’ll love the kitchen.”

“Now
that I can believe,” he says, laughing as we end the call.

***

The
pressure on my throat tightens. His hands are so large—too large for me
to fight against. My fingers tighten around his wrists and try to pull them
away from me, but they gain no purchase. Then he stops squeezing and bends his
head to my ear.

“You
will do as I say, or this continues. Understand?”

I
nod, or try anyway. Then he lets me go and I slide down the wall, legs
crumpling.

My
body jerks as I wake up from my recurring dream. Dream, hell. It was my reality
for years with that bastard.
The Dragon.
Heart clanging, I reach for my
ear buds and turn on the music. It calms me in times like these.

When
I think of his death, a sense of happiness showers me. How sick is that? Most
people would cry if their father had been shot. Not me. I rejoice on a daily
basis. The strange thing about it, though, is I can’t do it in front of my
brother. And I don’t understand why. It’s like we tiptoe around the subject,
neither of us breaking the ice of discussing it. My sister-in-law thinks it
damaged me beyond the point of repair. And maybe it did and I’m too fucked up
to notice. But every day since he died has been a celebration for me. I was
tethered to that fucker by an invisible chain. The day he left this Earth was
my ticket to freedom. Not that I don’t carry mental problems from what he did
to me over the years. But the simple fact that he’s gone has been a balm to my torn
and ragged soul.

People
who’ve never been abused don’t understand—can’t understand the terror.
It’s a living, breathing thing. It doesn’t go away. It only grows and develops
into something so monstrous that it distorts every single thing you do. Even
the tiniest actions are affected. Brushing your teeth, combing your hair,
eating,
even
drinking water. It crushes you by its
weight until you barely function. And then
he
comes barreling down on
you and it intensifies even more. Living becomes almost intolerable, and there
is no way out. That was life with the Dragon. Now he’s dead and the terror is
receding. Bit by bit. And I am finally feeling that there is life for me again.

My
adopted father, Langston Hart, was a monster. A living, fire-breathing dragon. The
cruelty began with my older brother, Kolson. I came next, and finally my
younger brother, Kade. Langston made it look like he was a great philanthropist,
adopting three boys. Philanthropist my ass—he was more like a fucking
sadist. If only they had known the truth about the monster he was … that all
along he had orchestrated a plot to acquire three sons with no questions asked.
We were all around five or six when he adopted us. We were deprived of so much,
it’s difficult to even think about, much less explain. The Dragon’s forte was
intimidation. He thrived on it and his favorite method was grasping me around the
neck and choking me. We weren’t sexually abused, but he made up for it in other
ways. He was a brutal bastard. I sincerely hope he rots in hell. We all lived
in our own hell because of him.

It’s
four a.m. and I doubt I’ll be able to go back to sleep. A good, hard run would
set my mind right. It doesn’t take long for me to get dressed and hit the
streets. It’s still dark and quiet out. My feet strike a decent rhythm as I
make my way around all the gorgeous homes South of Broad Street. The
architecture is so interesting down here that I barely notice what street I’m
on, until I hit the battery and Murray Boulevard. The views of the water are
superb. I’m quite taken with this and find I’m all the way down by the Coast
Guard Station before I realize it. Instead of continuing on, I do a u-ey and
head back to see the homes on Murray again. I’m completely smitten with them,
which is odd because Kolson is the one who usually gets his boxers in a wad
over real estate. I’m hoping the second time around will be a let down. It’s
quite the contrary. It’s much better than the first. Christ. I can’t believe
I’m about to be an owner here. I slow my pace as I pass the house that I made
the offer on. There’s a light on upstairs and I can’t help but wonder if Carter
is asleep or is she awake and anxious about the upcoming sale.

On
the way to the office, I have the driver find a Starbuck’s or the equivalent. I
can’t risk not having any coffee. I snag two large cups. Shayla won’t be in
until eight-thirty anyway. This will hold me until then. I hope.

The
office is dark and empty when I arrive. My music plays as I get to work. There
are a ton of possible accounts we can establish and I shoot all my information
to Kolson and Jack. I also start running numbers and setting up spreadsheets.
We need to hire someone to run the financial end for this branch. My phone
rings.

“Yeah.”

“Do
you ever answer your phone in a professional manner?”

I
laugh. “Kestrel Hart here.”

“That’s
better.”

“Why
the hell should I bother when I know it’s you?”

Kolson
laughs. “I’m just checking.”

“You
need to get your ass down here. The real estate is going to make you giddy.”

“I
don’t get giddy.”

“Yes,
you do. When it comes to real estate.”

“Wrong.
Cars make me giddy. So do horses.”

“Whatever.
I’m serious,
Kol
. This place rocks. I can assure you
there will be an explosion in your pants.”

“The
only thing that causes an explosion in my pants is my wife.”

“Keep
that shit to yourself, man.”

“You
brought it up, not me.”

“Get
down here. I seriously can’t wait for you see the gem I’m buying. Kolson, I’m
telling you. This place is amazing.” I tell him the address of the house and he
pulls it up on the internet. I still don’t tell him about kooky chick.

“It
looks sweet, man.”

“Yeah,
but what you’re not seeing are the views from the top floor. The fucking harbor
is amazing. You can even see Fort Sumter. This is it for me. I am in love.”

“Yeah,
this doesn’t sound like the Kestrel I know. You’d live in the back of a barn.”

“That’s
what I’m trying to tell you!”

He
makes a harrumph sound. “So, can we talk a little business here?”

“Yeah,
I need a finance geek here. Soon. The southeast is loaded with a shit ton of
opportunities.”

“That’s
what I want to discuss. Jack’s coming down. We need to hire someone and fast.
He can’t be going back and forth and neither can I. We have too many things to
handle up here.”

This
is excellent news for me.

“When
is he coming?”

“So
today is Thursday. I’m pushing for him to fly out Tuesday. Meanwhile, we’re
opening up the search. I have someone I think may suit, but we’ll see.”

“You
don’t have anyone who wants to transfer, do you?”

Kolson
laughs. “Are you trying to steal my employees already?”

“Hell
yeah. It would be a hell of a lot easier to have a seasoned employee here to
help rather than to having to train a newbie.”

“Point
well made, Kestrel. I’ll take a look around.”

“Good.
All right. I have to get to work. Call me later.”

“Will
do. Watch out for that coffee.”

Before
I could respond, he ends the call. I’m a little surprised Gabby didn’t jump on
the phone. I get back to my spreadsheets and prospecting and Shayla walks in.

“Good
morning, sir.”

“Shayla.
How are you today?”

“Fine,
sir. There’s coffee in the break room if you’d like some.”

“Oh,
thank you.” I stand to go retrieve a cup.

“I’ll
bring you some, sir.”

“It’s
Kestrel, remember?”

“Yes,
sir, Kestrel.”

I
think I may have to give up this ship.

“Shayla,
I’m not opposed to getting my own coffee. I didn’t hire you to fetch me
things.”

“But
you did hire me to keep things in order around here and make your job easier. Bringing
you coffee is one of the things that makes your job easier.”

Holding
my hands up in the air, I say, “You win.”

“Black,
sir?”

“Yes,
ma’am.”

She
laughs. I am determined to get her to drop the ‘sir’ thing.

Moments
later she delivers my brew. Let’s see how this is. She waits, as I taste.
Definitely not Starbucks.

“Well?”

“Honest?”

“Yes!”

“It
needs to be strong, and I mean really strong, to suit me. I’m a coffee addict.”

“Shall
I remake it?”

“Yes,
but let me show you.”

She
takes me to the coffee maker and it’s not the best, but certainly not the
worst. She bought Starbuck’s coffee and a grinder. I show her how much and her mouth
scrunches up into a skewed look of horror.

“I
know. Really, really strong.”

“Isn’t
your stomach going to rot away?”

“I
certainly hope not.”

As
the coffee brews, we talk about her family. Her oldest son is a junior at the
College of Charleston. Her youngest, a daughter, wanted to go away to Clemson
University, which is in the upper part of South Carolina.

“It
was hard on you.”

“Oh,
I was a mess for the entire month of August. My son wasn’t bad because he was
here in town, you see. And my daughter was still home. But when my husband and
I drove away from her dorm in August, well, I can tell you there was a flood in
the car.
My poor Ralph.
He had a weeping fool on his
hands for the longest time. I’m fine now, but
lordy
,
it was hard. I never thought it would be so tough on a mama.”

“You
don’t seem old enough to be an empty nester,” I say.

She
beams. “Well that’s kind of you, sir.”

“Just
being honest, ma’am. I think you reach a point in life where age becomes less
important.”

Her
laughter fills the room. Its tinkling sound is almost musical. It kind of
reminds me of Gabby’s. I find myself smiling.

“You
say that now. Wait until you’re knocking on fifty’s door. Then it’ll become
very important.”

“Probably
so. But look at all you have. And with good fortune, your children will marry
in the not too distant future, and you’ll have grandchildren.”

“Oh,
I’d love that, when the time is right, for sure.
But what
about you?
You could face the same. Children in your future, I mean.”

Never.
That will never happen in my case. I’m not capable of sharing that kind of
love. Nurturing some small creature that’s completely dependent on me? I can
barely take care of myself.