Page 77 of Twisted Enemy
Of course there’s something broken about me.
Shannon set me on thebrokencourse before I could walk. And I’m naturally a high achiever.
I try Gage Rider next. Too late, I remember the Stanley Cup finals are going on. He doesn’t pick up, and I leave one more message.
Darkness has fallen. The car’s high beams create the illusion that I’m driving through a tunnel. I’m trapped beneath a mountain of stone, squeezed close on all sides.
I call Fiona Moran. I’m astonished when she picks up on the first ring.
“Cole,” she says.
“Fiona! Thank God.” This call requires all my attention. I ease my foot off the accelerator and guide the car onto the shoulder. Leaving the engine running, I say, “I know what I’m about to say sounds ridiculous?—”
“Trap called,” she interrupts.
“What?”
“Trap Prince. He phoned about fifteen minutes ago.”
“What did he say?”
“That if he catches any client of the freeport doing business with you in any capacity whatsoever, he’ll terminate our accounts. If he hears a whisper of a single text, email, or phone conversation, he’s booting us from the entire operation.”
“Jesus,” I breathe, touching my forehead to the steering wheel.
I could call in my marker. I could demand the favor Fiona owes me—buy my freeport holdings, save me from crippling taxes.
But it wouldn’t be right. It wouldn’t be fair. She’d end up ruined too.
“What the hell did you do, Cole?”
“I fucked up everything,” I say.
“Well,that’sobvious.” She sighs, and I can picture her cocking a hip while she runs her fingers through her hair. “Make this right with Trap,” she says. “Do whatever you have to do.”
“There’s no making this right.”
“Then do what you have to do to survive.”
She ends the call before I can respond.
I sit by the side of the road for five full minutes. My heartbeat aches in every cell of my body. I wonder if I’ll be able to get out of the car once I get home.
I can’t call any other members of the Diamond Ring. There’s no one I can impose on to save my fortune. From here on out, the only thing left to do is mop up the mess.
I pull the Mercedes back onto the road. When I call Nilsson, he answers before I even hear a ring. “Sir?”
In the tersest language possible, I fill him in on what needs to happen. “Do whatever you have to do,” I say. “Take the jet if you need it. We’re sparing no expense. I’ll be home in two hours.”
“I understand,” he says. “And sir?”
“Yes?”
“Please drive carefully.”
I growl and push the pedal to the floor.
33
