Stingray Billionaire: The Complete Series (An Alpha Billionaire Romance) (26 page)

"Hey, boss,
you want me to take the car and follow the kid?" she asked. "I can
tail him tonight, if you want. The next shipment isn't scheduled till Tuesday,
so I've got some down time."

"You sure you
want to do that?" I replied.

"Yeah, sure,
why not? I've got the time. Why not nip it in the bud now and bring him to
heel?"

"Alright. If
you're up for it, then do what you can," I said as I walked behind the
bar, filled a glass with ice, and then hit it with a shot of soda water. I had
a meeting coming up later and I needed a clear head. "But don't let him
know you're following him. He'll lose his shit and then I'll have to deal with
it, and I don't have time to deal with a Beck meltdown this week. Clear?"

"Crystal,"
she saluted as she sauntered across the floor towards the door.

"Be back here
at three," I said. "I need you here for the meeting."

"Aye, aye,
boss." She waved as she pushed open the door and let sunlight briefly
enter the darkened club. Then she was gone.

Riza's dad had
taught me the business from the ground up and then made me a silent partner in
his cartel. I worked my way up from a corner boy, to the top dog on Skid Row. I
kept my head down, worked hard, and listened to every single thing Hernando
D'Oro ever told me.

Hernando, or Papi
as we all called him, had groomed me to run the empire and when he was gunned
down in a gang fight two years after he'd made me his second in command, I
stepped up and took over the business. I now owned a hotel on Grand Avenue and
this club, and, with the help of a loyal band of warriors, I ran a
billion-dollar drug business that owned the entire Los Angeles market. Everyone
hated me.

Except Riza. When
it had become obvious that her father wasn't going to train her to be the head
of his cartel, she joined the Marines and spent a few years in Iraq. Papi had
gone ballistic the day she'd told him what she'd done, but since she was
eighteen, he had no say in the matter. I knew it hurt him to watch his
beautiful daughter pick up a gun and fight in "a man's war," as he
called it.

There had been nights
when we'd made a run down to Tijuana to pick up a shipment and Papi would talk
to me about Riza and war the whole way down. But despite the pain, deep down he
was also incredibly proud of his daughter.

He just never told
her.

When she came back
from Iraq, something about Riza had changed. She’d seen too much and done too
many things that she said she didn’t want to talk about, but it came out in
other ways. She was constantly picking fights and winning them. She was one of
the most feared gang members in LA, mostly because it was rumored that she had
no conscience. I knew better, but she wanted to keep her secrets safe and
maintain a certain level of respect via fear. So, I looked the other way and
watched her try to self-destruct.

Papi was furious
about his only daughter’s behavior. He’d wanted her to settle down and get
married so he could have a bunch of grandkids to bounce on his knee, but Riza
was stubborn and refused to settle for any of the guys in the cartel. For a
while, I thought maybe she didn’t like men, but when I asked, she said it was
that she didn’t trust anyone outside of Beck and me. She was quiet and wary,
much like her father. And, when he was gunned down just a couple of months
after she returned stateside, she turned even further inward. For two years
after Papi’s death, the only people she'd talk to were Beck and me.

Even now, she was
a woman of few words and didn't tell me too much about what was going on with
her. She simply showed up and did her job 24/7, 365 days a year. She was still
my second in command, only now she also functioned as my bodyguard during trips
and meets with other cartel leaders. She was my shadow, and she kept a lid on
the business in ways that even I didn't know, but I trusted her, so I didn't
ask.

CHAPTER
TWO

Brooke

"
Brooklyn
Jane Raines!" my mother yelled as I
stepped into the kitchen and walked across her freshly waxed floor. "I'm
going to kill you, child!"

"Aww,
Mama," I said with a sheepish look of apology. "I didn't know you'd
just waxed. I'm sorry!"

"It doesn't
matter how old you kids get to be, you're still completely intent on driving
your mother crazy!"

"Who's
driving their mother crazy?" my father asked as he stepped into the
kitchen and walked the same path I'd just walked.

"TONY
RAINES!" my mother yelled. "I'm going to kill you and your offspring
alike!"

"What did I
do now?" my father asked with a genuinely confused look on his face. He
had a pencil tucked behind one ear and several sheets of printer paper in his
hand.

"Pop, she
just waxed the floor," I said as I nudged him in the ribs with my elbow.

"Oh, I'm
sorry, dear," he said as he flashed my mother the grin he knew would cause
her to forgive his sin as he bent down and pecked my cheek. "How're you
doing, Brookie?"

"Dad," I
said. "It's Brooke, just Brooke now. I'm a lawyer, not a first
grader."

"You'll
always be my Brookie," he said with a smile as he danced a few steps.
"I'm your dad, it's my prerogative."

Both my mother and
I groaned at his terrible ’80s reference. My father has been the entertainment
reporter for the
LA Times
since the
early 1970s and as a result, we are constantly treated to his encyclopedic
knowledge of entertainment history in every conversation. My mother shook her
head and ran the mop over the ruined part of the kitchen floor as she muttered
under her breath. She's been a math teacher at Lincoln High for the past twenty
years, and is a perfectionist when it comes to having a clean house, refusing
to let anyone else clean, even though between the two of them, they make enough
to hire a housekeeper. We knew no one else would meet her standards, so we all
just grinned and took our lumps.

"What are you
doing all the way out here, Brooke?" my mother asked.

"I wanted to
stop by and see if you and Dad were free for dinner next week," I said as
I opened the fridge and grabbed the orange juice pitcher that my mother kept
filled with fresh-squeezed juice.

"And, you
couldn't have called to ask?" she replied. "I smell something fishy
going on here."

"Mom, I dropped
by to see about dinner, that's it," I said as I poured a glass of juice
and then looked at her as innocently as I could while sipping it. Then, mumbled
into the rim, "And, I wanted to talk to Dad about something."

"I knew
it!" my mother declared. "I knew it wasn't a simple visit. It never
is."

"Mom, that's
not fair!" I protested. "Fine, but dinner? Yes?"

"Yes, we'll
have dinner with you," she said smiling as she moved to the sink and
rinsed her mop. "When and where?"

"I'll figure
it out and let you know," I said before turning my attention to my father
who was now completely engrossed in editing something on the sheets of paper
he'd brought into the kitchen. "Dad, can you help me write a convincing ad
that will bring in more business for the firm?"

"Huh?"
my father looked up, confused. "What about it?"

"An
advertisement, Dad," I said. "I need help writing something that will
make people flock to our firm and hire us."

"Business is
tough, is it?" he said as he made another mark on the paper in front of him.

"Incredibly
tough," I said.

"Broke, is
this a thinly disguised request for a loan?" he said as he pushed his
reading glasses to the top of his head.

"No, Dad,
it's not," I said, knowing full well that it was. "It's a request for
help writing a persuasive ad that I can use to drum up more business."

"Kid, never
play poker," he said shaking his head. "You're a terrible liar. I'll
get the checkbook, but you're going to need to tell me exactly what you
need."

"Just one
month's rent," I muttered. "I can swing the rest."

"Are you sure
that's all you need?" my mother called from where she was bent over the
sink. "Tony, give her more than just rent money. Add phone and electric
and groceries. No, better yet, I'm going to cook meals for you. That way I can
give half to you and half to your brother."

"Mom, Teddy
eats at the fire house," I reminded her.

"Well, he
still has a few days off, doesn't he?"

"Yeah, but he
spends them at Gina's," I said. "And, I assume that he knows how to
cook for himself by now."

"So do you,
but I still like to feel needed."

"Alright,
I've got the checkbook. Lay it on me, Brookie," my father said as he came
back into the kitchen. "How much do you need?"

"Just one
month's rent, Dad," I repeated. I knew that I needed much more than that,
but I already felt guilty about the fact that my parents had footed the bill
for my undergraduate education and my law degree, so I didn't want to ask for
more than I could justify in my own mind. I could put off paying the electric
bill for one more month and cross my fingers that business would pick up.

"Brooke, I
know you're not telling me the whole truth," my father said as he filled
out the check, and then ripped it out of the checkbook and handed it to me.
"So, I'm going to use my own discretion."

"Dad!" I
protested as I looked at the check. He'd given me six months rent plus expenses
and then added a cushion. "You cannot give me this much money!"

"I can do
whatever I like, thank you very much," he said as he tucked the checkbook
in his back pocket and poured himself a cup of coffee. "I'm a
grownup."

"Thank
you," I said softly as I walked over to where he and my mom stood and
hugged them both. "I'm going to make this work, I promise."

"Brooke, we
know you're doing the best you can," my mother said. "We want to help
you as much as we are able to."

"And since we
can't take it with us, it just makes sense to use it now," my father
added.

"Don't even
joke about that," I warned.

"I'm not, I'm
serious," my father said. "We might not always be able to help, but
if we can, we will."

"Thank you
both," I said as I hugged them again and then headed out the door.
"You're the best."

"Sure, sure,
you say that now," my father, laughed as he waved me off. "Dinner
next week. We'll pick the place and you meet us there."

I waved at both of
my parents and headed out to my car. I needed to deposit the check and pay my
late rent before I headed over to meet with Roger and Jordie at the office and
decide if we could salvage our business.

CHAPTER
THREE

Dax

"
Sir
, you're going to need to leave your weapon
at the door," Dozer said as I watched on the club's closed circuit
security system. This was the monthly meeting of all Southern California
kingpins, and we had a strict rule about no weapons in the meetings.

"Man, that's
fucked up!" Mario yelled at the camera. He was new to the game, so he'd
have to learn. I watched as Dozer bent his 6'7" frame so that his face was
level with Mario's.

"That might
be true, my friend, but that's the rule," Dozer said as he held out a
plastic box for Mario to deposit his weapon. "You want to argue with
me?"

"Nah, homie,
we cool," Mario said as he dropped his gun in the box and leaned back from
Dozer's intimidating stare. Not many people were foolish enough to try and
tangle with a Samoan man the size of a refrigerator. Dozer smiled, tagged the
box with Mario's information, and then put a lid on it and added it to the
stack of weapons he'd already collected.

"Welcome to
the meeting." Dozer smiled as he turned and allowed Mario to enter the
main floor of the club. "Please help yourself to food and drinks at the
bar. Mr. Malone will be starting the meeting in fifteen minutes."

I smiled at the
nice touch of hospitality that Dozer always added to the proceedings. It wasn't
necessary, but it helped soothe bruised egos and made the meetings feel more
professional.

Five minutes
before we were scheduled to start, Riza came rushing through the door, pushing
Dozer out of her way as she tried to head for the office. He held his ground
and held out a box for her weapon. She shot him a look of immense irritation
and muttered something I couldn't hear before she pulled her pistol out of its
holder and dropped it in the box. She quickly covered the floor and barged into
my office without knocking.

"Boss, we
have a major problem," she began.

"You know I'm
about to start this meeting, right?"

"Oh fuck
that, this is major," she said as she began to pace the floor. "Dax,
Lydia's missing."

"What?"

"Fuckin'
Lydia is missing. She's been gone for three days and no one's said a word until
now," she said as she ran a hand through her long black hair.

"How do you
know she's missing?" I asked. Lydia Banks had been my lawyer for ten
years. I'd found her just after she'd finished a year as a low-level defense attorney
for the state and was disillusioned with the system. We'd met in my club, had a
one-night stand, and the next morning, I'd hired her on the spot. It turned out
to be the best decision I'd ever made. Lydia was the person who dealt with the
police, the courts, and the prison system. They were all hazards of the trade.
She filed the paperwork that kept my hotel and club legitimate and she got bail
for the low-level dealers in the organization. Most of all, Lydia kept me out
of the fray.

"She didn't
show up in court for the bail hearing this morning," Riza said. "I
asked around and no one's seen her since she left Dooley's on Saturday night
after closing."

"You tried to
track her down in all the usual places?"

"Of course I
did," Riza said as she turned and planted her hands on her hips. "How
fuckin' stupid do you think I am?"

"Don't get an
attitude with me, Ri," I warned. "I don't have time for that bullshit
today. First, Beck fucks up and now Lydia disappears, this is just fuckin'
great. I have a meeting to run!"

"What do you
want me to do about it?" she asked.

"Get your ass
out there and find my fucking lawyer!" I yelled.

"You want me
to stay for the meeting?" she asked quietly.

"Yeah,
yeah," I waved her off. "Stay and listen to what's going on. Maybe
you'll get some information on where Lydia is, who the hell knows."

I wasn't pissed at
Riza and she knew me well enough to know that, but I was pissed at Lydia. She
was a good lawyer, but I knew she had a problem. I'd known about it for a long
time. I'd tried to get her to go to a clinic and dry out. I even offered to pay
for it, but she was hardheaded and refused to acknowledge that her drinking was
starting to affect her work. I'd warned her about that. It was one thing to
fuck up her personal life, but it was an entirely different thing to fuck up my
business, and I wouldn't have it. We had come to an understanding, but it had
been touch and go for the past few months and Riza had had to bail Lydia out on
more than one occasion.

I'd seriously
considered replacing her, but the problem was that I didn't know any other
lawyers who would skirt the boundaries of the law the way she did. Until I
found someone as equally trustworthy, I couldn't afford to cut her loose.
Despite her drinking problem, she was still an incredibly good lawyer who was
willing to work around the clock to get what she wanted.

Besides, she knew
all my secrets.