at the house for hours, watching the lights go on and off. He felt her pacing from where he sat. He’d seen her standing on the porch, staring out, searching for him.
He wanted to go to her, but he physically couldn’t do it.
Then he saw Locke arrive, and now he was filled with too many questions.
“Was that club yours?” he asked, ignoring Locke’s chilling question.
“Yes,” Locke answered, another glance at the rear-view.
“And Charlotte –”
“Charlotte’s my accountant.”
Okay, well, Thames figured she was something to that effect. She had run out of the club, her office clothing immediately quieting Thames’ fear. While it was a relief, it still didn’t ease him entirely.
“Why is she working for you?” Thames questioned.
“I made sure she was taken care of,” Locke icily retorted, tensing his jaw. “Don’t thank me or anything, Thames.”
“No offense, Locke, but I trust you as far as I can throw you.”
That response strangely pleased Locke. His lips spread in a soft smile. “Fair enough.”
“Why is she working for you?”
“She needed the money.”
“There was currency buried in the basement.”
“Stolen right before the fire.”
Thames pressed his lips together tightly. Still staring out, he wasn’t taking in the beautiful suburban landscape as Locke drove. All he saw was his house up in flames, and his chest went tight. To think someone could do that. To think someone had dared fucking cross him.
Locke remained cool, adding, “Dave sent threatening letters to Charlotte.”
“Before the fire?”
“Long before the fire. No evidence to suggest he did it. The timeline didn’t work, and I couldn’t do anything about it. Plus, Dave disappeared off the face of the earth. No one knows where he is.”
“Even Reid?”
“Reid’s not saying a word. All I know is that gold disappeared, and Reid was suddenly chop shopping all over the place. He’s got Blackwater under his thumb since your absence. Who would have guessed it?”
Thames didn’t care for Reid, or for Blackwater for that matter. He frowned, trying to understand why in the fuck Dave would want to cross him over like that. It was one thing to take over territory because business was business and if there was a gap in the market, then sure, it was all his; but it was entirely another thing to get so personal you’d torch a house to the ground.
“You think he was pissed I killed Billy?” he wondered.
“Of course he was pissed,” Locke replied.
“Enough to burn my old man’s home down?”
“No, he needed the coin. Otherwise he would have retaliated sooner.”
Thames swallowed another flare of anger. “Were they in the house when it happened?”
“Hardly. Jem had dropped them off just before the house went up in flames. He saw the smoke and went running in there, cradling Penny out. The place was skilfully torched, went down so fast they couldn’t grab anything. Couldn’t track the bullion after. My guess is it was melted down into new bricks.”
“Everything burned?”
“Everything.”
All that renovating and hard work. The custom bedroom he had made just for Charlotte, then Penny’s room. His old man’s office. The boxes of memories from his childhood he’d tucked away in the basement. Gone. All of it.
“Where did she go?” he asked.
“She stayed at your mom’s place for a while, but…Ember lost her job again and her rental again and also needed to crash there. It got too tight.”
“Ember must have been devastated losing the house. She was always there, fixing shit up for me.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Did my mother tell Charlotte and Penny to go?”
“No, Charlotte made that call. You know the way she is, not wanting to be in anybody’s way. It worked out okay, she’d started working for me at the firm. She made it work. She’s always been strong at adjusting.”
Tapping the glass now, Thames silently fumed. He was too busy surviving in that shithole, not realizing the nightmare that existed beyond the walls. He looked to the front where Locke sat, curiously watching the guy. Unlike Jem, Locke appeared preserved. So totally unchanged, it was odd as fuck to consider eight years had lapsed and he was still so much the same.
He thought of Charlotte working for him while knowing his sick little fetishes. Though, he couldn’t blame Locke entirely for his fucked upness. There were worse people out there, and they’d abused Locke in ways that altered him whole.
Charlotte was so beautiful standing there, feet from where he stood in the darkness just outside the club. So close, he could have whispered her name and she’d have heard it. He’d taken off just