any criminal past, but he didn’t have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out, until now. Marrying into the Fogerty family was undoubtedly the best thing that had ever happened to him.
He glanced at his reflection on the patio door and couldn’t help but smile.
No matter how long the little bastard lived.
The phone unexpectedly came to life, vibrating in his clenched hand. He drew it close to his face, fully expecting to see his daughter’s number printed across the screen. It wasn’t, and he had no desire to talk to the low life that now wanted his attention. In fact, the call pissed him off. He made a mental note to ensure that this greaser, who had the balls to interrupt his morning, never had the opportunity to disrupt him again. Ever.
He hit the redial for his daughter and waited, his patience growing ever shorter. Her voice mail kicked on, again.
“I’m tired of this. You need to call me, now. You know the damned rules, and you’re breaking every one of them. You also know that will only piss me off. Is that why you’re ignoring me? I’m your father and—” His daughter’s voice mail response abruptly cut him off with a mechanical rejection that was close to a slap in the face, in his eyes.
Staring at the phone, he closed his large hand around it and hurled it against the pastel, stucco wall. It sounded like a gunshot as the impact shattered the phone.
In a flash, two muscular men sprinted around the corner, guns drawn and looking for all the world like they’d shoot anything that moved and ask questions later. Just the way Randall wanted it.
“Boss? Are ya okay, mon?” asked one of the men, bloodshot eyes accenting the concern on his ebony face. He was larger than his companion, by six inches and thirty pounds, but quicker and far more dangerous. It made him a perfect fit for his number one bodyguard.
Randall cocked his head “No, Braxton, I’m not okay. My daughter seems to think ignoring me is some sort of silly-ass game, and it’s pissing me off. Royally.”
“Yah, sir. Dos kids can be hard ta know.”
“That they can, my friend. But given the nature of my . . . profession, I don’t have room for games.”
The big man put his weapon back in his holster and motioned for the other man to leave. “So do we get da plane ready ta go?”
“I can’t afford not to. Make sure all of my meetings are rescheduled and be ready to go within the hour.”
“All of dem, Mr. Fogerty?”
“Yes, Braxton, all. Our folks from Miami will have to wait a day. I’m going to Puerto Rico. And when I find Amanda, she and that poor excuse for a husband will wish I’d stayed in Barbados.”
“Ye’sir.”
Braxton moved away, and Fogerty glanced at the ocean again. He hated this feeling. He wasn’t used to not having his way.
Walking to the front of the house, he realized that he’d have to teach his daughter and her husband the lesson of a lifetime. It would be best for Amanda, not so good for shithead, but life was full of choices, and he’d made this one—for all of them.
Chapter-6
It was approaching noon and over eighty-five degrees when he pulled his rented hybrid SUV in front of the visitor’s center. His hand felt moist from gripping the gear shift. He removed his sunglasses and, through the sun roof, absorbed the magical blue sky of Puerto Rico as perspiration tumbled down his neck.
He’d chosen not to turn the air conditioning on for several reasons, but mostly because he enjoyed the raw heat that his island provided. He especially took pleasure in the humidity because it made him feel more in touch with how nature should be, how it had evolved, not how mankind was altering it. Nature had its marvelous methods, and he more than embraced them.
Certainly there was survival of the fittest. Plants would go extinct only to be replaced by others that were stronger, more proficient at adapting to the local and global environments. The same was echoed with every species of fauna
He glanced at his reflection on the patio door and couldn’t help but smile.
No matter how long the little bastard lived.
The phone unexpectedly came to life, vibrating in his clenched hand. He drew it close to his face, fully expecting to see his daughter’s number printed across the screen. It wasn’t, and he had no desire to talk to the low life that now wanted his attention. In fact, the call pissed him off. He made a mental note to ensure that this greaser, who had the balls to interrupt his morning, never had the opportunity to disrupt him again. Ever.
He hit the redial for his daughter and waited, his patience growing ever shorter. Her voice mail kicked on, again.
“I’m tired of this. You need to call me, now. You know the damned rules, and you’re breaking every one of them. You also know that will only piss me off. Is that why you’re ignoring me? I’m your father and—” His daughter’s voice mail response abruptly cut him off with a mechanical rejection that was close to a slap in the face, in his eyes.
Staring at the phone, he closed his large hand around it and hurled it against the pastel, stucco wall. It sounded like a gunshot as the impact shattered the phone.
In a flash, two muscular men sprinted around the corner, guns drawn and looking for all the world like they’d shoot anything that moved and ask questions later. Just the way Randall wanted it.
“Boss? Are ya okay, mon?” asked one of the men, bloodshot eyes accenting the concern on his ebony face. He was larger than his companion, by six inches and thirty pounds, but quicker and far more dangerous. It made him a perfect fit for his number one bodyguard.
Randall cocked his head “No, Braxton, I’m not okay. My daughter seems to think ignoring me is some sort of silly-ass game, and it’s pissing me off. Royally.”
“Yah, sir. Dos kids can be hard ta know.”
“That they can, my friend. But given the nature of my . . . profession, I don’t have room for games.”
The big man put his weapon back in his holster and motioned for the other man to leave. “So do we get da plane ready ta go?”
“I can’t afford not to. Make sure all of my meetings are rescheduled and be ready to go within the hour.”
“All of dem, Mr. Fogerty?”
“Yes, Braxton, all. Our folks from Miami will have to wait a day. I’m going to Puerto Rico. And when I find Amanda, she and that poor excuse for a husband will wish I’d stayed in Barbados.”
“Ye’sir.”
Braxton moved away, and Fogerty glanced at the ocean again. He hated this feeling. He wasn’t used to not having his way.
Walking to the front of the house, he realized that he’d have to teach his daughter and her husband the lesson of a lifetime. It would be best for Amanda, not so good for shithead, but life was full of choices, and he’d made this one—for all of them.
Chapter-6
It was approaching noon and over eighty-five degrees when he pulled his rented hybrid SUV in front of the visitor’s center. His hand felt moist from gripping the gear shift. He removed his sunglasses and, through the sun roof, absorbed the magical blue sky of Puerto Rico as perspiration tumbled down his neck.
He’d chosen not to turn the air conditioning on for several reasons, but mostly because he enjoyed the raw heat that his island provided. He especially took pleasure in the humidity because it made him feel more in touch with how nature should be, how it had evolved, not how mankind was altering it. Nature had its marvelous methods, and he more than embraced them.
Certainly there was survival of the fittest. Plants would go extinct only to be replaced by others that were stronger, more proficient at adapting to the local and global environments. The same was echoed with every species of fauna
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