Page 75 of Love Bound

"Who? Who is Claire Russo?" Miller asks.

Just hearing him say her name makes me want to throw up.

"I don’t know no Claire Russo," Miller says.

"If you come around here again—" I start to say.

"What? Why would I want to do anything to her? She didn't kill my brother. I guess she must be your girl? Yeah, she is. I can tell. And her sisters are hot too," Miller spits out.

I want to fucking kill him.

Bryce is tense, waiting for any cause to leap and hold me back. But I'm not stupid.

"My brother's been dead for three years and I miss him like hell. If you hadn't put him in prison, he'd still be here. But I don't hate you, man. It's just that every time I look in the mirror, I see him." His smile uncoils into a line. "It's a twin thing. We're still connected. We're Michigan boys." Suddenly his voice drops. "We weren't even supposed to be in Boston. And then he gets knifed a week before release. Seven days, asshole."

Bryce's voice is matter-of-fact, like he's reading the conditions on a contract, when he says, "If you are caught outside the state and off the boat you will be in noncompliance with your parole and you will continue to serve time." Bryce's rattling off the rules makes Miller’s smile return.

The guy winks at me, just like in the courtroom. "Well, I'm just doin' my job. I'm a cook now on that fancy boat. Maybe one day I'll own a boat like that." Turning the lock and pushing the door open a little, he pauses and then adds, "Girlfriend already? Is two years enough time? Seems kinda early don't it, to be fucking some other bitch?"

I feel Bryce's arm in front of me, blocking my lunge before I realize I've even moved. Grabbing the back of my shirt, Bryce pulls me off, but it’s enough time to derail my attempt. I feel played, set up, but I can’t stop myself. Miller's taken everything from me and he's going to try to do it again.

Again.

"You saw this," Miller says to Bryce, jumping inside his shitty apartment and holding out a cell phone. "I'm recording this. I'm scared for my life, Mr. Tucker. I think Mr. Colton has a vendetta against me." Lowering his voice, Miller continues, "That's why I had a harassment order signed by a judge." He nods at me. "By a judge. You know, Judge Oliver."

Bryce pushes me toward the direction of the car, and I've come enough to my senses to keep walking straight to it. I can hear Bryce saying something else to the asshole before the door slams and a dog next door starts barking.

Within seconds, Bryce is back behind the wheel and we’re peeling out of the alley. Blood pounds in my ears but not hard enough to drown out his questions.

"Wasn't that the judge at the trial? And what the fuck is this about a restraining order?" Bryce asks.

***

Colton Security Systems is housed in one of the most iconic buildings in Boston. The John Hancock building stands sixty stories high and takes on whatever color the sky is, in shimmering walls of glass. According to Nic, we now occupy an entire floor, having to ever expand the cybersecurity division.

When I left the company two years ago, there were still two smaller office suites on the west side of the building: a brokerage firm and an educational resource company. But now Colton Security has swallowed those suites as well. We have a designated helicopter pad on the roof. And a sweet H155, the fastest non-military unit, sits there. Her name is Swifty.

Cybersecurity is overseen by Rosa Gonzalez, a thirty-three-year-old whiz who is people savvy and knows how to listen to her elders. She supervises a fleet of nearly two dozen, mostly men, and all are older than she is. But she’s smart enough to know they've seen things she hasn't, so while she has the calculating tech brain advantage, they offer rich histories, and she knows how to leverage that kind of information. She's also married with two kids, and her husband works from home as a consultant for the copper industry.

Since I left, I only know the handful of the people in that division who were there before. There's another entire wing devoted to airport security. Though it’s small compared to large multinational companies like Allied that compete with us, we target municipal airports, that still need security on the tarmac and when loading and unloading luggage, supplies, and shipping containers.

Our workforce is split right down the middle, and men and women work together as a team. No titles on doors, no hierarchy except when it comes to accountability. Nic and I had decided early on we wanted to run a small, efficient company and not implode because we got too fat and too sloppy. My area of supposed expertise was personal security for homes, personal property, and companies.

The truth is, as it turns out, none of it mattered.

Walking by my old office, I'm surprised to see my name on the door as if I had just stepped out. Nic's is the next one around the corner. I gave him the corner office. Jackson always called it Office Squared because of the two sweeping panes of glass that meet at ninety degrees, affording a fantastic view of Boston and the harbor. At the time, I thought he needed it. Now, it all just makes sense. It's his company to run now, his vision. Office Squared suits a CEO.

Nic stands in front of the glass, his back to me as I enter. From behind, his back cuts a trimmed "V" and he looks more like he's headed out to a piazza for lunch in Italy with a film producer than dressing down his former business partner. Speaking over his shoulder, he drops his voice. "We made a decision, years ago not to be rash. Do you remember that?"

"I'm not going to jeopardize—"

"You already have."

"Listen, you don’t know—"

Nic spins around and confronts me, his face, furious. "Oh, that's right. I don’t know. I don’t know what it feels like to lose a wife and child." That stings, but he raises an arm. "Or see a murderer get away with it. Or see my girlfriend attacked."

"Miller is—"