The Bodyguard: A BWWM Bad Body Romance(57)

But if something had happened to Blackjack, it meant one of two things: That Solomon would become twice as paranoid and almost impossible to pigeonhole into doing something that could get him caught, or he’d be vulnerable enough to do something stupid. Hank had to hope that it was the latter.

That would be the best option for Juliet.

“What the fuck happened? Where is he?” Hank glanced up at the ceiling overhead when another crash made the entire house quake. “I need answers. NOW!”

He was the only one here who could take any sort of satisfaction from Solomon’s distress. If he hadn’t had practice in similar situations, he might have given himself away. Instead, Hank merely sat on the couch, stone-faced, as he waited to be given his orders.

If there were any coming at all.

After another twenty minutes of Solomon trying to bring the house down, Shawn finally descended from the upper level. Blood trickled down his chin from where Solomon had obviously slugged him and he was limping, but Hank expected worse. His expression was both pissed and terrified, and he leaned against the banister at the end of the stairs for a long minute before finally speaking.

“Angus is fucking dead. Got shot in a convenience store on the East Side.”

The room went completely quiet as each and every man present absorbed the gravity of the statement and what it might mean. When Shawn continued, however, Hank was snatched from his contemplation to the present. “Birch, Towns, Jose. Solomon wants to see you upstairs.”

Hank’s alias for this particular operation was Elias Birch - a thug who had grown up on the South Side and occasionally indulged in drugs and prostitutes for his entertainment. Birch didn’t have shit to his name and thought that signing up with Solomon was a good way to pay the bills. He was the antithesis of Hank - but he still played the role like a fucking Oscar-award winner. It was either that, or make an idiotic mistake.

Without a word, he followed Towns and Jose upstairs. No doubt Solomon was in a mood, but when he called, you went. No questions asked. Hank swallowed his pride and girded his loins. He hadn’t been afforded very many face to face meetings with Solomon, but every one was a test of his patience. The little rat hadn’t changed one bit since he slung as a teen. If anything, he was more obnoxious and unhinged. Birch had only been called in for minor assignments that required pure muscle - but if Blackjack was dead, someone was going to move up.

If it was him...that could provide him with some unique opportunity. That was, if he didn’t kill Solomon with his own hands first.

He, Towns and Jose headed up the stairs slowly. The house was old and the rotting wood always threatened to give out. Solomon liked to bitch that his father was still probably living in the lap of luxury somewhere while he was holed up in a sty. He had a million plans for his enterprise surpassing his father’s - and yet Caesar Aguiler still had three quarters of the city under his thumb.

Solomon had no idea just how soon his demise was - and it was Hank’s job to ensure things remained that way.

Despite the fact that ten guys were required to stay in the house around the clock, Solomon had commandeered the entire top floor for himself. One of the bedrooms was his and the other served as his office. Not that it mattered - they moved around a lot to ensure that he avoided police detection. At least, in theory.

When the three entered Solomon’s office, it was a wreck. He had knocked the few paintings from the wall and shattered a glass vase. His sister, perpetually at his side, cowered in a corner, covered in bruises, and the man himself stood before a window, looking out at the neighborhood below. For almost a full minute, he said nothing to any of them. When he finally turned, his expression was thunderous.

“I’m sure Shawn has already mentioned that we fucking lost Blackjack. Surely you can imagine I’m not pleased.” He uttered the words between clenched teeth, and Hank did his best not to stare right into Solomon’s dull, idiotic face. Whenever he did, he was faced with an urge to cave it in that was almost impossible to resist. “So we need to step it up. I’m putting you guys on a high priority task so I’m telling you and no one else: I want Juliet in my fucking lap within the next forty eight hours or there’s gonna be hell to pay.”

Immediately, Hank stiffened. “This doesn’t leave this room, alright?” Solomon continued, incensed, as he rounded the desk to stand before them. “They fucking found her. She was in that damned convenience store with two FBI hounds. Blackjack tried to grab her and the bitch shot him.”

“What?” Hank reacted without thinking. The word escaped long before he could stop it as panic curled into a tight, painful ball in his gut. What the hell had Juliet been doing out of the house? Simmons would never have let her step off the property, let alone come all the way to the city. What was she thinking? What was Simmons thinking?

“Fuck did you say?” All at once, Solomon was standing before him. He was a head taller, but far leaner, and, for once, Hank had no choice but to gaze into those beady eyes of his. He steeled himself inwardly, adopting a look of confused fear.

“I just meant ‘what the fuck?’ How could a little girl take down someone like Angus, you know?” He could only hope that the statement was enough to assuage the man before him. For what seemed like an eternity, Solomon merely stared him down. It might have made a lesser man quake in his boots but Hank just did his damndest not to knock the fucker down a few pegs.