Love & Corruption: A Love & Ruin Standalone Novel Read online

  “We’ll finish later. Sorry, ladies.” I lifted Lindsey off me, my dick screaming in protest while I slipped the condom off and tossed it in the little garbage can near the dresser. I pulled my shirt and jeans on, opened the door, and ushered them out.

  “This had better be good,” I said grumpily to ZW.

  He handed me his cell phone, then his attention dropped to the floor.

  “Find me when you’re done.” He quietly walked back down the hall toward the party.

  “Hello?” I asked, covering the other ear with my hand in an attempt to drown out the loud rap music.

  I listened to the female voice on the other end, my breath catching in my throat with her words.

  And just like that my birthday celebration came to a screeching halt.

  Chapter 2

  There weren’t many things in life that rattled my cage. Between my time in the military and now working for a high-profile security company, I'd seen it all. But this shook me to the core of my being.

  “Son?” My father’s attorney, Gary Winston, asked. He leaned forward in his plush black leather chair and propped his elbows on the table, his bushy gray eyebrows blending into one as he frowned and waited for my response. I stared at the documents in front of me and tried to wrap my head around what the hell I was looking at. I cleared my throat, breaking the heavy silence in his upscale office.

  Less than twenty-four hours ago I’d received the call that turned my life upside down, and now I sat in front of Mr. Winston with my heart in my throat.

  “I know the sudden loss of your father is a huge shock.” He shook his head, sorrow written on his face. “It’s a shock to us all. That said, as was his way, he was prepared for this eventuality. It’s all spelled out in there,” Mr. Winston explained, nodding at the papers. “Everything your father owned is now yours.”

  Regardless of the floor-to-ceiling windows and the breathtaking views of the mountains around Spokane still capped in pristine white snow, I was smothering in how wrong it felt. I stood quickly, knocking the heavy chair that probably cost thousands of dollars to the floor.

  “Sorry,” I muttered and picked it up with one hand. My attention scanned the room, from the bookshelves filled with law books to the elephant ear plants in two of the corners. But the only thing I could focus on was getting the hell out of there.

  “I’m here to help you through any questions you have, Pierce.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Winston. I’ll be in touch. I need some time, though …” My words trailed off. What I wanted to say had lodged in my throat, leaving me speechless. That I shouldn’t be here at all. My father shouldn’t be dead.

  I gathered the papers and manila envelope that held my future in it from the edge of his cherry wood desk and offered him a tight smile.

  “Anything at all, please reach out.” Mr. Winston stood, his large brown eyes filling with compassion. He’d been my father’s attorney for over twenty years. They were friends. Golfing buddies. Hunting partners.

  I gave him a quick wave and nearly ran out of his office. Inhaling a sharp breath, I hurried down the beige-carpeted hallway and in the direction of the elevator.

  “Pierce, wait,” Mr. Winston called from his doorway. “I almost forgot.”

  I whirled around. What more was there to say?

  “Your father's assistant emailed me the details of your next assignment. You'll need this information.”

  Frowning, I moved toward him and took the white envelope from his long, bony fingers. Was this the information Dad had planned on sharing with me today when we met for lunch? Our last conversation had been yesterday on my birthday. He was gone a few hours later. Twenty-seven years ago, to the day, he’d become a father. It was also the day he’d left his only son behind.

  “Thanks.” My head swam. Westbrook Security, the penthouse, the Porsche, Mercedes, hunting cabin, and more were all mine. In the blink of an eye, I’d gone from a working man to a billionaire who owned a wildly successful security company. Although I was aware Dominic Westbrook was financially comfortable, I had no idea of his real worth. And I’d trade it all to have my father back.

  I studied the envelope while I waited impatiently for the elevator, wearily rubbing my chin and releasing a heavy sigh. Did I even want to take an assignment? How would I manage the company? Dad had taught me all the ins and outs of the business in order for me to take over someday, but that was when he was seventy, not fifty-three. He wasn’t supposed to have died from a heart attack in his Portland, Oregon penthouse. Alone.

  “Fuck.” I leaned my forehead against the wall and attempted to digest the situation. The elevator chimed and whooshed open. Stepping inside, I pushed the button, noted the mirrored wall, and wondered why Dad had gone back to Portland last night instead of staying at his home here in Spokane. We’d made plans to meet for lunch this afternoon when he called me. Not that it mattered, it was only an hour flight. He could have easily gone home if he needed to attend to business at corporate headquarters, turned back around, and met me for lunch. But his call had carried a hint of urgency along with his well wishes. What had happened to take him back there unexpectedly?

  The ding of the elevator pulled me from my thoughts. As I pushed through the front door of the building, a chilly, early October wind whipped down the back of my neck, causing me to involuntarily shiver. I pulled my jacket around me and hurried to locate my Mercedes in the parking lot. It was a company car. Which I now owned. Slipping on my Ray-Bans, I unlocked the car and slid into the driver’s seat. I tossed the fat envelope of papers, titles, and keys on the passenger floorboard.

  I closed my eyes, mentally preparing a checklist. The first thing I needed to do was go to his house, then call ZW and Redd. Overwhelmed with the reality that I now owned a huge company, and I’d be attending my dad’s funeral in a few days, I rested my head against the steering wheel. But the fact that I'd be burying my dad soon caused me to break out in a cold sweat, like I was going to throw up at any second.

  I took a few deep breaths. As much as I’d like to wallow in denial for a while longer, I didn’t have that luxury. I had to move forward. One step at a time. That was it. The only thing I had to do right now was call my friends.

  For Dad’s taste, his house in Spokane was small. He preferred his penthouse in Portland and rarely stayed here. But it was a real estate investment, and he liked having his own space when he was in town. I punched in the key code and listened as the front door unlocked with a loud click. Pushing it open, I stepped inside, then shut it. An eerie silence greeted me, but it was the sight of his well-used gray wool cardigan hanging on the coat rack that rattled me to my core. I always teased him, saying he resembled a grandpa when he wore it and he insisted it was comfortable and the perfect "smoking jacket" for when he indulged in a King of Denmark cigar. I lifted it to my nose, inhaled the lingering scent of sweet, leafy tobacco, and shut my eyes against the sting of tears threatening to fall.

  The afternoon sunshine poured through the living room and kitchen. Dad was a huge fan of the open concept floor plan. If there were ever an intruder, he had a better chance of taking him out if there wasn’t anywhere to hide.

  I sucked in a breath, the stark reality of his death stabbing me in the gut. Rubbing the back of my neck, I scanned the black leather couch where we’d sat and had a drink while we discussed business. A dark brown blanket was draped on the back of the matching recliner, and his daily crossword puzzle rested on top of the latest novel he’d started to read.

  Swallowing down my grief, I wandered mindlessly into the kitchen. I tossed my paperwork on the white marble counter and went straight to his well-stocked liquor cabinet. Dad was a bourbon man and preferred Elmer T. Lee, but he always kept a good selection of booze on hand for friends and scotch for me. I poured a healthy amount into a tumbler, slammed it back, and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. An alcohol induced warmth traveled down my throat and into my stomach. I poured another shot and grabbed my phone. It was ti
me to talk to my partners.

  ZW and Redd arrived half an hour after I’d called them.

  “Jesus, are you shittin’ me?” ZW took a long pull from his Corona. He placed it on Dad’s oak table, flipped a dark lock of hair out of his face, and leaned forward. I could see the wheels turning in his head while he processed the news.

  “No. I’m your new boss.” The weight of the situation settled heavily on my shoulders.

  “And worth billions. Dude, it sucks you lost your dad. We all thought of him as family, and he was one hell of a good boss. But you don’t even have to work again if you don’t want to.” Redd smoothed his lightly stubbled jawline as he spoke.

  “I’m not going to make any decisions about the company yet. And I don’t want to panic any of the employees. Hell, I don’t even know how many people work for me. I can’t do this on my own, though. Not right now.”

  ZW narrowed his green eyes as his attention fixated on me. “What do you need from us?”

  No matter what was going down, ZW always kept his head on straight and was the first one to step up. We were both a few years older than Redd, and ZW brought the experience to the table when I needed him the most.

  “Here are all the active assignments.” I pushed a folder toward them. “We'll need to review the files quickly and identify all the security leads. They can give us a rundown of the rest of the teams. Then we’re flying to Portland, courtesy of Dad’s private plane.”

  “What? You’re going back? Listen, we can take care of anything in Portland for you. You don’t have to …” Redd shook his head in disbelief.

  “Yeah, man. I’m game. We’ll take care of everything there for you,” ZW agreed.

  I hesitated. Nine years ago, I’d sworn I’d never return. No way in hell did I want to go back, but I had business and legal matters to take care of. Fate had left me no other choice than to stare down my past.

  “We are going back. Pack your bags because we’ll be there for a few days. Dad’s penthouse has three bedrooms, we’ll stay there. I’ve never seen it, but I know he loved it there. Apparently the view of Mount Hood is spectacular. Guess I’ll judge it for myself.”

  Knots twisted in my stomach at the mere thought of returning to my old stomping grounds. I’d told Dad I was willing to travel anywhere for an assignment, but not Oregon. Not Portland. He never pushed the issue as he was well aware of the painful memories I associated with that city, my mom being at the top of the list.

  In my eyes, Mom had been perfect. My dad, on the other hand, not so much. While Mom struggled as a single parent, Dad had been traveling the world, building his fortune. He was also married to someone else and had split the moment Mom told him she was pregnant, leaving her alone to work her ass off and keep an ornery son in check. She'd refused to talk about him, and I'd had no idea who he was. Mom had risked everything to keep me. Not once did she ever shame me or make me feel unwanted. She had been my hero. And I’d lost her to cancer when I was eighteen.

  Not long after I came home from the Marines, Dad showed up out of the blue to recruit me for a job, but when he introduced himself, he used his mother’s maiden name, Keys, and not Westbrook. I had no idea who he really was. He trained me, accompanied me on assignments, and took me under his wing. When he finally told me he was my father, it had sent me reeling backward. How the hell he had the balls to lie to me for six months then introduce himself was beyond me—not to mention fucked up. When I’d confronted him about his messed up approach, he’d admitted he was worried I’d take off and he’d lose his son again. I couldn’t even look at him for a week.

  Although I was trying to figure my life out, I returned to work just as Dad had assisted the police with a child abduction case. He bent several rules, but he stopped at nothing to bring the little girl home safely. The image of him holding the terrified seven-year-old and handing her over to the cops had burned itself on my mind for eternity. There was no way he was the same man that had left my mom if he valued life like I’d witnessed.

  Finally, I realized he was sincere, and we’d become … friends. After a lot of deep introspection of what he meant to me, I stayed with Proline Security and built a relationship with my father. I’d never regretted my decision, either. Shortly after I learned the truth, Dad rebranded and switched the name of the business to Westbrook Security. He said he wanted our name on the business. Plus he’d just finished his divorce and wanted a fresh start.

  “Listen, I’m going to need your help managing the employees as well as giving me updates on the assignments. Dad taught me the ropes in the field, but he’d only recently started teaching me the inner workings of the business. He wanted to make sure I could step in when he retired. No one, including him, had expected him to pass away so soon. So here I am. You’ll each have a company car now, too. If you can give me a week, I’ll look at your pay and increase your salaries accordingly. I trust you both with my life, now I need to trust you with my business as well.”

  “I’m in. Anything you need, boss.” The word "boss" flowed off Redd’s tongue with ease.

  These guys. I loved them like family. Hell, they were family as far as I was concerned. They'd helped me through some tough times in the past and they were doing it once again.

  “Me too,” ZW agreed.

  “Meet me back here in a few hours. Park your cars in the driveway so it looks as though people are here. Word is already circulating that Dad’s … gone. I don’t want any old enemies popping up out of nowhere. In their eyes, we’re at our weakest.” I hesitated, realizing a human punching bag might make me feel better. “Little do they know I’d welcome the distraction.”

  Chapter 3

  The wheels of the small plane bounced along the landing strip. My anxiety immediately kicked up a notch and my stomach plummeted to my toes. Portland was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come back, but I’d not had much of a choice.

  Twenty minutes later Redd, ZW, and I exited the airport. The wind had kicked up right before our plane had landed, and cold sheets of rain blew sideways, pelting us while we hurried for cover. My jeans were growing wetter by the minute, sticking uncomfortably to my thighs.

  A sour taste filled my mouth, and I swallowed hard. Although it had been nine years since I’d stepped foot in Oregon, the dark memories rushed back like it had all happened yesterday.

  “The weather hasn’t changed much,” I grumbled. “Mr. Winston said our driver’s name is Jeffrey and he’d be waiting for us.”

  “Over there,” ZW said, swiping the rain from his face. At least he’d had the mind to grab a waterproof windbreaker before our flight.

  ZW pointed toward the tall, well-built African American man in a dark suit. He held a sign with my name on it.

  “Jeffrey?” I asked as we approached him.

  “Pierce Westbrook?” he asked in return. His baritone voice overpowered the sound of the harsh rain and hustle and bustle of the people around us.

  “Yes, sir,” I replied.

  He held the car door open for us, and we settled into the back, drenching wet.

  “Sir.” Jeffrey reached into a navy-blue duffle bag on the floorboard and handed us all towels, then hopped into the driver’s seat.

  “Thank you.” I stripped off my wet hoodie and dried off the best I could. Adjusting my burgundy polo shirt, I peered out the darkened window, but I couldn’t see much under the current weather conditions.

  “What do you do for my father?” I asked Jeffrey, noting his height as he wiped away the rain from his forehead with long, dark fingers. He flicked the water off his suit and cleared his throat.

  “Well, sir, I now work for you,” he said considerately. “I’ve been in your father’s employ for ten years. I’m his driver, and I run errands for him, among other things that I’ll be happy to explain when we’re alone.”

  I nodded. In other words, he was my father’s go-to guy. If my suspicions were accurate, Dad trusted him with a lot more than his grocery list. I wasn’t in the mood to force h
is hand at the moment, though. I’d need to meet with him and see what he could help me with while I was here.

  “Welcome back,” ZW muttered to me, swiping the towel over his wet, blonde hair. “I wonder if Sayler’s Country Kitchen delivers. I could use a good hunk of beef.”

  Normally I’d agree with ZW, but I wasn’t hungry. Not even close. I wanted to see the penthouse, take care of Dad’s … my business, and head back home. In. Out. Then I could put the Portland nightmare of a past behind me once and for all.

  I sank into a moody silence as Jeffrey navigated the limo out of the airport and headed for the Pearl District.

  Thirty minutes later, Jeffrey unloaded our bags from the trunk, and we followed him through the vast lobby. A large crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling and our shoes smacked loudly against the white marble floor. For a moment, my thoughts flashed back to Franklin Harrington’s house and my last assignment. The chandelier, the marble floors … Gemma. Mackenzie. Hendrix. Cade. Franklin. I missed them more than I thought possible.

  When we stepped into the elevator, Jeffrey produced a keycard required to access the penthouse floor and swiped it on the panel before punching the P button. My attention traveled to my two best friends and now employees. They were on high alert with their shoulders squared and focused.

  The elevator dinged, and the doors whooshed open. ZW and Redd exited first while Jeffrey held open the doors for me.

  “Clear,” ZW called over his shoulder.

  This would take getting used to. I’d need my own security. For years, I’d been the person to step out first, survey the area, and clear it. And overnight … I was the client.

  I walked to the entrance of the penthouse, punched in the code, then stepped back while Redd and ZW entered first. A few minutes later, they returned for Jeffrey and me.

  “She’s a fucking beaut,” Redd said. “Mr. Westbrook had exceptional taste.”