"Who are they, Mark? What do they want? Why her?"
The waitress comes and gets our drink orders, and we order our food so she won't bother us again until it's ready.
"Cole," he says sternly. "If I tell you-" I make a face. "When I tell you, you have to promise me that you'll let me handle it. Please let me do this."
I pound my fist on the table, making our waters spill over a little. I practice on my breathing so I won't lose my temper again.
"Mark, just tell me," I demand through gritted teeth.
"Blake's father's last name is Brennan. Her mother's was Benson. As in Brian Benson."
He says it with such assurance, as if I'm supposed to know who the hell that is. As if he's saying...oh shit, Brian Benson? My eyes shoot up to his. Son of a...no way. I shake my head vehemently as I look into his expectant wide blue eyes.
"Brian Benson?" I whisper hoarsely. When he nods his head, I want to die.
He nods his head. "—is Blake's grandfather."
My head feels like it's inside a hamster ball, spinning and hitting everything in sight. Brian Benson is like the fucking Godfather. No, not like, he is the fucking godfather. He's the mob boss of mob bosses. Brian fucking Benson. Oh my God. It's all starting to come back to me. Blake's grandfather's farm. My farm now. What the fuck?
"Why the hell do I own Brian Benson's farm?" I whisper.
Mark's eyebrows shoot up. "His farm?"
I shoot him a look. "Don't be stupid. I know that you know."
Mark looks confused. "No, I really don't. What the hell are you talking about?"
I let out a breath and rub my forehead, trying to rein in my impending headache.
"Forget it. How do I find Brian?"
He chokes on the sip of water he's taking. "What?" he coughs out.
"Brian. How do I find him?" I ask, exasperated.
"You don't, Cole. Are you out of your fucking mind?"
"Yes, I fucking am," I shout. "I've been out of my fucking mind. I'm dying over here. I can't breathe, I can't sleep, I can't think! My mind is running marathons half the time. You know what? Forget it! I'll figure it out my own damn self!"
He exhales sharply. "Calm down!" he bellows. "I'll take you to him. I'll fucking take you to him!"
My eyes bug out of my face. "What? How?"
He tells me to let him handle that and that he'll take me to meet Brian soon. I just need to give him more time, but he's running out of time with me. Meanwhile, I can't even begin to process how the hell Mr. Fucking Big Time Attorney knows Brian motherfucking Benson. Well, he is a criminal attorney, maybe he's pulling in a favor. I don't care what he's doing, I need to find my girl.
A couple of days later, I'm standing outside my building waiting for Mark to pick me up and take me to see Brian. I hear Mark's Aston Martin before he pulls up to me and unlocks the doors. Before my ass even hits the seat, he's handing me a flask. I take it, giving him a confused look as I bring it up to my lips.
"Trust me, you'll need it," he says as he speeds off.
We're silent during the ride, no sounds other than the cool breeze powering out of the air vents. Comfortable silence is just about the only thing I can handle right now because I sure as shit don't want to talk, and I don't care much to hear what he has to say. Instead, I focus my attention on the LED lights that glow against the darkness before us, the only thing illuminating our journey. As my mind drifts to Blake, I stop paying attention to the roads and signs around me. Again I wonder why they have her, what they're feeding her, and where they're keeping her.
I put my face in my hands and feel the steel of the flask hit my forehead. The pain in my chest is becoming unbearable. Why couldn't they fucking take me? I'd gladly take her place. God, please let her be okay. She has to be okay. I don't realize I'm breathing heavily until Mark places his hand on my shoulder and looks at me with concern. I take a couple of deep breaths to calm down before staring back out into the night.
We pull up to a mansion with a massive iron gate that has the initial B in the middle. Mark opens his window and punches in a code to open the gates. He has the damn code?
"How do you know Brian?" I ask cautiously.
He turns to me with a smirk. "Oh...he's my father."
My jaw drops and all I can do is gape at him while he laughs at the shock on my face.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" I growl when I finally come to my senses.
Before he can even make a coherent reply without laughing at me, I'm standing in front of the large oval dungeon door in the front of the house. Mark rings the doorbell as I nervously wipe my sweaty hands on my pant legs. Moments later, we're greeted by an elderly woman dressed in a French maid outfit. No joke. I try not to laugh but surely that is just about as weird as it gets. I nod my head and smile politely, as Mark greets her with a hug. He turns and introduces me to Ethel and I shake her hand before we walk past her.
We approach what I'm assuming is a smoking room, because it smells like straight wood and cigar smoke. When we walk in, a gray-haired old man is sitting on one side of a poker table reading a newspaper.
"Pops," Mark greets, making the old man look up over his paper.
My stomach drops when I meet his big, piercing gray eyes. Brian fucking Benson. Any doubt I may have had about him being related to Blake vanishes along with my dignity, because I'm pretty sure I'm going to sell my soul to this guy so I can get my girl back. The longer I stand staring into his stormy eyes, the bigger the hole in my chest gets. Those eyes have haunted and saved me for the past twenty-six years. I clear my throat so I don't start crying like a little bitch in front of one of the most notorious men I've heard of.
"Nathan," the old man says as he searches my face.
I clear my throat again, trying to get rid of the fucking golf ball stuck in it. "Cole...but yes, sir," I say as I extend a hand out to him.
He shakes it. He's a tall man, almost as tall as I am and he's wearing khaki shorts and a polo. I don't know what the fuck I was expecting him to be wearing, but it sure as shit wasn't this.
"You've grown up, son," he says with a smile. I must have made a face because he starts laughing. "Were you expecting me to scream or be a pissed off old man?" he asks, amused.
"I didn't really think about it, sir, but I didn't expect you to be wearing regular clothes, that's for sure," I reply honestly.
His laughter fills the room, and Mark joins in shortly after. My mind is still reeling as I watch him hug Mark tightly and kiss him on both cheeks before turning back to me.
"Don't sir me, call me Brian. You used to call me Grandpa as a kid, but I don't expect you to remember that. Sit," he says, pointing at the chair across from the one he was sitting in. "Mark filled me in on everything. I gotta say, I was shocked as shit when I found out about Blake. I thought they were trying to play me, until Mark here came to me about it. Anyway, I'm expecting company tonight, so we need to air this shit about before they get here. There will be no mention of Blake around anybody else in this house. Understand?"