Piece by Piece

37. Summer School

Davyn had so much shit to do, it was driving him insane. And yet, it wasn't enough to keep Millie off his brain. Oh, no. She'd dug herself deep in there with her letters and her drawings and letting him know that he actually mattered to somebody.

He mattered to her. Enough for her to come well out of her comfort zone and send him intricate sketches of what he could only guess were the two of them interlocked in poses that spoke volumes. Yep, he definitely needed her back.

Ever since getting her letter in which she'd mentioned she missed getting down and dirty with him, he'd been seconds away from grabbing his car keys and driving over to her place. It was a four hour drive. No big deal. He could get there in the evening, break into her room, screw her brains out, and then be back by morning. Easy.

But he knew it wasn't easy. If he did that once, he would have to do it again. And again, and again, until he'd exhaust himself. He couldn't afford to do that. Life as Snitch Gravel was not a walk in the park.

Once Harkin had brought him all the paper trail, he'd worked on figuring out the size of the operation, doubled by interviews with the men under his command. To say they were shocked to see Snitch Gravel for the first time was an understatement. But the shock was two-sided since Davyn hadn't expected so many of them to be actual grown-ups. He could swear that some of those men were nearing forty.

And yet, he'd kept his cool, apprised them, asked what they expected in return for their service. The answers were predictable. Money and reputation. And what he asked for in return was unwavering loyalty. He wasn't as dumb as to believe that it would happen. But he had to put it out there. Because some would bite. And those who did would help him keep everything else under control.

The hour was late, and his eyes went astray as he took in the latest numbers. With a groan, he rubbed his face. His idea to let his facial hair grow had proven brilliant since it made him look older and more imposing, but that didn't mean it wasn't itchy and uncomfortable. He was glad that he'd shave it all off soon enough.

"Getting tired, boss?"

Harkin stretched his arms, looking fairly exhausted himself. Over the past month and a half, their animosity had died down considerably, and this was one particular weakness that Davyn didn't mind admitting to him.

"It's been a long day." He leaned back in his leather chair and rolled his shoulders.

His muscles ached in protest. He'd gotten his ass handed to him in the latest MMA class, and as grateful as he was for the chance at improvement, he wished it didn't make sitting down such a pain.

"It has been, yes," Baron conceded. "But are the results to your liking?"

Davyn closed the folder in front of him and put it in the pile to his right. "Moderately so. I will give the men credit for following orders, but there's still a long way to go until they'll give the most they can."

Baron stiffened. Davyn knew why, but he didn't care. He picked up the next folder and opened it, glancing at the sales and supplies numbers.

"Can't we move on to phase two?"

There it was. "We will."

"It's taking longer than I thought it would."

Of course it did. As far as dear ole Nicholas "Baron" Harkin was concerned, Snitch Gravel should've started producing double the money the moment he became real.

"Tell me, Nicholas, haven't the sales improved? Your reputation?"

"You mean your reputation." But he faltered, wringing his hands together. "Yes, they have."