A Soul Redeemed Read online

  “Mr. Dane. Mr. Mitchell. Glad to have you on board.” Franklin’s look wasn’t one of respect but of annoyance.

  Camden took note as he shook the man’s hand. “We need to discuss the situation, Mr. Parker.”

  “Situation,” Franklin repeated, a snarl curling on his lip.

  “Yes, three accidents in two months is an issue,” Mitchell stated.

  Franklin opened his mouth as if to issue a nasty retort then motioned to the two others in his group. “This is my toolpusher, Brian Williams. Riggers call him Tank, and this is one of our engineers, Steven Michaels.”

  Camden looked at Mitchell. Had his friend known Tank worked on this rig? By Mitchell’s blank expression, he wasn’t able to tell. One thing was for certain, with Tank on board, they could have found their saboteur.

  Tank’s eyes flashed anger as well as hatred.

  The roughneck had his own reasons for loathing both of them. Was he still angry enough to make certain Rush Enterprises could be picked off by a competitor? “We very much appreciate all you’re doing here, especially with regard to the fire. I may want to talk with both of you in a few minutes, but I need to speak with Mr. Parker first.” Camden noticed that Tank was processing every scrap of information. He knew very little about the man other than his reputation as powering through any task. However, he obviously couldn’t stand Franklin Parker.

  “Go ahead. Leave us!” Franklin commanded.

  “We may need to talk with both of you later,” Mitchell added.

  Tank nodded and gave a military salute.

  Camden could swear the man flipped them the bird. Tamping back his anger, he waited until the other two moved off before turning to face Franklin.

  “The man is an animal,” Franklin stated loudly enough that Tank bristled.

  “Is there somewhere that we can talk?” Camden plastered on a corporate smile, the very one taught to him by Mitchell. Tank was a hardhead, a man whose anger issues had created significant problems in the early days. What a shame. He was also brilliant, holding a computer programming background as well as an associate degree in engineering. He’d given up after his experience with the early stages of Rush. To find him here, working on this rig reminded him of the last time he’d seen a man once considered a close friend. He would find out everything he could later. At this point, he had to deal with the circumstances at hand.

  “We can talk right here. Whatever you need to say to me, you can say out in the open,” Franklin said, half laughing.

  Mitchell moved closer, his eyebrows raised.

  Camden chuckled and shook his head. “That’s perfectly fine with me. There’s another storm rolling in and we need to get back to the office. Mr. Parker, you’re fired.”

  Nash Waters stood on the elevator, counting every reason he loathed coming to Dallas. He hated the corporate world, men in suits and ties, parading around as if their existence was important. He’d been summoned to the office of Rush Enterprises, given only a few hours to come to a very important meeting. What the hell could be so damn important that he couldn’t be told over the telephone? He had men counting on him back in El Paso.

  Patience wasn’t one of his virtues and as the damn steel box stopped to allow a group of women to get in, cackling and giggling about one of the men in the office, he shook his head. He needed a damn vacation. When he was finally able to get off, he waited once again until the receptionist made time for him.

  “Welcome to Rush Enterprises. Can I help you?”

  Her perky voice grated his last nerve. “I’m here to see Camden Dane. Nash Waters. I’m expected.” The tone was brusque, uncaring and he could tell she was more than just intrigued given her solid once over.

  “Sure. Wait here, Mr. Waters.”

  He leaned against the counter, studying the chrome and glass space. The area was covered in glossy pictures of various sites, highlighting the increasing wealth of the company. Too bad the money wasn’t going into his dwindling bank account. At the rate he was going, he’d be forced to move into a smaller place. What did it matter? He didn’t have anyone to share his life with.

  Grousing wasn’t going to change either his financial condition or anything else. His thoughts drifted to the reason for the summons. Either he was getting fired or being forced to come to this location, which he would refuse to do. He hadn’t seen or heard from any of the corporate leaders since a few weeks after saving Mitchell Rush’s life. At least the bonus had kept him afloat for a few months.

  “Mr. Waters. Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

  The voice was smooth, practiced and in his opinion very political. As he turned, he eyed the man, curious as to why he wasn’t wearing a suit. Maybe this was the assistant, some helper sucking his way to the top. “And you are?”

  “Camden Dane, CEO of Rush Enterprises.” He held out his hand, his eyes holding amusement.

  Nash shook without making a sound, refusing to make a fool out of himself. “I’m here as requested. If you don’t mind, I’d like to get to the point of my surprise visit.”

  “Mitchell said you were direct. I like that in our employees. Come with me. Would you like anything to drink?”

  “I’m just fine.” He trailed along behind, darting looks inside the various offices. Everyone seemed busy and none of them were dressed in suits.

  “I never had a chance to thank you for saving Mitchell’s life,” Camden said as he glanced over his shoulder.

  “Doing my job.”

  Camden chuckled. “You are exactly as your reputation proclaims. Here we are. Come on in.”

  Ushered into a corner office, he was impressed at what money could buy. He recognized the former CEO, a man who gave up his lucrative spot to work on a hospital board. At least the man had a heart. “Mr. Rush.”

  “Nash. Good to have you here. We really appreciate you dropping everything,” Mitchell said, his tone genuine.

  “Sit or stand. Up to you and we can get right down to business.” Camden sat on the edge of his desk.

  Nash glanced from one to the other and remained standing. This should be good.

  “You’re aware we have several offshore rigs in the Gulf of Mexico?” Mitchell asked, the question casual.

  “Yep. I also understand several aren’t producing enough barrels to keep their existence.” Nash knew more than he allowed out in the open. Knowledge was power. At least that’s what he’d been told.

  Camden nodded, his eyes darting up and down Nash, as if sizing him up. “One in particular has a less than stellar record.”

  “14.” He could tell he’d hit a sour note. “They’ve had several fires, problems with employees and the difficult weather patterns have been used as an excuse for the production running a solid thirty percent less than expected. Coupled with two others that have experienced mechanical difficulties, you’re concerned profits as well as stock will tumble.”

  “I have a feeling you suspect there’s more going on,” Camden said, his eyes twinkling. When Nash hesitated, he waved his hand. “You can speak very freely in the confines of this office. I value the truth, not some bullshit spewed in my direction.”

  Nash was surprised at the man’s candor. Some tension eased from his body. “If you ask me, the superintendent should never had been put in the position in the first place. He’s an arrogant fool and everyone on the line knows it. He’s also dangerous.” As soon as he said the word, Camden flashed a look at Mitchell. They were fishing for information.

  “Dangerous,” Mitchell repeated.

  “When you give a man power who has no idea how to use it, that’s always dangerous.” Nash had more of an opinion but would keep the rest to himself. Still, he’d heard the rumors, fights among the crew, long hours and limited time off. The rig was a walking, talking bottle rocket.

  Mitchell chuckled. “Just like I remember you, Nash. In fact, I knew you were the right man for the job.”

  “What job?” Nash narrowed his eyes. “Last time I checked, I had a j
ob.”

  “And from what I’d heard, you’re the reason all the kinks were worked out at the Steele site. Without your expertise, the rigs would still be at half production.” Camden kept his tone even.

  “Doing my job.” Nash was growing bored. Although he didn’t mind the praise, if some shoe was going to drop, it better be quick. He had a life to get back to.

  “One, we appreciate. Let’s cut through beating around the bush. We’re all short on time. We need your help with 14. The rig superintendent has been fired for his incompetence and every day that there’s no direction, we lose thousands of dollars.” Camden grabbed a group of papers off his desk. He walked toward Nash. “An offer.”

  Nash exhaled before accepting what looked like a contract. He glanced over at Mitchell.

  “Your representation of Franklin Parker is spot on,” Mitchell said as if the words were meant for encouragement.

  Exhaling, Nash read through the paperwork twice before raising a single eyebrow. “You want me to leave Steele and take over?”

  “That’s what we need. Yes,” Mitchell confirmed.

  “What about the Steele site?”

  Camden smiled. “The plant is in full working order. You train your men well. I’m certain you can find a new leader, even in the interim.”

  This wasn’t a request and everyone in the room knew it. Nash was being backed into a corner, albeit the terms of the contract were lucrative. “What if I say no?”

  “Nash, this is your chance to move up in the organization. You will command the rig, carte blanche for the equipment you need. In six months, we can take another look. If the offshore rig isn’t the gig you’re interested in, you will have first choice going to any of our other sites, including back to Steele if that’s what you would like. We need someone solid who knows the business cold and someone we can trust. Sound reasonable?” Mitchell asked as he moved toward a small bar in the corner. “Are you certain you wouldn’t like a drink?”

  Nash mulled the possibilities and took another look at the contract. Trust. A long time had passed since the words was used in conjunction with his abilities. He liked working at Steele, but El Paso certainly wasn’t the kind of city he wanted to spend the rest of his life in. He had no ties, other than the job. “If I do this, I have conditions.”

  “Such as?” Camden’s expression held an air of amusement.

  “I hire and fire who I want when I want. No influence from corporate. I determine what’s the best method of running the operation without being stymied to any degree.” Nash didn’t give a shit whether they liked what he had to say or not. “And what the hell. I’ll take a whiskey.”

  Mitchell chuckled as he pulled another glass from the shelf. “You’re a tough man. You don’t take any shit. That’s what I like about you.”

  Nash wanted to remind him that he saved the man’s life, but the incident hadn’t been spoken of since he left the hospital. Then again, there was no reason to bring up the past. “I know how the game works and more importantly, I know what men and women are best for working an oil rig. I can tell the fakers from a mile away.”

  “Fair enough,” Camden stated. “We can add that to your contract. You should know that a good number of the men are ready to walk off the rig. I don’t think you want to start with a clean slate.”

  “I’ll get them to stay, but that may mean a change in operations.” Nash knew how many hours the riggers worked. Getting off the ship was important, vital to maintaining any level of employee morale.

  Mitchell nodded to Camden.

  “Do we have a deal?” Camden asked.

  Working with Rush had its advantages. The increase in his salary was significant. “Six-month stint?”

  “Minimum,” Camden said as he walked toward the bar.

  That meant he could get rid of his crappy apartment, cutting additional costs. “When do I need to leave?”

  Mitchell walked closer, holding out a glass. “We’ll have you flown back to El Paso after completing the paperwork. You’d leave from there day after tomorrow.”

  Nash accepted the drink. “Sounds reasonable. I’ll be ready.”

  “There is one thing I’m going to warn you about,” Mitchell said as he lifted his glass.

  He tipped his head, uncertain of what to expect. “All right.”

  “As I mentioned, certain members of the crew will be difficult to deal with. A couple in charge are… belligerent. They’ve been lied to on multiple occasions so don’t expect a cakewalk.” Camden’s tone was almost defiant. “And there may be aspects of what we ask you to report that seem out of the ordinary.”

  “Out of the ordinary. Sounds to me as if you suspect something more sinister may be going on.” Nash took a gulp of his drink and noticed the twitch in Camden’s lower lip.

  “Let’s just say we need to make certain everything on the rig is running on point. You won’t be well liked.”

  No one understood the life he’d led or the hardships faced. He could handle anything.

  What exactly were they looking for?

  Nash walked into his favorite bar, the place more like a booze and biker joint, and nodded to the single bartender. He had one day to get rid of all the crap he owned and turn in his apartment keys. That would be enough time. There was little of anything important in his life. He scanned the darkened space, acknowledging the few bikers he knew before making his way to the bar.

  “Haven’t seen you in a while,” the bartender said without inflection as he automatically pulled a beer from the cooler, popping the top. Sliding the ice-cold bottle across the top, he grabbed a rock’s glass and yanked a bottle of whiskey from behind him.

  “Been busy. Work.” He’d been coming here for almost two years and didn’t even know the burly bartender’s name. Didn’t care. The man poured a solid drink, never asked any questions and, in turn, Nash tipped him well. They were as close to friends as he’d ever want to have.

  The bartender grinned as he pushed the glass in front of Nash then held up his arm. “New ink.”

  He looked, giving a smile of appreciation. The dragon was just like the man, colorful. “Nice work. Been meaning to get a new one myself.”

  “I’ll give my guy a good word for you when you’re ready. You’ll get twenty percent off.”

  “That might be awhile, but I’ll keep that in mind.” Nash took a long pull on the beer then glanced over his shoulder.

  “She’ll be here. She’s always here on Tuesdays. Nothing ever changes in this place.” The bartender chuckled.

  Nash couldn’t help but snort. “You know me too well.”

  The bartender leaned over, lowering his voice. “That I do, my friend. That I do.”

  He sat back and grabbed the whiskey, swirling the liquid in his glass as he thought about what few possessions he considered precious. One Dodge Ram. One ’78 Trans Am and one Harley. A storage unit was needed for the precious cargo and away from the vagrants in the neighborhood. The rest? Trash. He chuckled and took a swig just as he heard her sultry voice purring into the microphone.

  He closed his eyes, savoring the way she welcomed the night, saying hello to the motley crew, men who didn’t deserve such grace and beauty. He had no idea why Lola bothered to gift her God given talent, singing one set on the beat-up stage every Tuesday for several years. He only knew he adored the woman, the way her sensuous dresses clung to her voluptuous body, the way her lilting voice issued promises of love. They could never be anything more than casual, but the time spent together had been incredible. His cock ached just thinking about the night ahead. For a short period of time, she would belong to him alone.

  “How is everyone tonight?” Lola gripped the microphone, her long, dark hair shimmering in the single blue light. She scanned the room, her lips pursed as if ready for a lover’s kiss.

  Every man acknowledged her presence, but not a single biker uttered a sound.

  “I hope you enjoy,” she cooed.

  With no pretense, no further words
needed, she began to sing.

  Nash polished off the whiskey and slid the glass across the counter, his eyes locked on the woman who’d been his lover for over a year. He knew she had another life as did he. He was aware she had other desires, men who would do her bidding. They simply clicked.

  “She’s somethin’, isn’t she?” the bartender asked as he leaned over the bar.

  “Worth waiting for.”

  “Some would say, worth dying for.”

  The expression caught him off guard. He tipped his head, eyeing the way the tattooed man’s expression had changed. Every man in the room longed to be in her bed. Few would ever achieve the goal.

  The bartender pushed another drink in his direction without asking and walked away, leaving Nash to what little time he had left. As she sang, the keyboard player merely adding chords, a melancholy aspect to her profound words of longing, he fell into a dark place. This was the same experience every time. He shifted as she continued, leaning forward in order to hear every subtle breath sound. Lola had no idea how amazing she was. But then again, she didn’t care. This was her respite from a life he suspected held damning secrets.

  As Lola continued singing, she found him, a nod of appreciation that he was in the room her only outward sign. Her words were melodic, haunting and her passion for the music unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Even the way she swayed, the crimson dress catching every man’s eye, was breathtaking.

  Nash couldn’t take his eyes off her. He clenched his fist as his balls swelled, his throbbing cock pressing against his tight jeans. His hunger was off the charts. He remained mesmerized, capturing every word, every sensual nuance. When she lowered her head, he allowed a ragged breath to escape.

  “Thank you very much. I’ll see you next Tuesday.” Lola’s voice permeated the air as the lights were extinguished.

  He turned around to face the bar, his heart racing. Tonight, he would become almost savage. He could see her reflection in the cheap mirror behind the bar, enjoying that she was keeping her distance on purpose, making Nash wait. The way she mingled through the crowd, her hand touching one man’s shoulder, a whisper of flirtatious words to another always left him spellbound. Even in a crowd full of bikers and roughnecks, she held a special air, an aura of excitement.