Chapter 21

Alexa

I have read my mother’s letter to Mr Corbyn innumerable times. Still, her consciousness of guilt and shame immerse me with a million and one questions. I wish she were here, living and breathing, so I could ask her what all of this means, for her reassurances to declutter my head. But she’s not here. Adaline Haines died a very long time ago, and it’s an unfortunate truth I must learn to accept.

Folding the letter, tucking it away, I rise from the foot of the bed, knotting the towel at my chest. Liam sleeps face down on the mattress, the messy comforter tangled between his legs. I love seeing him like this, bared to me and lost to the world. Disarmed and away from the organisation. It’s a vision I’ll never tire of, his dishevelled hair and muscular physique sprawled across the sheets. His bed choice with me.

We had the best night together—an impromptu date with the picturesque views of the coast at night. I prepared a midnight meal, which neither of us touched. It’s at the dining room table, uncovered and stone-cold. Alternatively, we luxuriated in the hot tub, facing each other. He ingested Macallan, whilst I made frequent visits to the kettle, topping up a mug of tea. Everything discussed was of no importance. It was nice, though. Normal. Topics of conversations your average couple might share: life, friends, family, love and ambitions. Nothing dark or depressing. No syndicate updates or unpleasant encumbrances.

Relaxed and moderately inebriated, which was a rare sight in itself, Liam curled a ringed finger at me. It was a silent order, for me to lose the underwear substituted as a bathing suit, and to climb onto his lap. I rode him in deep, warm water interspersed by powered effervescence. He watched me work him. His hands fasted to the hot tub’s skirting to refrain from touching me. His resilience, however, fractured before I combusted. My soaked body greeted the bed seconds later with his head buried between my legs.

At sunrise, Liam showered, and I had drifted into a dreamless slumber. Thirty minutes ago, I stepped beneath the faucet, letting the beating jets remove the ache from my body. God, I love that man, but he’s brutal in bed. He never fails to leave possessive impingements, sore blemishes to my skin and bite marks to my neck. I still felt him on me: his rough hands and delectable lips.

Dropping the towel, I crawled onto the bed and straddled his lower back. I leaned down and kissed the length of his spine. His eyebrows furrowed and the cords of muscle in his shoulders bunched up, but at the sound of my whispered voice in his ear, he soon relaxed, comforted by my nearness. “You look delicious, Mr Warren.”

“Don’t start that shit,” he grumbled, not opening his eyes. “Come here.”

My lips pinched. “I am here.”

“No.” Reaching for my wrist, he tugged me onto the mattress beside him and shifted his weight above me. His hands positioned to the pillow, his tired features cracked, and those penetrating blue eyes adjusted to the light. “Come. Here.”

“I love seeing you like this,” I said without elaboration, cupping his stubble jaw. “You’re beautiful, Liam.”

“Handsome, I can live with,” he half-joked, nibbling the shell of my ear. “Leave all that beautiful talk to me, baby.” I raked my fingernails down his spine. He hissed, sinking his teeth into my shoulder. “I want you.”

“I can barely walk from last night,” I said mirthlessly, but I had no intentions of denying this man. “What makes you think I can handle you again?”

“You’re my woman.” His forehead to mine, he stroked his glorious shaft and eased the thick crown into me. “You can handle anything.”

My tense body clung to his. I opened my thighs wider, creating room for him to settle. Buried to the hilt, he smoothed a palm along my thigh, grasping the back of my knee and sinking deeper. I caught my breath at the thickness, the fullness and how painfully good it felt.

“You like that?” he rasped, pulling back a touch, thrusting forward.

“Kiss me,” I whispered, my fingers tousling his dark hair.

Liam braced his forearms on either side of my head, lowered his head and parted my lips with a stroke of his tongue. Hips pressing to mine, he kissed me slowly, an erotic moan from his mouth to mine.

Stretching me unbearably yet beautifully, he started to move. I raised my hips, meeting his intensely powerful thrusts. With impatient hands, I grabbed his backside and felt the passion of him fucking me.

My head rolled to the side on an extended moan, and he seized the chance to suckle me there, biting and kissing the column of my neck. His hand claimed my hip bone, pinning me down as he drove in and out.

Unforeseeably, I came, long and devouring, yet I craved more of him. I didn’t wish for Liam to resist or hold back. Overstimulated and oversensitive, I wrapped my arms and legs around him. Reeling from a consuming orgasm, I cried his name unremittingly, which encouraged him to pummel harder, faster.

Liam drew back and flipped me onto my stomach. “On your knees,” he ordered throatily, and in an obsequiously elegant manner, I put my head down. “Good girl.” He grazed my backside with his knuckles, gripped my waist and sank home. “Fuck.” His lips hovered along my spine, outlining the intricate angel wings. “Do you love me?”

“Yes,” I said breathlessly, grappling the sheets. “Always.”

Liam wedged to the point of no return, movements segued as he claimed my body. He hammered and powered his cock, his fingers discolouring my hips. Powerless and at his mercy, I anchored my spine, my head falling back. He fisted my hair and yanked me upright, splaying a hand across my stomach. His arm snaked around my neck, and I reached up and caught his forearm, holding him. Thrusting became more frantic as he chased his orgasm. He sucked the tenderness under my ear and murmured lewdness that involuntarily reddened my cheeks.

Liam was close. I recognised the signs, but when Jace’s headboard began to thump against the wall, we both stilled. Wild, pornographic, female mewling greyed the room. I hadn’t considered how Jace or Brad might feel about listening to my moans of pleasure; however, when roles reversed, and I had to survive such repulsiveness, I wanted to stab my ears and deafen myself.

Smiling into the nape of my neck, Liam slipped his fingers through my soaked folds and circled my aching clit. “Ignore them.”

The headboard crashed louder, violently overwhelming. “Well,” I breathed out, unable to believe Jace could be so rough in bed. “It’s not that easy to ignore when the woman sounds like she’s undergoing butchery.” He pinched my throbbing core and my back curved. “Oh, shit.”

Within seconds, the volume of the female’s erotic jubilance became an afterthought. Liam caged me in his dominant arms and drove me through surges of pleasure and toe-curling orgasms. He wasn’t satisfied until I convulsed and shuddered a sequence of climaxes. Only then, did he pick up the pace and finalise his.

Boneless and weightless in his hold, I stapled my knees to the bed and matched his hammering hips, bucking my ass into him. I deliberately clenched around his moving cock, and he approved, grasping my breasts and squeezing. With an overload of sensation, he shoved my face back to the pillow, held my hair in a tight fist and jerked his hips. Throbbing his release, he spurted warm ejaculate inside me on a low, savage growl, and like the impossible mare that I am, I wanted him all over again.

“Fucking hell,” he gritted out, his grip to my hair softening.

Liam eased back carefully, and I winced, clamping my thighs together. Misted in perspiration, he fell onto his back next to me, regulating his erratic breathing.

Lazily, I dangled an arm across his waist and fixed the military chain on his chest.

Threading our fingers, he brought my hand to his mouth and kissed my inner wrist. “We need to talk.”

“That sounds like an awfully serious conversation, Liam.” His timing was impeccable. “Can it wait?”

“It’s nothing major,” he assured as my fingers caressed his lips. “I am needed back in London.” His throat bobbed. “We leave tomorrow.”

An immovable pain suffocated my chest. “You and Brad?”

He nods.

Why isn’t he demanding that I leave with him?

“Where will you go?”

Confused by my question, he gazed at me. “Back to business.”

“I’m almost ready to leave, too,” I confirmed, and even though he’s never one to show emotions, he didn’t try to hide relief. “Next week, once I have spent a bit more time with Tony…” To find out if there’s any truth to my mother’s letter. “I’ll come…” Home, I thought, knowing I had no place to call mine. Not anymore.

“What’s wrong?” Repositioning onto his side, he faced me, palming strands of hair from my face. “Why did you look sad just then?”

I forced a smile. “I’m the happiest I have ever been, Liam.”

Incredulous, Liam hunted for deceit in my unblinking eyes.

“Do you need a drink?” I asked, sliding off the bed and finding a T-shirt. “Something to eat, perhaps.”

“Coffee.” Rolling onto his back, he folded his arms beneath his head. “Get some underwear on, or I won’t be held accountable for snapping Jace’s neck.”

I paused by the door. “What about Brad?”

Liam remained impassive. “He wouldn’t dare to look at you inappropriately.”

My eyes sliced. “Neither would Jace.” When the muscle in his tight jaw ticked, I rolled my eyes. “Fine.” Opening a drawer, I found the most unbecoming pair of knickers, a size too big and splattered with fraying glitter. “You like?” I stepped into them, not missing his disgusted lip twist. “I bought the wrong size. They’ve been gathering dust and homing thieving moths ever since.”

He came onto his elbows. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

God, at this point, I don’t even have a reasonable answer. “So, how do I look?” Giving him my back, I hoisted the T-shirt and modelled my horrifically decorated ass. “Do you think I’ll entice Jace and Brad with these bad boys?”

“Are you trying to piss me off?” He rose from the bed, and my shameless eyes never strayed from all that’s perfect between his legs. “Alexa?”

“Yes?” I blinked to clear perverted thoughts. “Yes, what did you say?”

A knowing smirk played on his lips. “My eyes are up here,” he said, and I salivated at the thought of kneeling and taking him into my mouth. “Baby?”

I licked my suddenly dry lips. “Yes?”

“Am I missing something?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. “Do I not satisfy you? You’ve been hypersexual lately.”

“Was that a complaint?” My arms crossed. “Would you rather a woman who disparaged the idea of sex and feigned migraines? Yes, I am hot for my man. Very hot, actually.” I eyed his semi-hard length again. Holy, shit. I’m incorrigibly lascivious. “Do pregnant women experience an increased libido?” My cheeks felt warm and flushed. “Fuck me.”

Hands fastening to the back of his head, Liam’s eyes moved from me to the bed. “You want to go again?

“What?” My face scrunched up. “No. I meant figuratively speaking, Liam. Not literally,” I babbled, snatching a brochure off the sideboard to fan my face. “You know, ‘fuck me’, like, what’s wrong with me, type of ‘fuck.’”

He clasped a hand to his chin. “Alexa.”

I inhaled. “Yes, Liam?”

“Go and get the coffee.”

“Right, of course.” Tossing the pamphlet, I fling the bedroom open and slam it in my wake. “You docile bitch.” Shaking my head in mortification, I beeline the kitchen and stop dead in my tracks. Bear, the abandoned unicorn, thrones gloatingly on the sofa. “This day could not get any weirder.”

I popped the kettle on and prepared a mug for Liam while simultaneously pottering and clearing the table. Wondering if Brad stayed somewhere else last night, as the sofa had no coverlets or pillows, I peered out of the window. His Bentley’s parked across the street. “Odd.” Maybe he’s the one occupying a female next door, and Jace slept over at Kim’s place, the dirty stop out.

Unlocking the bay doors, I ventured outside to clear the mess from last night’s sexcapade, collecting Liam’s suit from the table and bringing it indoors. Recycling in the bin, I folded his suit jacket, and his phone tumbled across the counter, luring me to investigate. “Shit.” It’s wrong to look, but my naughtiness got the better of me. Peering to the bedroom, to check Liam’s not stood there, I pressed the screen and nosed at his notifications. As I scrolled down, one name overshadowed the rest.

Hellen Bennett.

My nostrils flared.

Liam doesn’t use a password, so I invade his privacy, browsing the messages and call log. Mostly unanswered calls, but over the past two weeks, he’s answered the leaching bitch. One call lasted fifteen minutes.

Blood-stained crimson veiled my eyes.

I glared at the bedroom door, envisioning the many ways I’d like to dismantle that cock I once deemed perfection.

Hellen: I miss you.

Hellen: When can I see you again?

Hellen: I feel naughty. Need a picture?

My hand crushed the phone, and I chucked it on the counter.

How fucking dare Liam accuse me of anything regarding Jace when he’s still entertaining this deranged woman?

It pinged with another message.

I couldn’t stop myself.

Hellen’s name flashed on the screen.

With unshakable rage, I stormed out of the cabin, closed the door and answered her call.

“Liam?” Hellen’s infuriating voice rang into the receiver. “Why have you yet to respond to my text messages? Don’t lie to me, either. I get a notification every time you read one. And what of calls? You ignore me so cruelly. Please, what did I do to deserve such coldness from you?” Her sobs came, but I was too numb to care or pity her. “I am grieving the loss of my father. You should be there for me. Not by words, Liam. I need you here to comfort me.”

“Hellen,” I said in a low, calm yet deadly voice. “I am going to say this once. Stop calling my boyfriend. And the same applies to message—”

“Excuse me?” she shrieked, abhorrence replacing her tears. “Who is this? Why are you answering my partner’s phone? How disrespectful of you!” she spits vehemently as I studied my polished red fingernails. “You repelling trollop. Put him on the phone right now.”

“I can’t do that,” I said gleefully, watching waves crash against the cliffside in the distance. “Liam’s asleep—in my bed. In fact, I should probably get back to him—”

“Oh, look at you. Are you striving to hurt my feelings?” she patronised, jeering in my ear. “Enjoy it whilst it lasts, little girl. He’ll be back in my arms before the week is out. Make no bones about that.”

“Is that your crazy mind talking again, Hellen? Last I checked, Liam was with me. Not you—”

“And he’s coming home tomorrow,” she interjected, and the conversation I had with Liam earlier fell on me like a ton of bricks. “Not so talkative now, are we?”

“I am going to kill you,” I threatened, and I meant it. “You…” I stopped my wayward tongue from spilling truths, biting the inside of my cheek. “This is my life, Hellen. Not yours. You’ve taken enough from me.” Ending the call, I stifled an outraged scream and marched back into the kitchen.

I no longer cared if Liam saw me on his phone. And he can make his bloody coffee himself.

My hand almost obtained the bathroom door handle when it swung open, and an unabashed Brad Jones in all his naked glory saluted me. My wide gaze compulsorily located his swinging manhood and— “Oh, God.” I slapped a hand over my eyes. “Brad. Holy shit. Put on some clothes.” That man’s hung like a horse, and it terrifies me. “Now.”

His sweaty, naked body skimmed mine as he exited the bathroom. “Sorted.”

I didn’t trust him. Peeking through my fingers, I checked he wasn’t pulling my leg. “A cushion?” I deadpan, hands hugging my hips. “I meant actual coverage, Brad.”

With the cushion to his groin, he scratched his chin. “Can I go now?”

“Why must you waltz around naked?” I had to ask. It bugs the life out of me. “You own a panoply of fashionable designer, yet I see more of you damn backside than I do Liam’s. You know that’s no normal, right?”

Anticipating an explanation, I cocked my head to the side, and then Jace’s bedroom opened. Gorgeous and thoroughly fucked, a Junoesque blonde swayed into the living room, flawlessly nude.

My chin hit the deck.

Winking at the smug bastard, she dismissed my presence completely and locked herself in the bathroom. My eyes fixed to the closed door, but it wasn’t her shamelessly promiscuous display that sent my brain a riot. It was the husked whimpers of another woman, echoing from Jace’s bedroom.

Heat progressed on my face. “What’s going on?”

My feet moved on their own accord and I made the idiotic choice to see for myself. Pale skin and covered in tattoos, I watched a recognisable inked ass flexing as Jace jack-hammered into a leggy redhead, who’s sprawled like a dead starfish on the bed. I mumbled something completely indecipherable and desired raw bleach to wash the horror from my eyes.

“Oh, yes, yes, yes,” the bed-mate sang together with Jace’s guttural groans. “Oh, so good. So good. Don’t stop—that’s it. Just there.”

My left eye twitched, and I shuddered in disgust. “I have entered an ambiguous region.” It’s a nightmare of wet vaginas and too much oscillating meat. “I—” The bathroom door creaked, and the blonde reappeared. “Brad!”

“Let’s go, daddy,” she purred with a kittenish wink, vaunting herself. “I pulse for you.”

Groaning in anticipation, Brad flung me an impatient glance. “Are we done?”

Slack-jawed and increasingly bemused, I pointed a condemning finger at him. “You corrupted my best-friend!”

“I didn’t corrupt shit,” he defended himself, staring at me like I grew a third nipple. “Do you not know that man at all?”

“I know him,” I said decisively, daring him to dispute my friendship with Jace. “My friend does not behave like a hopeless, womanising debauchee, unlike somebody I know.”

Brad took umbrage to my contemptuous asperse. Pillow hitting the wooden floor in defiance, he crossed his arms. “Alexa, I did not persuade Jace to do something he didn’t want. Those women,” he flung a hand towards Jace’s bedroom, “were going home with him regardless. I’m just cheeky enough to invite myself to the party.”

“Party,” I repeated, scratching my head. “That’s not a party, Brad. That’s a fucking gangbang!”

Knuckles kneading his stubble chin, he snorted into a fit of laughter. “A what?”

Inhale, Alexa. “Why are you making fun of me?”

“Alexa,” he winced, failing to disguise amusement. “I think the term you are looking for is an orgy.”

Not understanding why the correct terminology mattered, I threw up my hands in frustration. “Brad!”

“As I said,” he counters, growing restless, “we had a party.”

“Having,” I corrected him, gesturing to the obvious. “Present tense. It’s still in full swing over there.”

“It’s just sex, Alexa.” Brad exhaled a lengthy sigh. “Why must you overemphasise it?”

“Just sex,” I muttered, wishing I understood his logic. “How can two men, that can barely stand the sight of each other, fuck and call it conventional? Spending all night with women—nameless women that you’ll never see again.”

One of the ladies cried out in the background, and I sucked in my cheeks.

“Actually, don’t answer. None of this makes logistical sense.” Rubbing my sweaty palms together, I gravitated to my bedroom, where it’s safer. “If you will excuse me, I have shit to deal with.”

I deliberately slammed the door.

Liam’s still undressed. He lies on his front, raising his head when our eyes connect. “Did you forget the coffee?” Discerning my steadfast crossness, he sat up and moved to the edge of the bed. “What’s wrong?”

Words died on my tongue. I felt a mixture of sadness, disappointment, anxiety and rising truculence.

Pulling on black boxer briefs, Liam stood taller, assessing, scratching his bare chest. “Problem?”

Yes, many problems.

Liam is a slut.

Brad is a slut.

Jace is a slut.

All the men surrounding me are unashamed Casanovas.

Jace’s headboard thumped the wall, and I grappled restraint. “Are you hearing this?”

Unfazed by their extracurricular activities, Liam quirked an eyebrow. “Typical guys, Alexa.” He began to change into a royal blue suit. “It’s no big deal.”

“Grown men who behave like teenagers.”

“Enjoying consensual sex,” he said uncompromisingly, buttoning his shirt.

“I’m tired of it.” Spearing a hand through my hair, I start to pace the floor. “I’m tired of all the women.”

Liam’s fingers paused at the top button. He left it undone and captured my gaze with his accusatorial one. “What the fuck is going on, Alexa? And don’t feed me bullshit regarding Brad and Jace’s sex life. I don’t buy it.”

I’m angry about Hellen’s phone call, and I should know better than to ask Liam why she’s an ongoing problem because he’s unapproachable. “You vowed there’d be no other women,” I said the unthinkable, knowing it’ll get his back up. “Yet Hellen unceasingly sends you messages and calls your phone. What’s worse?” I added, on the verge of tears. “You entertain it. You had an entire conversation with the woman but never told me. That’s suspiciously questionable. I am within my rights to demand answers—oh, and to top off. Hellen knew you were on vacation and that you are returning to London tomorrow. How? I might not be the brainiest of women, but it sounds to me that you two had contact recently.”

“You went through my phone,” he rowed, ignoring everything I said. “Alexa, you had no fucking right—”

“I had no right?” I challenged him, overhearing the front door close behind those giggling cock seekers. “Me checking your phone isn’t relevant, so quit prevaricating and answer my questions.”

Angrily shaking his head, he stomped into his leather shoes. “This is fucking madness.”

“No, what’s madness is the person who’s supposed to love me continuing to sympathise with a woman who mourns the man I once called father.”

Furiousness blackened his eyes. “I sympathise with no one, and you know it,” he barked, his face beet-red with fury. “I explained my predicament with Hellen. Do not expect me to elucidate further. She means nothing to me. Nothing. I am not justifying myself again.”

I didn’t want to cry, so I looked away and bit my bottom lip enough to cause a sharp sting.

“Baby, come here.” Coming closer, Liam grasped my jaw, but I slapped his hand away. “Alexa, for fuck’s sake. Look at me.”

I wanted to believe him, but there have been too many warning signs. It was Cherry at the beginning, and there have been pockets of women ever since. I’m jealous, and I can’t handle it. How can we rebuild trust when he’s determined to hide truths from me?

“Liam!” He fisted my hair, and I screeched at the sudden discomfort inflicted to my scalp. “Get off me!”

Nailing my back to the wall, he pressured his grip, and I whimpered. “Look at me.” When I deviate my eyes, his fingers tighten, forcing me to do as instructed. “I am not doing this all the time. I left London to be here with you to prove how much I love you.” He snatched my throat. “I had the best night of goddamn life with you—woke up with you in my arms—fucking perfect. I don’t want to argue over meaningless shit. Why ruin it?”

“Your whore ruined it, Liam,” I snarled, gripping his wrist and digging my fingernails into his flesh. “Don’t blame me because you can’t keep your hookers on a leash.”

“Hellen’s not an issue—not where we’re concerned. Is she a threat to the syndicate? Yes, a scorned woman who’s governed by high-status men can most certainly bring my empire to the ground, but I am working on it. My men have eyes on her all the time. The second Bennett loses security, the bounty on her head comes into play. Gone. No longer a problem—”

“That doesn’t explain why you stayed on a call with her for over fifteen minutes.” I thrust my palms to his chest, and he stepped back. “Just get out.”

Steeling his jaw, Liam snagged on his suit jacket. “No, You know what? You wanted a fucking rise out of me. Well, I’m giving you one,” he said sharply, and a sickening feeling ruptured in my stomach. “I like to fuck. I’ve fucked a helluva lot. I couldn’t give a shit where I got pussy just as long as I can fuck it.”

My nose crinkled. “You’re disgusting.”

He tsked me. “I don’t portray otherwise. However, I was foolish enough to drown in your cunt. This shit right here?” He sweeps his gaze over me in distaste. “Reminds me of all the reasons why I avoid relationships. I don’t care for it.” His eyes were cold and uncaring. “No bitch is worth this fucking headache—”

I cut him off with a slap in the face, and his head whipped to the side on impact. He palmed his jaw and slowly returned his vicious stare.

Fear clawed up from inside me. My eyes plead with him to walk away. I fused my spine to the wall. “Liam,” I whispered.

Liam let out an unrestrained growl. He abruptly punched the wall next to my head, and I withered into a teary hot mess. Snatching my jaw with blood-trickled fingers, he stole a firm kiss alongside my hitched breath, and then stormed out of the bedroom, the door splintering on a loud crash.

The moment I hear Brad chasing behind Liam, my legs buckled, backside to the ground. Sobbing inconsolably to my knees, I hung my head in shame, regretting the entire conversation with Liam.

Why can’t I let this animosity for Hellen go?

Why must I be so jealous?

“Alexa?” Jace knocked on my door and entered. “What happened?” He crouched in front of me and pried my hands off my face. “Talk to me.”

“Jace, I think I messed up everything,” I blubbered, seeing two of him. “Hellen called Liam’s phone, and I just couldn’t get a handle on my anger. I felt lied to, betrayed. I mean, she knew Liam was going home tomorrow, so that mean’s he confirmed that, right? Tell me it’s not in my head?” I sobbed, hot tears streaming down my cheeks. “I want to believe him so much, but he makes questionable decisions, and I can’t see beyond them.”

Seemingly torn, Jace averted his green eyes, evaluating the situation.

“I hate her,” I whispered, and our eyes reconnected. “Hellen was fortunate to be loved by a man I longed for growing up. And if that wasn’t enough reason to resent her, I now have to accept her involvement with Liam. No,” I spat, tasting salty tears on my lips. “She can have the memory of my father, but she will not take Liam away from me, too.” Chest rising and falling at an unsteady pace, I snivelled a hiccup, inhaling a choppy breath. “Oh, God.” My chest grew too tight, and light-headedness made me dizzy. “I can’t breathe—Jace.”

“Alexa.” Jace cupped my head. “Eyes on me and breath through it.” Mouth opening and closing, I gasped for oxygen, blood rushing through my ears. “Alexa! Think of the baby,” he said, his baritone voice, slow and trance-like. “The baby, Alexa.”

Grasping the front of his T-shirt, I urged myself to concentrate on his face, to watch his moving lips and unclog the blockage from my ears… “You can do it,” he droned, and I gradually nodded, my lungs expanding on a slight inhalation. “Keep going.” Each breath, less laborious, a wave of air flowing down my windpipe. “Jesus.”

“I’m…” Inhale, exhale, I cleared the mist from my eyes and held a deep, revitalising breath. “I’m sorry.”

Jace blew out a relieved sigh, his warm breath blowing hair strands across my brow. “Shit.” He put our foreheads together. “You scared me, Alexa.”

Nauseous breached my throat. “I’m going to be sick.” Pushing him aside, I stumbled to my feet and almost toppled to the ground when Jace’s arms enveloped my midsection. “Oh, God.” My numb legs made it impossible. “Jace—” It’s too late. I bent over and ruined the floor, emptying whatever contents I had in my stomach. “I hate my life!”

Jace’s chest vibrated on my back as he suppressed laughter. “I’ll clean it up.” Helping me walk into the kitchen, he plopped me on the sofa and left me shame-faced whilst he mopped up the floor.

A glass of water appeared. I thanked Jace and sipped thirstily, putting the empty glass on the coffee table. When he spent longer than necessary occupying the kitchen, I sought him out. “What are you doing?”

“Fixing some cereal.” Jace poured milk over a mountain of shreddies. “You want some?”

“No, I’m okay.” Gingerly standing from the sofa, I heaved my legs to the kitchen and rested to the counter directly from him. “I slapped him.”

Jace spoons cereal into his mouth. “Warren’s dealt with worse than a clip to the face.”

Liam’s acclimatised lifestyle doesn’t excuse my reckless behaviour.

I stare at Jace’s bare chest. “I thought you had a T-shirt on.”

“I did,” he mumbled, chewing his food. “Until my roommate chucked up some organs.”

“That’s disgusting.” I pinched the bridge between my eyes. “I should shower…” My gaze settled on his blemished chest, the inflamed, red marks and scratches lacerating his arms and neck.

Jace sensed my scrutiny. “What?”

I clicked my tongue for no purpose. “You had a fun night.”

Evasive, he jerked a shoulder. “Something like that.”

Laughter rippled out of me. “I was horrified.” Questions blossomed in my head. “And Brad?”

His smile faded. “What about him?”

“I mean…” My lips puckered as I rummaged for the precise words. “Did you guys, like, you know?” He was silently distracted. “You know?” I entwined my fingers and bashed them together, an odd yet practical demonstration. “Yes?”

“Alexa,” Jace choked, coughing and spluttering into a fist. “I didn’t fuck Brad.”

“No?” Perplexed, I scratched my head. “You didn’t do anything? Not even a kiss or a bold stroke?”

Pallid, he flattened his mouth. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”

“You were both naked and sharing women,” I remind him with a point of the finger. “It’s plausible.”

He snorted in disbelief. “No, it isn’t.”

My mouth crept up into a taunting smile. “Why not?”

I didn’t think his eyes could widen any more. “Because we’re not gay.”

“Oh, well, that burst my bubble.” Chewing my thumbnail, I thought of another question. “Jace?” We locked eyes as I lowered my voice. “How does it work?”

“Why are we whispering?” he whispered.

“I don’t know.” My tone pitched a touch. “So?”

“How does what work?”

“You and Brad,” I said, skirting around the details. “And two women.”

Setting his empty bowl into the sink, Jace crossed his arms and legs at the ankles. “You want to know about group sex?”

Fascinated, I nodded.

“It’s pretty simple. Normally, the women strip first and make a big show of it or whatever.” He waves that off. “They’ll alternate sucking our cocks, or they might both pay attention to the one guy and then jump to the other.”

I wanted popcorn and ice cream. “And then what happens?”

His scarred eyebrow bent. “We might get straight to fucking. Like with Gemma?” Ah, Gemma’s back on the scene, with a friend, nonetheless. “She rode Brad while I, you know?” I didn’t know, actually. “I went in from behind.”

“I—oh.” My mouth formed a circle. “I see, well, great.” Butt cheeks tightening, I meshed my lips. “Please continue.”

“We switch the women over and repeat. And then—now this is the best part—we get to watch them lapping up each other’s pus—”

“I changed my mind!” I hold up a hand, preventing him from contaminating my soul any further.

Chapter 22

Alexa

Once I had differentiated the dissimilarities of gangbangs, threesomes and group sex, I cleaned the cabin from all that’s irreverence towards my temporary home, starting with the tacky thongs those shameless women dangled from Jace’s bedpost like undignified achievements.

Jace, the useless sod, wasted the entire day on the sofa, sleeping off his hangover. By three p.m., I splashed a bucket of ice over him, which precipitated an extemporaneous scolding from the drenched brute. I snorted, pointed a finger to the bathroom and demanded a presentably dressed friend by the time I returned from the local village.

With Liam’s mute yet smartly fashioned Suit hot on my heels, I ventured the town to buy marinated meat from the butchers: chicken, steaks and packaged savouries. I am not a wine aficionado, so I trusted the bodega’s manager to container eight flavoursome bottles, an assemblage of red and white Bordeaux. Tony hadn’t requested donations for his gathering this evening, but most considered it impolite, showing up empty-handed.

“You better be presentable,” I yelled the second I entered the log cabin. “Can you put the wine on the counter please?”

As instructed, boorish Suit wordlessly set the wine crate down. Hands locking behind his back, he stationed himself by the stove.

Pursing my lips, I jangled a set of keys. “Do you need a drink or anything?”

“No, ma’am,” he said, his deep voice betraying his fresh-faced image.

Turning on the cold tap, I poured myself a glass of water. “How old are you?”

Speaking with me, although innocuous and deemed normal, claustrophobically discomforted him. “Forty-one, ma’am.”

“You look much younger,” I complimented, and he merely blinked in response. “Is it against the rules?”

His dark, bushy eyebrows drew in. “Is what against the rules, ma’am?”

“Please call me Alexa.” Ma’am isn’t age-neutral. Addressing me in a formal, respectful manner suggests I am older than him. “Talking to me, I meant. You seem reluctant to do so.”

“Warren authorised security procedures only, ma’am.” His throat bobbed up and down. “Engaging in a conversation with you is not part of my contract.”

“Well, it’s common courtesy.” Sipping water, I sat on a stool and crossed my legs. “I am sure Liam can make an exception by permitting a dispensation of politeness.”

I don’t know what stunned the Suit more—the terrible idea of syndicate amendments or the fact I addressed his boss informally. “I am happy with my job, ma’am. Warren treats me well.”

Oh, he’s terrified of his boss. “Are you sure I can’t fix you something?” I probed, and he slowly shook his head. “Not a bite to eat?” Another ignorant stare. “Jace!” Putting my empty glass in the sink, I hunted down my friend, banging the hell out of his bedroom door. “I’ll be ready in ten minutes, so hurry up.”

Closing my bedroom door behind me, I stripped off and unzipped my suitcase, searching for an outfit. I was the impressive possessor of glamorously sexy designer dresses and six-inch heels, but glad rags hadn’t seen the light since I landed in Newquay. Whilst holidaying, I opted for a more casual wardrobe to blend into the background.

Jace knocked on my door before entering. “You fit?” He wears all-black: quotidian leather jacket, T-shirt, ripped jeans and heavy-duty boots. “Why aren’t you dressed?”

“I want to wear something that screams sexy but not tarty,” I said, fossicking piles of lace and chiffon. “Most of these clothes aren’t appropriate, right?” I hold up a basic black dress. “Too short?”

Nodding, Jace delved a hand in my case. “I like this.” Thumbing a knee-length leather skirt, he puckered his lips in approval. “Yeah, wear this one.”

“Jace, I wear that skirt with lace bralettes,” I remind him, showing him sheer crop tops. “That’s hardly appropriate for a barbeque with a man who might…” My lips stitched together. I haven’t informed him of the letter my mother sent to Mr Corbyn. “It’s too much.”

“Okay,” he agreed, selecting a low cut, long-sleeved burgundy top. “Wear that instead of the bralette. It’ll work with the skirt.” Black Louboutin shoes fell into my hands. “And these.”

Impressed by his choice, I pulled the jumper off over my head and then adjusted the high-waisted leather skirt. “Oh, I like it.” Unclipping my hair, I doubled-over at the waist and shook my head to loosen curls. “My mother wrote a letter to Clarence Corbyn.” Sitting on the edge of the bed, I slipped my feet into the heels and topped-up my makeup. “She implied that Tony might father her child.”

Jace shot his questioning eyes to mine. “What?”

Squirting perfume to my neck and wrists, I smiled flatly. “Kathy was born way before Tony came back to Newquay, which means my mother had doubts when pregnant for me.”

“Shit,” Jace said gruffly, sagging onto the bed. “How do you feel about that?”

I felt a mixture of scant consolation and overwhelming apprehensiveness. “Honestly, I am torn. I mean if my mother expressed her concerns to Tony, then, why hasn’t he mentioned it to me? The possibility of him being my father is not something you ignore, Jace. If it weren’t for Clarence, I’d have left Newquay and never looked back.” Popping open a red lipstick, I painted my lips. “Was Tony prepared to risk never seeing me again? And for what? A dying secret between him and my mother.”

“Alexa.” Jace set his hand to my thigh. “What if Tony’s unaware of the possibility, huh? Your mother harboured many secrets when married to Patrick. Perhaps she kept this information from Tony because she feared the aftermath of her husband? I met the guy,” he continued, rubbing my knee tenderly. “Tony’s decent. I don’t think he’d knowingly neglect his fatherly duties, so ease off the assumptions and speak to him.”

“Okay, so let’s say Tony has no idea.” Unzipping a clutch purse, I tossed cosmetics inside. “And I show him my mother’s letter, and he’s not interested in pursuing our relationship further…” My throat swelled on a held breath. “He doesn’t need the additional stress in his life.”

“Alexa, you’re quite literally the easiest person to get along with.” Jace grasped the back of my neck, tugging me to his side. “Tony would be a damn fool to let you walk out of his life.”

“Do you really believe that?” I asked, and he gave me a sharp nod. “I’m not too much baggage?”

“Well, If you include shoes…” He exhibits a Sophia Webster Evangeline sandal, and I slapped his chest playfully. “I’m kidding. You bring more light to people’s lives than you realise.”

Blowing out an encouraging breath, I stand, hands to my hips. “What do you think?”

Jace rose from the bed, correcting his nose ring. “You will turn heads with that look.”

A bashful shade heated my cheeks. “I’m not trying to turn heads…”

“Alexa,” he barked. “Just accept the compliment.”

“Yes, of course.” God, he’s grouchy tonight. “Ready when you are.”

***

Liam’s benighted Suit punched Tony’s address into the Bentleys navigation system and listened to music so that I didn’t coax him into unpermitted conversations. In the back seats, Jace cracked open a can of beer, an odd occurrence, considering his predilection for Russian vodka. He informed me of an epiphanic moment which elided monetising ambitions, inexhaustible funds and his established skillset of a tattooist.

His wild, excited eyes hadn’t budged. “Picture the scene.” Face-to-face, we talked pensively. “Matte black walls and dark, hardwood floors. Imagine leather seating accommodation and metal dividers.”

“Chrome wall art.” Nursing bottled water, I imagined myself in an empty room to design the blank canvas. “Wall-mounted memorabilia and signed movie posters from the ’80s.”

“Freddy Krueger and Hellraiser,” he agreed. “Client chairs, workstations, tattoo machines and purchasable aftercare.”

Mentally, I penned a simplified list: body jewellery, sterilised equipment, latex gloves, needles and guns. “Are you a licenced piercer, too?”

“Yeah,” said Jace, loading a website on his phone. “Plus, I could hire trained staff. I’m too impatient to teach anyone, so I’ll add ‘seeking fully-qualified tattoo artist and body piercer’ to the advertisement.” He shows me a catalogue of saved items. “What do you think?”

Jace lost everything after Summer’s abduction. His home, job position and friends. I’ve never asked if he’d planned to start afresh if his daughter returned safely. I guess I knew, intuitively, life as he once knew it, would change for the worst.

Summer died, and a huge part of Jace died with her. For a long time, existing without direction was his coping mechanism. Now, though, he seems to miss normalcy. He’ll never forget the loss of his baby girl or overcome her demise, but he’s had time to grieve, to consider the future and rebuild the broken wall of his past.

I hid the sadness I felt for my friend. “I think it’s a wonderful idea.”

It’s reasonably logical, Investing some of the money we stole from dishonourable politicians (who abused their power) into a business venture. Jace can pursue his tattoo career and become his own boss. Hiring like-minded people will most certainly help him adapt, to fall into a routine of working and socialising.

“These are neighboured commercial properties for sale.” He tapped the screen and zoomed in, providing me with a slide of the images. “I can buy them outright and hire contractors to break down the wall between. It’ll adjoin both buildings, extending into a large open space instead of separate rooms.” He tours me to the ground-level kitchen, and then upstairs. “Five rooms, another kitchen and modern diner. Two spacious living rooms and a shared bathroom. I can add en-suites to the bedrooms and lease for extra income. I don’t need the money, but it’ll be cool, right? Living with roommates.”

Jace’s notion mollified me. Although I’ll never lead a life without him, it meant I could concentrate on fixing my future, knowing he’s okay. Since Liam’s expecting me back in London next week, I had to plan ahead, too.

Will I buy a flat or rent?

Perhaps Liam’s arranging to move me into the penthouse.

Either way, I need to stabilise security for my child. Backpacking with Jace had to end, eventually. And what of work? I’ll amend my curriculum vitae and job hunt. Money was of no importance. Familiarising myself with a working routine and rekindling friendships ought to help my functioning, though, at least until the baby’s born.

“You could live there, too,” Jace suggested, but I shook my head. “I didn’t think you would, but the offers there if you change your mind.” He put his phone away. “Well, the pink bedroom belongs to you, regardless. In case you and Warren need headspace from each other.”

“Pink,” I muttered under my breath, shuddering at the dreadful thought. “Make it red, and it’s a deal.”

“Sorted.” He untwisted his chain. “You ready?”

Glancing out of the window, I see Tony’s house and my stomach sank. “That was quick.” I hadn’t felt the Bentley slow down. “I wish Liam would answer my texts.” The stubborn man hasn’t replied all day. “Hey, has Liam gone back to London?” I asked the hard-faced Suit, and he blanked me. “Surely putting me out of my misery isn’t considered deceitful.”

“There hasn’t been any communication from Warren,” the Suit clipped, his stare steadfast to the widow. “Enjoy your evening, ma’am.”

“If I am so much of a hindrance to you, why accept the job?” I asked, peeved by his unmissable tediousness. “Ask Liam if you can switch with another.”

“You are not a hindrance, ma’am,” he fibbed, rebuttoning the collar of his shirt. “I am strictly following orders.”

My fingers crushed the almost empty water bottle. “What’s your name?”

The incorrigible Suit sighed in defeat. “Ted, ma’am.”

Slipping out of the back seat, I marched to the driver’s door and impatiently knocked the window. It lowered, and the impassive swine glared. “Listen here Bundy,” I said brusquely, leaning in to put us at eye-level. “I am no one’s burden to bear. If you cannot at least smile when in a room with me?” I deliberately arched a belittling eyebrow. “I’ll personally request an upgrade. And in case you weren’t aware, Liam’s very protective over me. He won’t condone indolent, good-for-nothing behaviour from his men, especially when it regards my safety.” Straightening my spine, I unperturbed myself. “How much does he pay you?”

Ted strummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “I refuse to answer personal questions, ma’am.”

“I could ask him?” I pressured him, fishing out my phone. “As far as I’m concerned, you aren’t worth a dime—”

“Please don’t,” he husked out, and I looked at him from under my eyelashes. “He pays me well. I am a satisfied member of the syndicate.”

I’d never cause trouble for any of the Suits, including the lower ranks or least favourable ones. I do, however, behest less curtness and more friendliness if compelled to withstand their haughty overbearingness. “I expect a happy face later.” My phone drops to the bottom of my bag. “Go and do something productive, Bundy. Feed yourself. I cannot stomach miserable men.”

Jace gripped my elbow and steered me towards Tony’s house. “You almost gave the man a heart attack.”

“I am not a snitch.” Ted doesn’t need to express his loathing thoughts. I can sense his secretly unconquerable disapprobation. “If I told Liam that Bundy made me feel uncomfortable, he’d kill him in a heartbeat.” As much as Ted’s manifestation of dislike offends me, I didn’t wish for a deadly outcome. “Are you sure, I look okay?”

“I promise.” He kissed my temple and knocked Tony’s front door. “Did you buy any vodka?”

“I stashed a bottle with the wine.”

The door flew open, and a short, blonde woman sporting a knee-length floral dress and kitten heels, held a wine glass. “Hello,” she said, her voice chipper and friendly. “Tony’s in the garden, firing the barbeque.” Standing to the side, she waved us indoors. “Please join us. Oh, you come bearing gifts. How thoughtful.”

Jace pierced me with a sidelong glance. “Yeah,” he said, conveying the wine and sealed meats to the long-stretched yet narrow kitchen. “Where do you want these?”

“Could you be a darling and take the meat to Tony?” She eyed the wine. “Shall I put the white to chill for you?”

I had no idea. “We don’t drink wine.” Her eyes held mine, but those grey hues didn’t unravel my nerves. “It’s just a small contribution to the party.”

“Oh, that’s thoughtful. Well, in that case,” she opened the back door, “pop them on the bar.”

“I didn’t catch your name,” I said, following her and Jace outside.

“Camilla,” she confirmed, and my eyebrows clambered. “And you must be…?”

Camilla is Tony’s friend. “Alexa.”

Jace left Camilla and I alone, jumping straight into conversations with seated people near the wooden bar. He slipped behind the counter, adding the wine bottles to the wall-mounted shelves. It’s a remarkable addition to Tony’s faultless garden: a variety of spirits, inexpensive wine and keg dispensers stockpiled the wooden hut.

“Alexa.” Suddenly cautious of her appearance, Camilla fixed her perfected hair. “Adaline’s daughter. Tony’s told me so much about you.”

Camilla had no reason to be threatened by me. But judging by her reddish cheeks and ping-ponging eyes, she’s conscious of my mother’s former relationship to Tony and me being here worried her.

It isn’t disapproval that scars her curious features; it’s insecurity.

“Tony speaks very highly of you,” I lied. I am not here to unsettle this woman, so I’ll reassure her to the best of my capabilities. “I only recently learnt of your name, but he talks about his lady friend all the time.”

Camilla smiled. Her tight shoulders visibly slouched. “He’s a remarkable man.” Something akin to affection pooled her eyes, so I steered my gaze. “I should tell him that you have arrived—”

“It’s no bother,” I stumbled out, but she’s already snaking through crowds of guests, heading to the barbeque station. “Shit.”

Rubbing the tension from my temples, I stepped off the wrap-around porch and meekly shimmied between a cacophonous of tanked up conversationalists and loud music. “Don’t Stop Believin’” by Arjun Kaul resounds from the bar, and I had a sudden craving for tequila. I opted for a coke instead and found an empty garden table, to give myself a breather and some well-needed headspace before facing the man who could possibly be my father.

From the hired gazebo, I watched the intermittently flickering fairy lights brighten the garden. Tony, stood in denim jeans and a white T-shirt, a chequered tea towel over his shoulder, tonged meat on the grill. He listened to Camilla whose hand rested at his lower back. Handing a plated burger to a friend, Tony folded his arms and faced her, nodding as she spoke.

“So, I was thinking.” Jace appears, blocking my view and collapsing onto a chair, a glass of neat vodka in hand. “If I buy a studio, then I’ll need a name, right?”

“Jace’s ink?” I suggest, and he pulled a face. “Skull and Dagger?” His eyes narrowed. “Oh, I don’t know, Jace. Help me out.”

“Etched in Ink?” he mused, his lips twisting. “A bit too cliché?”

I nodded.

“Inkjection?” he added, and I flattened my lips. “Hardcore Ink?” Let the branding originate. “Vice Tattoo? Ink Envy? The Midnight Tattoo Pallor?” I simply stared. “Alexa some contribution would be nice.”

“Will you be open at midnight?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then how can you call it that?”

In a wave of defeatism, he slumped back in his chair. “Pierced and Inked?”

Simple yet effective. “I like that.”

“Yeah?” he asked for clarification, and I smiled. “Pierced and Inked.” Pouting his lips, he lost himself in a moment of consideration. “I like it, too.”

I held up my coke, and we clinked glasses. “To new beginnings.”

“Alexa.” Tony’s voice boomed, and I jumped, coke splashing over my leather skirt. “You came.” His one arm swaddled around my neck as he dipped down to lay a kiss atop my head. “You look wonderful.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, wishing he’d sit by Jace, not beside me. “I love the bar. Did you build it yourself?”

“Yes,” Tony said proudly, accepting a wine glass from Camilla. “I plan to extend it at some point.”

“Are either of you hungry?” Camilla inquired, and I checked the grill to see another male occupying the station. “I prepared salad and rice dishes, too.”

“I like a mean rice dish,” Jace piped in, rubbing his palms together. “Where can I mount a plate?”

“Oh, let me.” Eager to host, Camilla squeezed his shoulder and hastened to the house.

Jace’s eyes darted from me to Tony. “So, how often do you host, Ton?”

“Every other month.” Tony put his palms to the table. “I pulled out all the stops this time, though.” His elbow nudged my arm. “What, with Alexa visiting. I had to make an impression.” It’s a joke, but I felt bone-shattered. “Are you feeling okay? You look rather pale.”

No, I am not okay.

Sweat trickled down my neck, and my insides twisted into painful knots. “A little tired,” I half-lied as fatigue wasn’t the sole reason for my nauseousness.

“Is it the pregnancy?” Tony wondered, and I pinned him with bewildered eyes. “Uh, Liam mentioned you’re with child.”

I will gut that man like a fish. “Did he?” I hummed, reaching for my empty coke glass. “Jace—”

“I’m on it.” Jace jumped off the chair and jogged to the bar, fetching me another drink.

“I only found out recently,” I said, dabbing mist from my forehead. “It still doesn’t seem real.”

“Ah, well, it won’t.” Tony sipped wine. “Once you see the sonogram, I am sure you will feel differently.”

Turning in my seat, I crossed my legs. “How so?”

“It’s a visual image of your baby. If seeing it on screen fails to materialise, then I’m confident hours of labour will.”

I suppose. “Yes, you’re probably right.”

Jace reappears, topping up my glass. He sits in time for Camilla to plonk a plate of food before him: pulled pork, savoury rice, potato salad, colourful pasta and grilled corn. His eyes protruded in anticipation. “I am full just looking at this.”

I laughed. “You’ll pack it away somewhere.”

“Share with me?” Jace asked, and I wrinkled my nose. “You don’t eat enough, Alexa.”

My eyes visited the heavens. “I eat plenty.”

“You are a bit on the thin side.” Camilla’s soft eyes roamed over me. “What’s your secret?”

My friend snorts. “Starving herself.”

“Jace,” I scold, ruffled by inspection. “I do not starve myself, so quit acting like a judgmental asshole.”

Camilla flinched at my harmless Insult. “Yes, well, don’t harp on to the poor girl.” She winked at me, and I settled back. “How long will you be staying in Newquay, Alexa?”

“Not for much longer.”

Tony clenched his jaw. “You’re leaving soon?” He looked disappointed. “I thought we’d have more time together.”

“It’s my mum’s home.” Discussing my mother troubled Camilla and, even though my intentions weren’t to step on her toes, I refused to bite my tongue. “I belong in London.”

Unclenching his jaw, Tony knocked the table with a tight fist. “Newquay was your home once.”

“Hardly.” I snorted. “I spent the majority of my childhood shackled in a basement.”

Tony choked on his wine.

Jace never flinched. He’s used to my facetiousness regarding Flamur Bajramovic. It’s how I learnt to cope, pardoning the demons of my past. “Camilla I may need the recipe.” He points a tattooed finger to the rice. “It’s heaven on a plate.”

“You’re too kind.” Her worried eyes sought Tony. “Are you okay, dear?”

“Yes,” Tony lied, polishing off the last of the wine. “Alexa, can I have a moment alone with you?”

Camilla sat taller. “I—”

“Not now, Camilla.” Tony’s delivery wasn’t harsh, but his dismissal had embarrassed her. “Alexa?”

“Yes, of course.” Collecting my bag, I stood. “Give me a second.” He reluctantly walked ahead, and I waited until he entered the house. “Camilla, I don’t know you, but I am getting good at reading people. You struggle to hate or dislike people. It’s not in your nature. In fact, you know, worrying about Tony’s connection with me shouldn’t bother you but it does. I am Adaline Haines’ daughter, the woman who broke that man’s heart more times than I can count. Yet he loved her. You know it as well as I do.”

“Alexa,” Jace warned, palming off his half-eaten food.

“But that doesn’t mean he can’t love again,” I continued, dismissing Jace’s uneasiness. “I see the way he looks at you. He’s smitten. Yes, I might remind him of Adaline, and honestly, that fills me with so much pride, because I want to resemble her. She was, after all, my mother.”

“Oh, Alexa.” On seeing my eyes water, Camilla put a palm to her chest and whispered something inaudible. “I am so sorry. I feel awful.”

“You don’t need to apologise. You’ve been nothing but kind to me.” I locked eyes with Jace, and his fond smile ignited mine. “I just wanted to reassure you, that’s all. And Camila,” I expand, tapping my friend’s shoulder as I passed, “I want an invite to the wedding!”

Catching her muffled laughter in the background, I beamed my way to the house. It’s dark inside, but I closed the back door, to be sure nobody interrupted us. I locate Tony in the living room, occupying the dresser. He pours himself a scotch. “You can come inside, Alexa.”

Wrangling my fingers, I blew out a sigh and became seated on the sofa.

Tony rooted himself to the spot, fighting an inner conflict it seems. “Do you like Camilla?”

My heart pounded. “You don’t need my approval, Tony.”

“Yes, I know,” he cursed, his fingers tapping the glass.

Holding my tongue, I fingered the armrests. I had many questions and deserved answers; its high time Tony shared some truths. When he procrastinated, I lost patience. “Why did you call me in here, Tony? You wanted a private conversation.”

The hostility of my tone perplexed him. “I’m sad that you’re not staying,” he said, and my lips twisted wryly. “Have I missed something?”

“Yes, actually.” Clambering to my feet, I snatched the letter from my handbag and flung it on the coffee table. “I want you to explain this.”

A scowl stained his face. He picked up the letter and unfolded the page. “My dearest Clarence, what I am about to tell you, it must be taken to your grave. I am at a loss, so helplessly depressed yet living to the best of my competence to bring joy and happiness to my precious Kathy…” He lifted his eyes. “Alexa, what is this about?”

“Read the bottom,” I said fiercely, fostering irremovable strength. “The last paragraph, Tony.”

He cleared his throat. “I am pregnant. And, unlike my first pregnancy, a part of me eagerly anticipates the arrival of my baby. Oh, am as wicked as Patrick so cruelly claims? Is it wrong of me to pray that Tony father’s my unborn…” His throat swelled on a semblance of a pained swallow. “Alexa—”

“Did you know?” I asked, my voice trembling. “And don’t lie to me, Tony. I am sick of people thinking they know what’s best for me.” Regret glazed his eyes, and I caught a sob in my hand. “You son of a bitch.”

“Please don’t be angry,” he implored, his tone strained and hitched. “Adaline denied me a paternity test, Alexa. You have no idea what type of man she married.”

“Oh, I know exactly what Patrick Haines was all about,” I argued, snatching the letter and stuffing it in my bag. “What is it with ignorant people? With adults existing in a world where they believe children should be seen and not heard?” My eyes too blurry, I could no longer see him. “I remember more than you think. I saw you with her. You both argued whilst I looked up and listened.”

Tony’s unable to recall the memory. “Alexa…”

“Patrick hated me,” I cried, feeling a warm tear roll down my cheek. “But I suppose ignorance was better than a bed mate, right? It’s a shame I can’t say the same for my sister.”

He took my elbow. “Are you suggesting that man entered your sister’s bedroom?”

“Do I need to spell it out for you?” I snivelled, and his eyes jutted out in horror. “Black eyes akin to my mothers were better than his filthy hands at night, right? Molestation was the least of Kathy’s problems, though. If you compare infrequent visits from daddy dearest to never-ending rape and the cruel beatings of our childhood captor.”

Tony stumbled aback.

“You think I don’t know what type of monster Adaline Haines married. You are wrong. I might have been young, but I witnessed him drain the lives of the people I loved right before he sold his flesh and blood to a notorious paedophile. And you,” I shoved his chest, and he became benumbed and powerless to fight his case, “did nothing. You are a coward. Fuck what my mother said and who she feared. You should have fought for us—fought for me.”

Open-mouthed and red-eyed, Tony palmed his mouth. “Alexa…I didn’t…” His haunted expression magnified. “Patrick was behind your abduction?”

“Patrick orchestrated everything,” I said in a low whisper, too disappointed to continue this conversation. “Goodbye, Tony.”

“Alexa, wait.” He snatched my arm “Don’t leave like this. I’ll cancel the party and send everyone home so that we can talk—”

“You had weeks to talk,” I remind him, blinking back tears. “If I hadn’t found the letter, would you have told me?” When he hesitated, I jerked out of his grip. “I need to leave.”

This time, when I slipped away, Tony didn’t stop me.

On shaky legs, I rounded the hallway and ran to the front door, swinging it open with gauche fingers, colliding straight into someone. My heart thudding erratically in my chest, I closed my eyes, dropping my head to his chest. “Liam,” I sobbed, unable to hold back tears. “Please.”

Liam’s pungent cologne intensified as he wrapped a muscular arm around my waist. His other hand clasped the back of my head. He protected me in his inexorable cage, the one I welcomed and loved. “Alexa,” he rasped, his furious heartbeat feverish to my ear. “What happened?” His body stiffened, and I knew someone had appeared behind me. “Tony,” he said angrily, and I shook my head. “Alexa doesn’t want to see you right now.”

“Alexa,” Tony croaked, and when he reached for me, Liam unexpectedly tore me behind his back. “I am not going to hurt her.”

“And I said, she doesn’t want to see you.” Liam’s height, indomitable and intimidating, shielded me from Tony.

I felt a touch of sympathy for the man. I mightn’t like or appreciate Tony’s past mistakes, but he’s undeserving of Liam’s impending wrath.

“It’s okay, Liam.” I place a reassuring hand to his shoulder. “Tony hasn’t done anything wrong. I’m a little tired and under the weather…” Tony’s confused state shifted. He eyed Liam for longer than necessary, concern and doubt in his red-brimmed eyes. “Please take me home.”

Hands in his trouser pockets, Liam glanced at me over one shoulder. His expression was disconnectedly dark. I feigned a reassuring smile, but he read me like I’m an open book.

“Please,” I coaxed, slipping my fingers in his pocket to take his hand.

Liam’s thumb brushed my knuckles. He acquiesced, draping an arm over my shoulders and guiding me down the pathway. “I don’t like it when you cry,” he said, intolerantly unappeased. “You will tell me what happened.”

I hadn’t planned to lie to him.

Across the road, Ted’s Bentley roared to life and the headlights beamed. He beeped the horn and drove off, but Liam neither acknowledged nor took his eyes off me.

I fumbled with my bag. “I should text Jace.”

“Brad will handle Jace.” Liam unlocked Brad’s vehicle and held the passenger door open for me. He waited for me to slip inside and then rounded the car and fell behind the steering wheel.

“I thought you went back to London.” I buckled up. “You ignored my calls.”

His head to the headrest, he stared lovingly at me. “If you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would you be?”

That was easy. “The beach.”

Mouth creeping into a smile, he ignited the engine. “At night?”

“It’s the best time to find shells.”

Interlacing our fingers, Liam brought my hand to his lips and laid a kiss to my palm. “Then let’s get you some shells.”

Chapter 23

Alexa

When nightfall arrived, the bright, full moon scintillated above the dark, cold abyss of the ocean. Washing against the shoreline, the somniferous sound of blue waves weirdly soothed and relaxed rampaging inhibitions.

Liam pushed his hands into his trouser pockets. Intimidatingly tall and regally handsome, the man walked alongside me, but since leaving Tony’s barbeque, he hasn’t said two words to me.

Much like Jace, Liam’s companioned me on these purpose-searching peregrinations, but his unreserved exasperation, unarguably observable. He’s hankering for commonplaceness, to regain a sense of normalcy, back in London, where he belongs.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, and he eyed me in confusion. “For not trusting you to handle Hellen Bennett and flying off the handle this morning.”

“You had every right to be upset,” he pardoned my inexcusable actions. His understanding had the opposite effect of assurance. “Bennett’s not the problem here, Alexa.” He stopped strolling and faced me, our shoulders touching. “Surely by now, you know much I love you. Do you honestly think I’d ruin what we share for someone like her? Or to put emphasis on it, any other woman?”

I smiled up at him. “Tatler unveiled you as one of London’s most eligible bachelors.”

“What the fuck is Tatler?” he asked, albeit seemingly uninterested. “I couldn’t care less. What matters to me is you—us.” Closing his hands around mine, he brought them to his mouth and blew warmth into my palms. “What must I do, Alexa? I made you insecure, so help me fix it.”

“I want Hellen out of the picture,” I said, addressing the complication in our relationship. “I appreciate that she’s not your average kill, Liam. I really do. But her undying obsession for you? It’s getting on my last nerve.” Cold winds blew through my hair. “I confronted Tony.”

“Yeah?” He curled a tendril of hair behind my ear. “Did he upset you?”

“No, Liam,” I warned, recognising the defensive glint in his blackened eyes. “No harm is to come to Tony. I mean it.” He didn’t reassure me. “I don’t know the exactness of what my mother told him, but she made him aware. He’s always known there was a possibility of being my father.” And tonight, angry and embittered, I projected all my emotions onto him. “Fearing the aftermath of Patrick more, she denied Tony a paternity test and lived in doubt instead.”

His eyes stared ahead. “Your mother’s cowardice upsets you.”

“Yes,” I said, feeling guilty for admitting judgments aloud. “Patrick wasn’t a nice man, but she didn’t need to stay in an unloving, abusive marriage. Mr Corbyn, Tony and Noah. She was, at a distance, surrounded by men who loved her. Why didn’t she pack her bags and let one of them help her? Why did she deny an honest man the right to be a father.”

Not once, in all these years, did I harbour negativity for the woman who birthed me. Always, I placed my mother on a pedestal like a deserving queen. However, her former actions disappoint me.

“People make mistakes,” Liam said, and I listened intently. “Don’t let this knowledge change your perception of Adaline. We’re not discussing an evil woman here, Alexa. She toughed out a hard life, dealing with Patrick Haines. Let her soul rest and proceed with the path she feared.” He pondered a question. “Do you require validation?”

I knew he meant Tony. “Yes.”

“Done.” He walked backwards, bringing me with him. “When the time’s right, invite Tony to London for a paternity test.” We stopped by a rock pool. “Why must you be the one to fight for everyone’s love? Let him rectify his negligence by proving to you how much he cares. It’s his turn to make an effort.”

Removing his suit jacket, Liam began to unbutton his shirt. His shoes and socks came next. Transfixed, I watched him unbuckle his belt. “What are you doing?” I salivated at the sight of his half-naked physique. “Now’s not the time to sunbathe, Liam,” I joked, assured he’s either drunk or sniffed up. His black boxer briefs fell to the sand, and arousal pooled between my thighs. He wasn’t hard, but his long, thick cock tempted me in the naughtiest way. “You need to put those back on.”

“Strip,” he ordered huskily, and I caught my breath. “Start with the blouse.”

Peering around the empty beach, I swallowed. “You want me naked?”

“I don’t like repeating myself, baby.”

Releasing a stuttered breath, I set my shoes onto an algae-layered boulder and lifted the blouse from under the waistband of my skirt. My eyes on him, I stripped the red satin material off my upper body, and his appreciative gaze roamed my naked chest. I am the unfortunate owner of small breasts, so I seldom wear bras. In a display of unhurried alluringness, I unzipped the back of my leather skirt, letting it drop to the sand.

“No lace,” Liam rasped, the muscle in his cheek ticking. “I don’t know how I feel about that.”

I resisted a smirk.

Liam’s elongating length betrayed his disapproval. He loves when I bare no underwear beneath my clothes, especially if a dress or revealing outfit fits my body. It turns him on, being able to surreptitiously slip a hand between my thighs, to touch what belongs to him. He does not, however, like the idea of other people knowing that I roam sans underwear. “Should I put the skirt back on?” I asked, hiding my satisfaction. “The blouse perhaps.”

“No,” he said in a low, savage voice, uprooting goosebumps from my skin. “Come here.”

I touched his chest, fingers tracing faded scars. “We better hope no dog walkers or joggers pay a visit.”

“Fuck them,” he growled, claiming my mouth for savouring kiss. Biting my bottom lip, he tugged, taking my parted mouth as an invitation. His tongue stroked mine, slow and erotic. Curling one arm around my lower back, he pulled me tight to him, deepening the kiss. “I want you.” I had no reason to deny him. “We should swim.”

My disbelieving eyes snapped open. “What?” He tried cajoling me to the ocean, but I cemented my feet to the sand. “I am not willingly going in there. Look at the sky.” I point, accentuating the level of danger. “It’s dark. And don’t even start me on the sharks, prowling those waters for fresh meat.” He gave me a guileful smile, and I snapped. “Don’t you dare put me over that shoulder, Liam, not unless you want me to disown you for the rest of our existence.”

Smoothing his tongue over his upper teeth, he curbed an amused smirk. “It’ll be fun.”

I slanted my eyes to him. “You don’t care about fun.”

He held onto patience. “I care about you.”

“Yet he wants to feed me to a predatory species.”

“Alexa,” he sighed, scratching his defined chest. “Sharks don’t belong in our waters.”

“Yeah, you know what? Jace claimed the same, but I googled for peace of mind and found many a disturbing article.” Men, I scoffed, crossing my arms. These irritatingly unflappable, crazy humans think I was born yesterday. When he trudged ahead, I stared at his back, wholly dumbfounded. “Where are you going?”

Wading into the water, he swam beneath the dark skies. “Move your ass, Alexa.”

Covering my breasts, I touched the shoreline with a pointed big toe. I can do this; I can do this; I can do this— “I can’t do this!” I yelled, burning up from the depths of my rioting stomach. The tide rolled in and splashed up my legs. “Liam it’s freezing.”

He doesn’t grace me with a response, too sick of my bitching petulance.

“Well if I don’t get eaten by a shark, I’ll suffer hyperthermia.” Outstretching my arms to feel the surface on my fingertips, I traversed the shallow waves until waist-deep. “Actually it’s not that cold.”

Smiling foolishly to myself, I closed my eyes and mouth, dipping my head under the water. Silence, I thought, tilting my head to listen. I stayed for no longer than five seconds, not wanting to cut out my oxygen supply when pregnant. Spearing to the crystalline surface, I throw my head back and comb a hand through my wet hair. “Liam?” I breathed, my eyes volleying to locate him. When I couldn’t find him, I pushed off my feet and stood taller, panic-stricken and swimming with terror. “Liam, don’t scare me!” No, he’s gone. “Liam!”

Trapped air whooshed out of my lungs when something snatched my ankle. I screamed a high-pitched scream, kicking and attacking the beastly animal—Liam reappeared, glistening in water dews and laughing huskily, loudly at my frighted expense. “You psychotic asshole!” Impossible anger forced my hand to impale his chest, a loud, unforgiving slap as I kicked myself away from him. “Who does that? You really are a bastard caveman!”

His chin rested on the surface, and his hunting, voracious blue eyes mark my every movement. “Are you still cold?” He asked, and I stared at his full, mesmerising lips. “Baby?”

“I am not speaking to you,” I managed to muster an acknowledgement, incapable of calming my breathing. “I thought something ate you.”

“Come here,” he said, deep and commanding.

My toes fight to touch the floor. “This is far enough.”

“Alexa, that wasn’t a request.”

Liam’s insane. If he wants to be shark bait that’s entirely up to him, but I don’t want any part of it. “You got me in the water, so what more do you want?” He smirked wolfishly at me, and I rolled my eyes. “Men.” Something indescribable slithered across my foot. “What was that?”

His eyebrows turned up. “What?”

It happened again. “Liam,” I muttered warily, flinching and recoiling. “Oh, God.”

Rolling back his shoulders, Liam raised to his full height. “Alexa…”

Whatever prowled the dark waters coiled around my leg, tight and soul-snatching. “Liam!” I screamed, thrashing my legs, fearing for my life. “Something’s attacking my leg!” A wave crashed over my head, and I involuntarily ingested a mouthful of saltwater. “It bit me!”

“Don’t panic,” he growled, but the uneasiness in his clipped tone heightened my trepidation. He swam determinedly towards me and, in dread of the unknown, elevated me, prioritising my safety before his. “Stop lashing out,” he said with stentorian harshness, and I wilted, not before curling myself around him, though. “I need to check…”

With my eyes stitched and blood roaring in my ears, I clung to him as though he were my lifeline. “How bad is it?” I asked breathlessly, and he laughed under his breath. “Why is my despair funny?”

“Alexa, when will you stop trying to put me into an early grave?” Snatching my ankle, he touched whatever stuck to my leg with investigatory fingers. “Seaweed.”

I felt impossibly stupid. “I don’t like the sea.” He untangled the cluster of seaweed from my ankle. I refuse to disentangle myself from him. “Or you, actually.”

“Alexa, calm down.” His hand fused to my back. “I can feel your heartbeat through your chest.”

Warm yet thoroughly soaked, I put our temples together and gazed at the vastness of the ocean. “We should get out.”

“Soon.” Brushing his thumb over my nipple, he cupped my breast. “Kiss me.”

Turning my head, I put my lips to his, delicate and gentle. I tease every inch of his mouth, asking for access. He allowed me in, caressing my tongue with delectableness. He didn’t break our kiss, coldness sheathing my skin as he transmitted me to shore.

Back on terra firma, he lowered my back to the wilderness of sand, pinning my arms above my head. His lips left mine to bite and suck my neck, my clavicle and chest.

Through dark, hooded eyes, he looked down at me, touring the length of my body in adoration. Gripping my waistline, he bit his bottom lip. “Fucking beautiful.”

My body anchored to his touch. He leaned down and sucked my breast, the tip of his tongue stimulating my peaked nipple. “So responsive.” Bringing his lips back to mine, he stole another kiss. “Baby.”

“Take me,” I moaned into his mouth.

Liam wanted me, right there on the beach. How he stopped himself, I will never know. Neither of us knew the do’s and don’ts of pregnancy, though, which raised concerns. Like reckless teenagers of the night, we assembled our discarded clothes and kissed our way back to the cabin. If late-night wanderers got an eyeful, I didn’t care to apologise.

And Liam Warren never disappoints.

“Oh, shit,” I cried out, grappling the sheets with knuckle white urgency. “Don’t stop.”

On arrival, Liam slammed the cabin door behind us and took me right on the dining table. He coaxed orgasms out of me before fucking me in the shower and bending on one knee to lap the arousal from my sex.

I am royally spent, yet Liam’s back between my thighs, devouring me, tormenting me. His starved mouth, feasting on me. “You can do better than that,” he mumbled, his hands pushing my ass cheeks, parting me for his wicked tongue. “Open for me.”

Tousling his damp hair with greedy fingers, I widened my legs and rode his mouth. His tongue delved my folds, and my body quivered to his command. I bucked my hips, craving more. He shoved two fingers inside me, and I spasmed, coating him in my juices. Groaning in approval, he curled and scissored his fingers, nudging the spot that he knew drove me wild. His mouth created a suction over my clit, and he suckled, nipped and pushed me over the side-shattering edge. I fell over that cliffside, trusting he’d catch me.

Still reeling from back to back climaxes, I panted, cupping his stubble jaw. “You need to get up here, Liam.”

Misted in sweat and painfully handsome, Liam, his mouth glistening in my arousal, crawled above my body, nestling his hips between my awaiting thighs. “I’m in love with you,” he whispered into my mouth, lazily sweeping his tongue, prompting me to taste myself. “Do you deserve my cock again, baby?”

“Yes,” I said without conviction, knowing it’s my turn to pleasure him. “Let me—”

“No.” He caught my wandering hand before it obtained his hard, thickening shaft. “It’s always about you.” Biting my earlobe, he lined himself at my soaked pussy and shoved forward. “Love taking you bare.”

No matter how many times this man claims me, I can never fully prepare myself for the stretching invasion. Hissing, I scorched my fingernails down his muscular back and bowed into him. “Liam,” I moaned, wrapping my arms and legs around him. “Please.”

Pinning me to his pelvis, Liam rocked, unhurried yet each hard thrust meant something. My hair tight in his fist, he fucked me thoroughly, building pressure. Kissing me with passionate reverence, he caged me beneath his powerful frame, his hips circling.

Desire shot through me. Moaning Liam’s name, I met his measured drives, wanting to be the catalyst for his impassioned pinnacle.

Keeping us connected, he fell back on his haunches, rooting me at the base of his shaft. “Ride me,” he said throatily, and I positioned my knees on his thighs. “That’s it.” His one hand squeezing my breast, he held me at the nape. “Fuck me.”

My hands to his broad shoulders, I bounced on his cock, invigorated by the sound of his shallow breathing and strained countenance. Watching me ride him, he moved a hand to my hip bone, his thumb pressing down and circling.

Seeing me engulf his length was too much for Liam to withstand. Eyes flickering shut, he tilted his head back, and his thick, bobbing throat invited my lips. I kissed his wedged Adam’s apple and licked my way to his mouth, fiercely demanding a kiss, breathing him in.

“I’m coming,” I cried between feverish kisses, my body convulsing in his arms. He shoved into me punishingly. “Liam, I’m coming.”

It was all Liam needed to lose himself. His forehead to mine, he held me down on his shaft, and my clenching walls thickened him. Stifling a husky moan, Liam sank his teeth in my shoulder and emptied his seed in four warm spurts. I loved every part of his pleasure; the way he tries to conceal himself; his jerking cock and how his hands absently brandish my skin as he possesses me. “Never,” he breathed heavily in my ear. “I will never tire of you, baby.”

***

I found a shell while beachcombing, one I hadn’t had the luxury of achieving before. I had to google the photo on my phone by image search. It wasn’t worth a penny, but knowing It’ll be the only colourful addition to Summer’s dream catcher added to its uniqueness.

“I thought I might find you here,” Tony said, and I kept my gaze on the waters. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”

Humming in response, I put the shell in my coat pocket.

Tony came into my peripheral vision. Hands stuffed in his jeans pockets, he regarded the ocean with me, watching its calm yet unpredictable waves. “You remind me so much of Adaline.” It wasn’t a seedy comment. Rather, a nostalgic complement of admiration. “I miss surfing—miss the good ole’ days.”

“What do you want, Tony?” My question was unkinder than intended. “We barely know each other, so don’t feel indebted to me.” I looked at him to find him already staring at me. “You owe me nothing, right?”

His troubled, bloodshot eyes were the personification of no sleep. “I’m sorry.”

My throat thickened, but I won’t cry. Not again.

“I did fight for you,” he continued, moving to stand in front of me. “I fought for all of you, Alexa. Hell, I knew Kathy wasn’t my child, but I still loved her like she was my own. And you, it was different. I was fortunate enough to watch you grow from a new-born baby to this…” Silently slipping into memory, he chuckled. “You would brighten a room with your innocence. Such a beautiful, happy little girl.”

“I remember her differently,” I said, recalling my brattish behaviour and frequent sulkiness. “Poor Kathy didn’t stand a chance with me.” Kathy couldn’t take a bathroom break without my interrogation. I followed her like an annoying pet, latching onto her every move, wanting to know where she was going or if she’d introduce me to her friends. “I commend her patience.”

“Kathy idolised you,” Tony affirmed, and I bite into my tongue, tasting metallic blood. “You were quite literally her favourite person.” He grimaced. “I imagine you still are.”

Guilt enwreathed my heart. Glassy-eyed, I gazed up to the cloudless heavens and breathed a choppy breath. “Kathy’s dead,” I tell him, not able to witness his shock. “Even in death, I believe she hates me.”

Grief-stricken, he stumbled back. “No, it wasn’t on the news, Alexa. It’d be public knowledge.”

Not if the syndicate operated a situation.

“Are you sure?” he asked, and I nodded. “Dear God.” Cupping his head, he veered his tear-filled eyes. “When? And how? Was there a funeral? I should visit her grave.”

I didn’t even know if Kathy had a marked graveside. “I’m not ready for this conversation.” Automatically reaching for my chain, I patted my naked neckline, missing the comfort. “A different girl returned from captivity, Tony. Not the Kathy you remember, so let’s just leave it at that.”

A lone tear trickled down his cheek. Snivelling, he swiped it away with the back of his hand. “I am ashamed of myself,” he croaked, and my remorse multiplied in tenfold. “You’re right. I didn’t try hard enough. I loved Adaline so much and wouldn’t dream of making life harder for her. Alternatively, I held onto hope that someday, she’d see sense and finally leave Patrick. I was prepared to wait forever.”

“Forever never came,” I whispered.

Tony gave me a sullen nod. “Had I tried harder or even challenged Patrick—”

“It’s not your fault,” I interrupted, ending his regret and despair. “You did nothing but love my mother and her children,” I think of his eyes, so warm, so kind and loving. He longed for Adaline Haines. If only she mustered the strength to reciprocate his enamourment. “I could stand here all day and shame you into a darker hole, but you were young, Tony. You made mistakes; we all make mistakes.”

Tony’s hands latched onto my cheeks. “I want a paternity test.” My heart shattered. I wasn’t asking for a surrogate father, but his assumption hurt. “However, irrespective of the results, I’d love to be that man for you.”

I peered up at him from under wet eyelashes. “What are you saying?”

“Let me fix it,” Tony pleaded, thumbing away my fallen tears. “Not just because you deserve it, Alexa. But because I want to have you in my life.” He licked his dry lips. “I want to be your father if you’ll have me.”

“Why?” I made a soft, muffled sound. “For Adaline? You don’t have to do that, Tony. Clear your conscience. I do not hold you accountable for the past. Last night, I was just angry. You,” I stressed, fisting his jumper, “are a good man. And if nothing else comes from this trip to Newquay, I am so glad that we reconnected and—”

“Alexa.” He sliced through my prattling, smiling down at me. “Is it so hard to believe, I might want you in my life?”

“I want to know you.” Gutlessly looking at his chest instead of head-on, I gripped his hand. “I want you to know me.” My jaw locked as I wrestled persistent sadness. “Only if it’s what you want.” Could he truly love me as if I were his daughter? If the test came back negative? “What if I’m not yours.”

“You, Kathy and Adaline, were always mine.” Tony kissed my forehead, and my eyes flickered shut, lost in his caring embrace. “We can’t bring them back, but forever can begin with us.”

Wiping the mist from my eyes, I sobbed a laugh. “Do I call you, dad?” I joked, and we both chuckled. “I’m kidding.” Braving him, I met his searching gaze. “Thank you.”

Tony scowled. “Whatever for?”

For selflessly choosing me, I thought. “I can’t cook,” I informed Tony as we ebbed from the shoreline. “The Suits think I don’t see them hiding food in napkins.”

His furrowing brows drew closer. “Who are the Suits?”

“Oh, they belong to Liam,” I said evasively, tugging my hoodie sleeves. “You’ll meet them if you visit London.”

“Your mother was a fantastic cook.”

“Yes, well, it’s a shame she didn’t pass on her culinary skills.” We trudged through the warm sand. “I have a spending problem. I possess more shoes than Imelda Marcos, yet I wear favoured ones while the others lay in fancy boxes. I love anything red,” I babbled on, feeling the wind on my face. “It’s obsessively, my favourite colour.”

“Adaline was very much the same.”

I know. And that’s the precision behind my fixation. “I’m a huge fan of vodka.” My hands fell to my stomach. “When I’m not pregnant.”

Snickering, Tony nudged me with his shoulder. “I like scotch, gardening and music. I can’t dance to save my life, but I earn points for effort. I miss the waves, but surfing is out of the question. Still, you’ll often see me on the beach, reminiscing.”

We reached the pedestrian walkway and lingered at the roadside. Hesitating by the driver’s side of his truck, Tony unlocked the door. “I like getting to know you,” he said, not looking at me. “I want to do it more often.”

Before I could talk myself out of it, I hugged him, my cheek to his heart. “Will you come to London?”

“Absolutely.” He kissed the top of my head. “Perhaps I could bring Camilla?”

“I like her,” I admitted, and I caught his exhaled relief. “She makes you smile.” Unravelling myself from him, I fixed myself. “You have my number.” The balls in your court, I thought.

Saluting me, Tony dropped behind the steering wheel and roared the engine to life. Dust kicked up from behind the tyres as he drove off. Immobilised by ambivalence, I stared at the empty road after his departure.

I unlocked my phone.

Me: Are you ready to get back to the real world?

Three spots bounced on my screen.

Jace: Seriously?

Me: Yes.

Jace: Hallelujah. I’m packing as we text.

Me: Where’s Liam?

Jace: Loading the Bentley with Brad.

I tucked my phone away and broke into a sprint, the heels of my boots belting against the floor. In the distance, I see Brad exiting the cabin, a phone to his ear, a holdall in hand.

Painting and sweating, I jogged faster, in time to see a suited Liam descend the cabin’s steps. “Alexa?” he called, obvious suspicion creasing his eyebrows. “What’s wrong?”

Stumbling to a stop, I pointed at him. “Don’t,” I panted, gasping for breath, “go anywhere.” Puzzled, he watched me spear past like a bolt of lightning. “Jace?” I yelled, dashing through the living room, collecting discarded clothes, personal belongings and random crap we hoarded over the weeks. “Let’s go.”

Inside my bedroom, I unzipped my bags and stuffed them, hurling items left, right and centre. Adequately prepared, I dragged the cases across the floor, meeting Jace in the kitchen.

He flung the keys onto the counter. “What brought this on?”

“London’s where I am happy,” I blurted out, lifting my shoulders. “So, I can’t trust any revolution if happiness isn’t involved, right?”

Jace grazed my chin with his knuckles. “Atta girl.”

Carrying our cases outdoors, Jace mouthed something to Brad. The Blond Suit nodded, popping open the Bentley boot for my friend.

Liam hadn’t noticed me outside. His back to everyone, he speaks on the phone.

When the men climb into the vehicle, I pull up behind the man I love and wrap my arms around his middle.

“Send three,” Liam authorised, his hand laid to my forearm. “Arrange a meeting.” Another pause. “Demand updates.” I listen to a murmured Nate run over penned questions. “Useless. Get rid of him.” My eyebrows bounced up. “What about her?” Interest piquing, I tilted my head. “Hm,” he mumbled, glimpsing at me from the corner of his eye. “Not now.” Nate mentioned my name. “Yes.”

I withdrew my arms.

Liam ended the call. “Ted’s on strict orders. I know you hate all the attention, but if I’m not here, I want a member of the syndicate inside that building.” Phone in hand, he points to the cabin. “It’s non-negotiable, Alexa. I can’t relax if you don’t have twenty-four-seven security. Serena left, or so we think. I don’t trust her, though. I can’t be sure—”

“Liam,” I cut him off, seizing the waistband of his trousers. Pushing off my feet, I met him for a soft kiss. “I am not staying.”

“What?” His expression hardened. “What does that mean? Did you find somewhere else to stay?”

“No, I want to go home—wherever that might be,” I said sheepishly, hoping it’s with him. “It doesn’t need to be the penthouse. I could live at a hotel until I put a down payment on an apartment or something…”

“Or something,” he repeats, smirking as we kissed. “Your home is with me.”

I hoped he’d say that. “I’m a bed hogger.”

“I don’t care.” He trapped me in his arms. “You’re in my bed, that’s all that matters.”

“I burn scrambled eggs.”

“I’ll eat them regardless.”

“I sing in the shower.”

“You being naked,” he nipped my jawline, “distracts me.”

I am high for this man. “I love you, Liam.”

Liam eased back to look at me. His palm to my cheek, he parted my lips with his thumb. “Always.”

Chapter 24

Alexa

The first thing I wanted to do when back in London was sleep. Forget unpacking and showering, the dominating bed inside Liam’s bedroom allured me. Shock horror, I didn’t rouse until the following evening, a dark, empty penthouse to greet me. Liam hadn’t created space in the walk-in wardrobe for my belongings. Infringing his privacy wasn’t new to me, but, in all honesty, I didn’t have the energy to do so. I left the unzipped holdalls on the long-stretched bench and organised cosmetics onto the black, high-gloss chiffonier instead. He hasn’t utilised the elegant furnishing, excluding the hidden weaponry, so I claimed it as mine.

I missed coffee; I missed vodka more.

Monday morning, I visited the doctors’ surgery. Forty-five minutes, I sat in the visitors’ room. Short and friendly, the female nurse appeared at the reception desk, scouring my notes as she called me. It was enigmatical, the embarrassment I felt when patients watched me amble to a private room. It shouldn’t matter, their inquisitiveness, yet them knowing why I handed the nurse a sealed urine sample, troubled me for the rest of the day.

Pregnancy confirmed; I await additional confirmation from the lab before the doctor can forward my details to the Royal London hospital.

Jace’s the elated owner of two commercial buildings. With a bottle of Chateau De Fleur non-alcoholic sparkling wine for me and Armand de Brignac Ace of Spades for Jace, we celebrated. Ordering a feast on wheels, Jace laid out containers of Chinese food onto a table the previous owners left behind and then talked me through renovations.

I wasn’t allowed to lift heavy objects, paint or decorate, so Jace put me in charge of memorabilia hunting. He didn’t tell me I’d be the hired barista for contractors, though.

“Another cuppa, love.” An older gent wearing a white hard hat, safety glasses and a neon yellow Hi-Vis waistcoat, slammed an empty mug onto my notes. “Go easy on the sugar.”

By the end of the week, I loathed coffee.

Using my back to open the parlour door, I carried purchases to the plastic-sealed front desk Jace had delivered yesterday. “You are going to love me.”

“I already love you.” Jace, covered in black and white paint specs, dropped a kiss atop my head. “What’s that?”

My eyebrows dancing, I handed him the parcel. “Take a look.”

Sipping from a steaming mug of coffee, he set it aside and examined the brown box. Flipping open a switchblade, he knifed the cellophane. “The Lost Boys.” He squinted to read the scrawled autograph. “Shit, Kiefer Sutherland signed this.” He moved onto the next. “Frankenstein, The Shining. It’s got Jack Nicholson’s autograph.”

“I spent three days with my eyes glued to online auctioneer events so that I could get my hands on these.” I toured him through posters. “A Nightmare on Elm Street, signed by the 1980′s Kruger, Robert Englund. I know you love that film. Oh, and I had the guy across the road frame them for us.”

Jace glanced at the window to the artist-run initiative gallery. “I hear that those artists host late-night sex parties.” His attention returns to the black frames. “Did the owner charge you for the framework?”

“No, he didn’t charge a penny, which I thought was very nice…” Jace arched a deadpan eyebrow. “What am I missing here?”

“As I said, those indie-looking artists host sex parties.” Opening a toolbox onto the counter, he finds a hammer and nails. “Nobody gives you something for nothing, Alexa. Remember that the next time someone offers you a freebie.”

I glared at the closed gallery.

“Did the guy invite you to a show?” he asked, positioning a level tool to the black feature wall. “Told you to bring a friend, huh?”

Yes, the guy and his co-workers had extended an invite, though, I politely declined. “Oh. I am such a trusting idiot.” Cracking open a can of lemonade, I sat on a stool, crossing my legs. “Remind me to post a payment, Jace. I am not letting that sleazebag hang an endowment over my head.”

I received an email from the doctor, scheduling a midwife appointment. Still, the pregnancy didn’t seem real. Routinely, I studied myself in the bathroom mirror, hand to my flat stomach. Vomiting and tiredness were my only symptoms. Then again, I endured both when hungover and the aftermath of insobriety habitually occurred.

Liam no longer slept at the office. He comes home late nonetheless, stripping out of blood-stained shirts and accepting non stop phone calls from the Suits. Most nights, Liam’s not slipping into bed until three a.m., and even though he thinks I’m asleep, he never fails to kiss my cheek or pull me into his arms.

Brad Jones, Liam’s shadow, claimed one of the guest bedrooms. According to Liam, Brad owns an apartment, but for a reason unbeknownst to me, the man never stays there. I don’t mind. I love Brad, and he’s one hell of a cook.

I force myself to wake up at the crack of dawn, just so I can join the men for early morning breakfast: fresh orange juice, scrambled eggs, streaky bacon, buttered toast and avocado.

Yes, I am taking notes.

Hawk-eyed, I watch Brad occupy the stove while typing how long it takes him not to burn anything on my phone.

“You look like shit,” Brad insulted, sliding plated deliciousness before me. “What’s going on with the hair?”

“What’s going on with yours?” I retort childishly, biting into a piece of toast.

“She looks beautiful.” Pulling on a black suit jacket, Liam enters the kitchen. “Morning, baby.” Accepting a coffee from Brad, he scorched my cheek with a lingering kiss. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” Brad answered for me, buttoning up his white shirt.

“Shut up,” Liam scolds, sipping his coffee. “Go and fire the Bentley. I’ll be down in a minute.”

Brad tugged my ponytail as he passed. He unlocked the front door, barking orders at the poor Suits who stand guard in the hallway.

“I have a date for a midwife appointment.” Twisting at the waist, I peered up at Liam, in awe of his unfaltering masculinity. “Will you attend?”

“Of course.” He palmed my cheek and gently kissed my lips. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

My eyes on him, I stood. “Do you love me?” I asked, placing a hand to his chest as I sank to my knees.

“Baby,” he said, low and raspy. “You know, I do.”

Undoing his belt and zipper, I craned my neck to look at him. His cock hardened with delectableness beneath his straining boxer briefs. Curling my fingers under the waistband, I pulled his briefs down, and his mouth-watering shaft fell into my waiting palm. On a tight upstroke, he groaned, fisting my hair and yanking me in. I swept my tongue along the underside of his length, consciously avoiding his swollen, glistening crown.

“Killing me,” he growled, his fingers wrenching at my roots. “Suck it.”

Obsequiously, I separated my lips and engulfed him, sucking and tasting beaded pre-cum. Fisting the base of him, I worked my hand, desperate to witness him come undone.

Liam shifted his hips, and another bead of pre-ejaculate warmed my tongue. His breathing came in harsher, and I knew he was close.

My jaw began to ache, but I’ll never slow the pace. I clenched my thighs together, inwardly berating myself for craving Liam in more ways than pleasuring him. He needed this—deserved it. I could wait until later when he returns from the club to drive me insane with his devouring mouth.

“Fuck,” he rasps, his cock swelling and throbbing. “Alexa.” His thighs bunched together and thick cum spurted in my mouth. “Fucking hell.”

Savouring his masculine taste, I swallowed him with a triumphant smile.

Shaft hanging between his legs, he tucked himself away. “Come here,” he ordered, and I rose on shaky legs. “Kiss me.”

My palms hug his shoulders. I reached up and kissed him. I detected a mixture of coffee and mint on his tongue as I melted against him.

His hands roamed my body, grasping my ass to lift me onto the kitchen island. Towering between my parted thighs, he braced his palms to the counter. His semi-hard cock pushed up to my sex.

“I could fuck you all day.” He sucked the column of my neck. “Lie down and bare that cunt for me.”

“No,” I protested futilely, gripping the collar of his shirt. “I want this morning to be about you.”

Disdaining my refusal, he nudged my thighs wider and eased two fingers inside me. “Remove the T-shirt. I want to see those beautiful tits.”

“Liam,” I argued, squirming in his inescapable hold. “It’s not about me.”

He snatched my jaw. “It’s always about you.”

Throughout the week, I occupied myself at Pierced and Inked, helping Jace prepare for his grand opening. He gave me a laptop and the keys to his office, all-black and everything manly.

Throned on a leather chair behind his desk, I interviewed possible employees.

“I worked at Sam’s bar for two years,” the applicant said, slumping in the chair. “I enjoyed that.”

With zero experience, the fifty-three-year-old male has spent the majority of the interview, checking his phone. “You do realise Pierced and Inked is a tattoo parlour, right?”

He adjusted his bi-focal glasses. “Yes.”

“Okay.” Pursing my lips, I plucked a pen and scratched a line over his application. “We have your details.” I opened a drawer and dropped his declined form inside. “You will receive a call from Mr Williams if applicable.”

An hour later.

“I love anything black,” the woman tells me, filing her razor-sharp black-painted fingernails. “Marilyn Manson and mythology.”

Nodding, I ticked sociable, friendly and scribbled eccentric fashion taste. “Why did you leave your previous job?”

“Oh.” Rolling her eyes, she sat straighter. “I got into it with my boss.” Her voice lowered. “If you know what I mean.”

Unblinking, I stared.

“He was married. Such a waste,” she added uncaringly, admiring her claws of covetousness. “He was fantastic in the sack. He got meat for days.”

Clearing my throat, I jotted a note at the bottom of her form. “I assume that’s not going to be an issue if Mr Williams hires you?”

Jace stressed that he wanted professionals. He’s taking this venture seriously, so we don’t need drama.

“Said in the nicest way possible.” I rested my elbows on the desk. “Are you famous for fucking men who aren’t yours, specifically at the workplace?”

“No.” Giggling a snort, she waved a flippant hand. “I’m a lesbian. It’s easier.”

Fair enough. I scanned her employment history. “You ticked ‘yes’ for piercing, but I can’t find the certificate—”

“Yeah, ignore that.” She popped a pink chewing gum bubble. “I’m practising on a friend.”

Baseball hat on backwards, Jace entered the office and her wide, approving eyes hounded.

Rummaging a filing cabinet, Jace pays no heed to the interview or the woman’s dribbling licentiousness.

I offer a flat smile and address the interviewee once he leaves. “He’s the boss.”

Her eyes haven’t left the closed door.

Shaking my head, I pen a line through her application form and dismiss the interview.

“I worked at Dragon Ink for five years.” Shane has short, bleached blond hair and a left ear clustered in titanium piercings. “Started as an apprentice and worked my way up the ladder.” Unzipping his backpack, he grabbed a leather-bound folder and placed it on the desk. “This is some of my work.”

Intrigued, I sat forward and skimmed his portfolio. “You did all these?” I mused, respecting his traditional style, colourful roses, detailed anchors and gorgeous women. “Why did you leave Dragon Ink?”

Shane winced, scratching the back of his head. “I fell out with my boss.”

God, don’t tell me he’s renowned for sexual misconduct, too. “Can I ask why?”

“He was into shit I don’t like,” he admits, heightening my interest. “I’m not about giving ink for sexual gratification, Miss. Call me old fashioned, but I can’t condone that type of behaviour.”

“Your former boss solicited sexual favours from clients?” I asked, and he dipped his head. “Then, I don’t blame you for parting ways.” He had an admirable list of qualifications. “Do you pierce?”

He clasped his hands together. “Yes, Miss.”

“Does a client requesting personal piercings discomfort you?”

“No, I’m strictly professional.” He’s comfortingly confident. “Same applies for tattoos. I can ink anywhere. It’s not a problem.”

I liked him. “Okay,” I said with a friendly smile. “I’ll forward the details to Mr Williams.” We both stood, shaking hands. “Either way, he’ll call within the next two days.”

The moment Shane leaves, I send Jace a text.

Me: Shane’s perfect. You’ll love him. He’s also keen to rent a room upstairs.

Me: (insert dancing emoji) win-win.

Jace: Sound. Nice one, Alexa.

Me: No problem.

“You’re seeking jobs without a visa,” I tell the international exchange student. “We can’t hire you.”

He abruptly jumped from his seat. “I can get a visa.”

Sure, you can. “Come back to us when you do.”

Two hours later.

“I love this room.” Modelling all-black leather and bright pink Dr Martens, Harlyn, who reminds me of a gothic pixie, plucked up a collectable to scrutinise. “Okay, I’m going to cut to the chase. I am shit with people. I talk too much, not because I’m nervous, but because I don’t know when to be quiet.”

My eyebrows shot up. “And how does that make you ‘shit with people’?”

“Because I don’t like them,” she said unashamedly, jerking one shoulder. “But I’m a damn good artist. Give me some skin, and I’ll create a masterpiece: watercolour, traditional, realism and tribal. There’s nothing I can’t do. About piercing, I got my skill set from Blue Banana last year.” She flashed me her tongue piercing. “Did that myself.”

I spoke before thinking. “Are you straight?”

“Why?” Her eyebrow arched suggestively. “Are you interested?”

“No, I’m not…” Into women, I thought, tapping the pen on the desk. “Almost every female I have interviewed is only interested in the boss.”

“You mean that beefcake out there?” Snorting, she threw a thumb over her shoulder. “Yeah, no thanks. I’ve had my fair share of men who look like that. It ends with me packing.”

I liked her honesty. “How would you handle a difficult customer?”

“Well, that depends.” She fixed her pink wig. “If it’s a guy, getting all fresh on me, I’ll string him by the balls. If it’s someone who isn’t happy with my work—which never happens, by the way—I’ll tell them to sling their hook. I suppose if it’s a matter I cannot handle myself, well, I’ll call The Mr to deal with them, huh?”

I think she meant Jace. “Next Friday is the opening night.” Taking out a contract, I passed her a pen. “You got the job. Sign these and introduce yourself to Mr Williams.”

Her mouth opened. “I got the job?”

“Yes.” She’ll keep Jace on his toes. He needs that level of frustration in his life; it’ll keep his mind ticking over. “I’ll see you next week.”

“Oh, you’re a babe,” she said, swinging open the door.

Uncapping bottled water, I collapsed in the chair and quenched my thirst.

I heard Jace’s loud stomps and readied myself for a verbal onslaught. “Alexa,” he whisper-shouts, storming to the desk. “You hired her on the spot?”

“I did.” Closing my eyes. I contemplated an afternoon nap. “I love her image. She reminds me of a dark fairy.”

“Alexa,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She’s trouble.”

“Harlyn,” I enunciated, her name rolling off my tongue, “is exactly what your company needs. She’s quirky, smart, fun and experienced. She’ll take no shit from clients and get on great with you and Shane.” I show him her application form. “She wrote not applicable for an address, which leads me to believe she’s a squatter. Be a gentleman and lease her one of the rooms.”

“I am not living with a foul-mouthed Harlyn,” he barked, scrunching up her form.

“You’d live with a fucking foul-mouthed Alexa.”

“That’s different,” he explained, but his unfathomable logic puzzled me. “You’re different.”

“Jace.” Rounding the desk, I parked on the wooden edge and hugged his waist. “Please trust me. Harlyn’s an outstanding tattoo artist. Look at those designs.” Opening a file, I exhibit her crumpled sheets. “Conceptual and creative.”

Jace’s eyes alight. “Wow.”

“I know, right?” I turn over the page. “I mean that Lion’s so realistic and fierce. Hell, I want it tattooed on my ass.”

He slung me a disapproving look.

“Look if Harlyn screws up, then terminate her position, but give her a chance to prove herself.”

“You owe me for this.” His inked finger flicked my nose, sending a sharp pain to my forehead. “One more to go. No more hiring off the bat.”

I give him the middle finger. “Yes, Sir.”

Sinking on the leather chair, I fire the laptop and wait for Jared.

An hour later, the tardy sod comes barrelling into the office. “I am so sorry.” Flustered and panting, Jared closed the door. “My bike had a flat, so I ran for the bus—I missed that pissing bus.” He pulled out a chair and sat down. “And I hadn’t eaten. I’m so fucking grouchy when I’m hungry.” Tearing through a cereal bar, he inhaled in three bites, a mouthful stuffed in his cheek. “So,” he clapped his hands, “where do we start?”

“Firstly, lateness isn’t acceptable. Not for an interview and most significantly not for clients. You should know as much, considering you worked at Hellfire for five years. I hear the boss runs a tight regime.”

Indifferent, Jared tousled his jet black hair. “Yeah, Hellfire can suck a dick as far as I’m concerned. Do you know what that prick did to me? Held back my wages for three months—three months in case you missed that. How am I expected to live without no wages? I’m in debt to my eyeballs. Have two dogs that eat-me-out-of-house-and-home and a needy girlfriend who lives a champagne life on a lemonade budget.” He stuffed the wrapper in his pocket. “And our cat died, but ain’t told the missus yet.”

“I’m sorry about your cat.” Tightening my ponytail, I accepted his folder and sprawled his commendable collection across the desk. “Before we begin, I have to ask, are you a British Citizen?” I don’t fancy another argument about visas today. “If so, can I see your rights to work.”

Rising to his feet, Jared fixed his eyebrow piercing. He fished folded documents from his pocket and put them on the desk. “P60 and P45.” Wielding a passport, he revealed his mug shot. “Don’t laugh. I went through a stage of dying my hair purple.”

“It suits you,” I complimented, scanning the passport. “What’s the craziest colour you dyed your hair.”

“Vomit orange.” His lips twisted in repulsion. “I looked like a red-head cross-bred with a poodle.”

I stifled a laugh. “Blue?”

“Once.” Grinning mischievously, he widened his blue eyes. “The ladies approved, too. It matched my eyes and all. Also,” he lent forward, gesturing to the ceiling, “I read Mr Williams has a few rooms available. I’d like to rent one even if I don’t get the job.”

Frowning, I returned to my seat, slipping the passport print-out into Jace’s drawer. “I don’t think Mr Williams’ looking for couples, Jared.”

It’s not a lie. Jace’s scouring working professionals. No animals. No children.

“Yeah, the dogs belong to my missus, and I plan to leave her.” He shifted uncomfortably. “I think she’s fucking my brother.”

I remained impassive. “That’s truly disappointing.” God, Jared’s full of life, considering recent upset. He’s amiable, too, virtually spewing personal information at me. “If that’s the case, unless your circumstances change, I believe Jace would be happy to rent you a room.”

I read Jace’s “must ask” notes and relayed them. “How do you feel about tattooing a noo-noo…?” Son of a bastard. I am going to murder Jace. “I mean, how do you feel about intimate areas?” My cheeks scorched impossible red. “Male or female.”

“Given the fact males sport dicks…” His eyes sliced in perplexity. “I got no issue with inking a noo-noo,” he parodied, grazing his upper teeth with a tongue bar. “Was that a serious question? I got a whole portfolio: clitoral hood, labia—inner or outer—a Christina.” He holds up wiggling fingers. “Princess Albertina…Fewer options for the nipples, though, hoops are most common.” His curious eyes briefly surveyed my chest. “Do you have one?”

“No.” I pulled a face. “Do you?”

“Yeah, actually.” He lifted his T-shirt, showing me his piercings. “I like barbells. This one?” He tweaked his left nipple. “White gold.”

“Please pull your top down.” Jared would be flying through a window if Liam caught sight of this outrageous interview. “Are you flexible?”

“I can work morning, noon and night.” He seemed genuine. “Listen, I love what I do. It’s not just a job for me; it’s a passion.”

“What else do you do in your free time?”

For the first time since arriving, Jared’s imperturbable armour cracked, a meek smile creeping on his lips. “I’m a singer-songwriter,” he said sheepishly, his teeth catching his bottom lip. “I play the guitar and write lyrics everywhere.” In a state of chuckling awkwardness, he speared a hand through his hair. “I thought of a song just looking at you.”

“Really?” My smile mirrored his. “What’s it called?”

He eased back in his seat. “Lady in red.”

I rolled my eyes. “Cliché.”

“Not my lyrics.” He stumbled to his feet when Jace comes in. “Hey, man.” Holding out his arm, he shook a reluctant Jace’s hand. “Jared. I love what you did to the place.” Gesticulating to the parlour floor, he stuffed his hands in his pockets, preventing further hand-waves of uncomfortableness. “It’s neat.”

Jace looked tired. “Thanks.” Giving me a cup of tea, he reversed his ball cap and grabbed money from the safe. “Last one for the day?”

I nodded.

“Good,” Jace clipped, slapping a contract to Jared’s chest. “You’re hired. Fill this in and then help me assemble furniture.”

Wide-eyed and slack-jawed, Jared snatched a pen from my hand and shadowed Jace out of the office. “Who said I could build furniture?”

Discombobulated into brief immobilisation, I shook the dispersed thoughts in my head and chased behind them. “Hey!” I yanked Jace’s T-shirt. “You told me not to hire any more people off the bat.”

“Two deliveries haven’t turned up,” Jace complained, reclaiming a roller to paint the walls. “I’m still waiting for piercing stock and aftercare products.”

Oh, shit. Ordering supplies was my job, and I completely forgot to put the order through.

Jace stomped around. “Do you see any client chairs? Workstations?”

I pucker my lips.

“No tables or benches, either.” Stressed and ruddier than usual, Jace cursed, mopping sweat from his temples. “And those contractors spend more time chin wagging than working.”

“Okay, calm down.” Behind the reception desk, I grab the container of pasta salad I bought this morning and hand it to him. “Go to the office and eat this. You need to take a break, Jace.” He opened his mouth to protest, so I held up a hand. “It’s not up for discussion. I’ll call the companies to find out what’s happened to our deliveries.” Lord forgive me, I thought, lying through my teeth; I’ll place the order and pay extra. “As for those lazy assholes? Leave them to me.”

Stepping over strewn debris and broken bricks, I ventured next door. Inside the open space, eight men stand around, drinking from thermos flasks and gossiping.

“Hey,” I snapped, and eight pairs of eyes jerked up. “Do we pay you to do nothing?” One male exhaled cigarette smoke. “And what the hell is that? Did Jace permit you to smoke?”

“It’s only a quick fag break—”

“I don’t give a shit. In fact, grab your stuff and get out.” Flinging open the door, I snatch his coat from the coat rail and launch it onto the pathway. “You’re fired.”

His jowls reddened. “You can’t do that!”

“Oh, yes, I can.” Tapping my heeled foot, I elevated my chin, daring him to mess with a deranged pregnant woman. “We don’t need your lazy services—” The enraged man shoved past me, deliberately impaling me with his shoulder. “You deliberately pushed Liam Warren’s pregnant girlfriend,” I snarled, and he pales on the spot. “I hope that knowledge haunts you tonight.”

“Shit,” one of the men muttered, scurrying across the room to convey a metal beam. “Move it, lads.” All the workers hastened, hammering and powering drills. “Do you need anything else? I can buy you a hot chocolate—”

“Quit licking my ass.” Slamming the door in the dead man’s face, I sidestepped toolboxes. “If you haven’t finished by the end of the day, Mr Williams is within his right to withdraw contracts without payment.”

To drown out their panicked clusterfuck, I turned up the music and hunted for Jace. As instructed, he sits in his office, scarfing down food and polishing off a mug of neat vodka.

“Are you okay?” Folding my arms, I put my shoulder to the doorframe. “Have you slept?”

“I’ll sleep later,” he grated out, chewing and drinking.

Jared gaited past the office, a plank of wood balanced on his shoulder. He’s changed into a tracksuit and trainers. As he’s outside, keeping an eye on the contractors, I shut the door and pull up a chair beside Jace. Our eyes aligned, and he sighed defeatedly, tossing his ball cap on the desk and slumping against me. His head on my thigh, he let me massage his scalp, resting uncomfortably yet relieved for a breather.

Within five minutes, I can hear Jace’s light snoring. My fingers worked his nape, keeping him a state of slumber for as long as I possibly can before he realises.

On the desk, my phone jittered with an unknown number. Answering the call, I put it to my ear. “Hello?”

Long muteness stretched. “Alexa Haines.”

Her unfamiliar voice had the hairs on my neck stood to attention. “Who’s this?”

I hated the silence.

When the phone bleeped, confirming she’d ended the call, I stared at the blank screen. A closed fist to my mouth, I considered calling Liam. I hated worrying him, but with Serena and the twins, I had no option. I dialled his number, receiving his voicemail. “Hey,” I said, not wanting to leave him a troubling message. “Okay, I’d rather speak to you, but you must be busy…” Jace stirred, so I continued to stroke his neck. “I—” My phone vibrated. “Call me back.”

I had an email notification.

Unclogging my throat, I opened the email and loaded the attachment. It’s a photo snapped from the distance of Liam entering his restaurant. His hand on Hellen Bennett’s lower back. My eyes welled up, seeing a rare smile on his lips. Too close, they huddle together, and William, the manager from the Grape and Vine, waits in the background, a leather menu in hand.

One of the females from Liam’s past sent this to hurt me.

It worked.

I tapped furiously at my screen, a long, ranting text message…I interrupted myself and called Brad.

He answered after three rings. “What’s happening, Boo?” he chimed, and I hated him for acting normal, knowing that his boss was lying to me yet again. “You good?”

“Where are you?” I asked, urging myself to stay calm. “I am popping to the supermarket after I finish at Jace’s place, so I was wondering if you needed anything?”

“All stocked,” he confirmed, ignoring my initial question. “As it goes, get me some carrot juice.”

“Why?” Since when did Brad drink blended fruit and vegetables? “It doesn’t matter. Is Liam with you?”

Brad hesitated. “Bossman’s attending a meeting with a potential client,” he lied, and my heart fractured a little more. “I’ll tell him to call you—”

“What meeting?” I probed, and I overheard Nate spewing expletives in the background. “What’s wrong with Nate?”

“Fucking hell, Alexa. What is this? The third degree?” Brad scoffed. “I don’t do girlfriend’s for this reason, so get off my back.”

Infuriation demonised me. “You are a lousy son of a bitch, Brad,” I yelled, and Jace bolted upright, rubbing sleep from his eyes frantically. “I know Liam’s with Hellen—”

“Whoa,” Brad extended, clicking his fingers to Nate no doubt. “How would you know that?”

“That’s irrelevant.” Standing, I paced the spacious office. “He promised me, Brad.”

“Listen, sugar tits.” My phone bleeped, and Liam’s named zipped on the screen. “It’s not what you think—”

I killed the call to answer. “Hey,” I whispered, calm and collected.

“I got your message.” Not an ounce of regret in his voice. “What’s going on?”

“Where are you?” I asked, determining his silence as a sign of weariness. “Liam?”

“At the office.”

My angry eyes collided with Jace, who, at Liam’s deceit, winced into a closed fist.

“Okay,” I chirped, wiping tears from my cheeks. “No problem.” Once more, my lying, cheating boyfriend faltered a response. “I guess I’ll see you later.”

“Of course,” he said huskily, and I flatten my lips to stop my wicked, wayward tongue from lashing. “I love you, baby.”

“Mmhmm,” I grumbled out, ending the call and turning off my phone. “I hate him.”

Jace flopped onto a chair. “I don’t get it,” he said thickly, his voice tired from disturbed sleep. “Warren fucking idolises you, yet he keeps fucking up and feeding you bullshit.” My lips wobbled, and he flew off the chair. “Alexa, don’t let him upset you.”

“It hurts,” I cried, falling into his arms. “It hurts me, Jace.”

“Shh,” he mumbled, locking me in his firm grip. “We need a vodka alternative.”

No, I need a man who cares more about me than supposedly meaningless women.

Chapter 25

Liam

Hellen Bennett made the foolish mistake of approaching me outside the Grape and Vine, where Londoners and tourists promenaded along the parade of visiting shops, multi-screened sports bars, ritzy restaurants and upscale fashion boutiques. Stylishly watchful, her assigned security detail, an array of armed, suited men, stood mere inches from us, guarding her every move. Driven to vociferous chastising, Hellen, in the eye of the intrusive public, vehemently denounced me into silent indignation. Her rubicund cheeks, a sharp contrast to her pale skin.

Cornered by unsubstantiated accusations, I remained cold, dispassionate, and inveigled her into joining me indoors, away from the prying eyes of London and the watchfulness of her guards.

Brad and Nate, who were supposed to enjoy a late lunch, courtesy of Will, the Grape and Vine manager, read the signals without verbal command. As an alternative, they returned to the parked Bentley and waited for instruction.

At this point in my impromptu date with Bennett, I had no vision of how she’d end. Would it be slow and punishing? Or would she endure a quick, painless death? Despite the prevailing circumstance, Hellen’s marshalling of equipped bodyguards will complicate her premature demise.

Embroiled in a dispute, I reclined opposite Hellen, provoked by her endless harangue. Pondering the consequences of her premeditated disappearance, I ordered a Macallan from Will and studied the non-porous granite stones at the bottom of the old fashioned whiskey glass.

I needed her alone, I thought, nursing the glass with stiff fingers. “What’s your reason for being here?”

My question nonplussed Hellen. Unfolding a napkin, she blew her nose and proclaimed her undying love for me.

How can she confuse lust for love?

Enamourment is a figment of Hellen’s imagination.

When pursuing Hellen, I was neither kind, affectionate, understanding or faithful. Even now, when pretending to listen, I think of another woman. And Hellen, although consciously denying herself the truth, fights for a dysfunctional relationship with a man who indisputably has no time for her.

“Daddy’s death broke me, Liam,” Hellen sobbed, clicking down a passing Will. “Marques de Murrieta.” She handed him the wine menu. “Get moving.”

Will frowned upon pretentious customers, but Hellen, from his standpoint, wasn’t someone eligible for curtness. He believes she’s my date. For that reason alone, he’ll force politeness and obscure complaint.

“You haven’t been there for me, Liam,” she continued, and I huffed out a tired sigh. “You seldom respond to my text messages and rarely answer my calls.”

“I don’t want you,” I said harshly, sitting forward to level her with my eyes. “Be honest, Hellen. I am the worst type of man for you.” Her lips wobbled. “You called my phone, and another woman answered. Is that not enough reason to wash your hands of me?”

“I love you,” she whisper-cried, staring at me hopelessly. “Please, Liam. Give us another chance.” She reached for my hand across the table, lacing our ringed fingers together. “You and I are the exactness of a quintessential power couple. Just imagine all that we can achieve together.”

My phone vibrated on the table. I see Alexa’s name and forward her call to my voicemail. “Are the prying eyes of your men necessary?” I asked, pointing to the window, where her bodyguards brazenly watch our close exchange. “I don’t appreciate that level of judgmental scrutiny.”

“My mother’s manipulative overbearingness has progressively worsened since my father’s unsolved disappearance.” Hellen fingered her pearl necklace. “She’d fulminate against the idea of us rekindling.”

Beverly Bennett, Hellen’s vainglorious bitch of a mother, disapproved of her daughter dating a man like me. I sensed as much the night Hellen introduced us. “Why?”

Instinctively, Hellen glanced at the window as if to check security weren’t privy to our conversation. “My mother believes…” Hesitating, she picked up a fork and stabbed a cherry tomato. “She thinks you might know something about City Hall’s bombardment.”

Harrumphing, I twisted the glass, knocking the granite rocks together. “What are your thoughts on such speculations?”

Hellen eyed me warily. “I have considered the idea, but I love you far too much to see beyond my mother’s conceptualisation.”

Weak, I thought, refraining from eye-roll. “Do you love me enough to crawl under the table and suck my cock?”

Bristling, she regarded our surroundings. “With an audience?”

Shrugging, I downed the remainder of my drink.

“Yes,” she said, flattening her palms to the white tablecloth. “If it’s what you want.”

I caught my bottom lip between my teeth. “Why don’t you lose the army, Hellen?” I dared her with promising eyes. “To avoid your mother’s disparagement, tell the guards to leave you at a friend’s house.”

Her forehead wrinkled. “For what purpose?”

Beneath the table, I cupped the back of her knee and smoothed a hand along her prominent calve. “It’ll give us time alone,” I suggested, and her eyes enlarged in hope. “You mustn’t fuck it up for us, Hellen. Nobody can know about our surreptitious meeting.” Her chest rises on a deep inhalation. “Not unless you want mother dearest to keep us apart.”

Collecting her handbag, Hellen withdrew her leg from my hold and stood. “Where?”

Hook, line and fucking sinker.

Hellen and I parted ways. Leaving a tip for Will on the table, I ambled through the occupied dinner setting and returned Alexa’s call. “Hey,” she answered, a bit hitched and breathless.

“I got your message.” I double-checked for any oncoming traffic and crossed the road. “What’s going on?”

Brad jumped out of the Bentley, a finger point in my direction before his demonstrative theatrics of me being noosed.

“Where are you?” she asked in accusation and, although she’s attempting to hide knowingness, It dawned on me that she might be cognisant of my afternoon entertaining Hellen Bennett. “Liam?”

For fuck’s sake.

“At the office,” I lied, slipping into the back of the Bentley.

“Okay,” she chimed. “No problem. I guess I’ll see you later.”

Alexa’s unpredictable. If I informed her of my plans, she’d invite herself and ruin everything with haste recklessness. “Of course.” Tonight, when back at the penthouse, I’ll explain. “I love you, baby.”

She mumbled something I didn’t quite catch and then hung up on me. Hand crushing the phone, I tossed it on the backseat and reclined the leather. “Don’t,” I warned, feeling the intensity of Brad’s haughty glare. “I know what I’m doing.”

Brad shared a look with Nate, who thrums his tattooed fingers against the steering wheel in exasperation. “I didn’t say anything,” said Brad, tonguing a toothpick to the corner of his mouth. “Keep your knickers on.”

I saw red. “Watch your fucking mouth.”

“Sorry I was born,” he muttered sarcastically.

At eleven p.m., I left the men in the belly of the alleyway behind the Ivory Vale hotel. Wiggling my fingers into leather gloves, I keyed the backdoor and kept my head low to avoid surveillance cameras. It’s an outdated establishment, but five-star opulence wasn’t a desideratum for my short stay. The chef’s stentorian yelling synchronised with shrilling, clattering frying pans and rushed-off-their-feet co-workers; a menu of stone-baked pizzas, pasta dishes and Caprese salads prepared for customers.

Evading the restaurant and foyer, I opened the double doors and climbed the stairs to the top floor. Scouring my surroundings, I locate Hellen’s room and knock, tucking my gloves away.

Impatiently desirous, Hellen greeted me in nothing but six-inch heels and a pale pink lingerie set. “Liam,” she purred, gripping me by the shirt collar to tug me inside. “I worried you’d let me down.” Pouncing like a starved animal, she slammed me into the closed door and clambered my body. “I’m so horny.” When her unruly tongue licked the seam of my lips, I dropped my head to her shoulder, sinking my teeth into her flushed skin. “That hurt.”

In an attempt for an upper hand, I backed Hellen to the double bed, striving to climb atop of her. Hellen, however, had other ideas. Unbuckling my belt with covetous hands, she sank her knees to the threadbare carpet and groped my flaccid cock. “What’s taking so long?” she moaned, nuzzling and inhaling my groin. “Harden, Liam. I want you to shag me all around this hotel room.”

“No,” I husked out, seizing her wandering fingers. “Prove how much you want me.” I sat on the bed, weight bracing on my elbows. “Ride me.”

With a naughty twinkle in her eyes, Hellen soared between my parted legs and mounted my lap. Her knees positioning on either side of my thighs, she reduced me to my back and sucked my neck.

Jerking my head aside, I slapped her ass. “None of that.”

“I missed you,” she mewled, rubbing her soaking cunt over my boxer-clad shaft. “Please love me, Liam. I need to forget.” She unbuttoned my shirt with frantic fingers and pressed her cold palms to my bare chest. “Help me forget.”

Fisting Hellen by the roots, I yanked her close and breathed a kiss to her lips. “How can you love someone that doesn’t belong to you?” Stabbing the side of her neck with a honed blade, I held her round, pained eyes. “I will always love her,” I whispered, ripping the knife across her jugular.

Glassy-eyed and choking on a gasp, Hellen went weightless in my arms. Her warm blood gushed through my fingers, soaking my white shirt and chest. An unspoken question danced in her wild eyes, but she couldn’t voice her dying wish. I flung her body aside and soared from the bed, buttoning up my clothes.

Rubbing splatters of blood from my cheek, I took out my phone and dialled Reginald Burton.

“Warren,” he answered. “What can I do for you?”

“The Ivory Vale,” I drawled, balancing the phone between my ear and shoulder to bundle Hellen’s body with the stained sheet. “Have you heard of it?”

Reginald hesitated. “Yes, why?”

“Hellen Bennett,” I said, and he spat a slew of expletives. “Her high status is quite the hindrance.” Snatching cheap vodka from the mini bar, I unscrewed the cap and doused her swaddled body. “Can I trust you to find a murder suspect?” I tossed the empty bottle on the floor. “A previously convicted arsonist perhaps.”

“Why?” he asked, and I ignited a zippo. “Actually, don’t answer. It’s better if I don’t know.”

Chucking the lighter on the bed, I stood back and watched the fumes catch licking flames. “Wait for an emergency call before sending the fire brigade.” I’ll set off the alarm to give others a chance to flee the building. “Understand?”

“Affirmative,” he said, and I killed the call.

Suffocating smoke and burning flesh soon offended my nostrils. Once more, I pulled the leather gloves over my fingers and exited the room. I found a fire alarm call point on the ground floor and punched the glass, activating an ear-splitting warning throughout the building.

In the midst of dispersing guests and frenetic employees, I gaited in the opposite direction and skulked back to the dark alleyway, where Nate and Brad stand guard, awaiting my return.

Hellen Bennett’s death will be breaking news by the morning.

***

Nate requested a meeting. According to my most trusted, he had something personal he wished to discuss with me. “It could wait,” I told him, knowing Alexa’s waiting for me at the penthouse. “Get to the office early.”

Acquiescent, Nate dropped me off outside the apartment tower and agreed to be at Club 11 for seven a.m.

On my unforeseen arrival, the security team straightened their slouched stations as I strode to my front door. Leaving my keys on the sideboard, I descended the few steps to the living quarters and slumped onto the white leather seating accommodation.

I need something to take the edge off, a stiff drink or a line.

Settling for a blunt, I prepared a deck and rolled, listening for any sounds of an enraged Alexa. Roach to my lips, I matched a flame and inhaled a lungful of haze to numb my overwrought muscles.

Wondering why my woman hasn’t appeared from the bedroom yet, I glanced at the empty hallway—nothing.

Respiring smoke, I opened the coffee table drawer and extracted the laptop.

Balancing the blunt between my lips, I stood to remove my imbrued shirt and hurled it on the sofa rear. Clicking open the browser, I select a saved website and studiously stare at the article. Securing my decision, I type out a quick email, hit send and then return the laptop to the drawer.

Snubbing the joint, I unbuckled my belt while making a beeline for the bedroom. Not bothering with the light switch, I blindly roam to the bathroom and shut the door. Turning on the shower, I lose the rest of my clothes and get under the warm spray, eliminating any evidence of Hellen Bennett from my body.

Scrubbed raw and scented appropriately, I knotted a towel around my waist and grasped the basin. For the first time in months, I didn’t loathe the man glaring back at me in the mirror. No longer lost or grieving, I lead a life of fulfilment and happiness, a pleasant emotion I didn’t know I needed until Alexa paired our souls.

I knew what I had to do.

Rubbing the smirk from my lips, I leave the bathroom and switch on the bedside lamp—to find an empty bed. In a vent of bafflement and rage, I snagged my phone from my discarded trousers and dialled her number. Be reasonable, I thought, checking the time. No, it’s two-thirty in the morning. Alexa should be home.

“Hello,” she answered, her voice strained from sleep. “Yes?”

“Where are you?” I asked calmly, though I was anything but sangfroid. “I came home tonight, hoping to find my beautiful girlfriend. Instead, a cold, empty bed greeted me.” Inside the walk-in wardrobe, I stepped into white boxer briefs. “Elaborate. Now.”

“I don’t answer to you,” she argued, and I snapped a suit hanger. “I’m tired, Liam. Can’t this wait until the morning?”

“Are you taking the fucking piss?” Half-heartedly dressing in a pristine grey suit, I stuffed the Eagle into the waistband of my trousers. “Where are you? And don’t even think about lying to me, Alexa.”

“It’s not me who continues to lie, Liam.”

Cutting the call short, I storm out of the penthouse and take the stairs to the regal lobby. The friendly receptionist raised her head to speak, but I didn’t hang around for chit-chat. I shoved past assembled guests at the entrance and jogged to the car park to select one of the parked Bentleys. Firing the engine, I slammed my foot on the accelerator and swerved onto the main road, dodging two onrushing vehicles to speed through a red light.

Omnipresent traffic passed by in multicoloured hues. I slowed at another set of lights and relaxed against the leather, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel. Hating the silence, I turned on the system and paired my phone to listen to music. I select “Often” by The Weekend, amplifying the volume.

On amber, I shifted the gearstick and rushed forward, steering into the next lane. In the rear-view mirror, I see a black Jaguar creeping behind me. I couldn’t see the driver through the tinted windows, but its nearness heightened my senses, so I made a sudden decision to turn into the next street, just to see if the car followed. Confirming my reservations, the Jaguar took a sharp right, trailing behind me in the distance.

Keeping one hand on the wheel, I reached over the centre console and popped open the dash. Grabbing a magazine for the Eagle, I directed ahead in search for a dark, quiet place to leave the Bentley.

With a council estate in my sight, I diverted to my pit stop and pulled over beside a block of concrete flats. In the wing mirror, I see the Jaguar’s headlights darken and shake my head. Motherfucker, I inwardly snarled, lowering my window. I knew what to expect. Either a drive-by shooting or collision. The car didn’t pass, though. It remained in the shadows, waiting for my next move as it seems.

Feeling their close vigilance, I soared from the driver’s side and rounded the bonnet. I opened the gate to the flats communal garden and slipped down the back, where the inhabitants store recycling and cast-off furniture.

Selecting dumpster six, I extract my Eagle and slam the magazine inside. Diligent footsteps advanced as the person lurked. Too heavy for a female, I concluded, listening to him closing in. The second I saw the guy’s dancing silhouette, I emerged from the black safety of my enclosure and snagged his coat, shoving him up against the bins. “You here to fuck with me?” I barked, impaling his cheek with a hard slap. “Talk!”

His panicked shriek had two stray cats rattling from rubbish sacks to scatter. “Wait!” he bellowed as I thrust the barrel under his chin. “I wasn’t gonna hurt you, Warren!”

I read the deceit in his protruding eyes. “Who sent you?” I barked, overpowering his corpulent body. “I asked you a fucking question.”

“I…” His mouth snapped shut. “It’s not what you—”

Snatching his jaw, I rammed the barrel in his wailing mouth and pulled the trigger. Brain splattering on a deafening bang, his body slumped to the ground, painting the steel dumpster a crimson red.

My jaw steeled. “Fuck.” Spearing a hand through my hair, I disarmed and booted the fat fucker, his unrecognisable, dismantled face slapping against the asphalt.

Stepping over his dead body, I sprinted back to the Bentley and fell behind the steering wheel. Keeping the headlights off, I revved to the main road while sending Brad a text message to send the clean-up crew over to the crime scene. I don’t have the patience to deal with a lecture from Reginald tonight.

Brad: Who’s the guy?

Me: No idea.

Brad. Christ.

Brad: Where am I chucking him?

Me: The Thames.

Hurling my phone onto the backseat, I reached Jace’s street and cut the engine outside of his recently purchased tattoo parlour.

Popping open my suit jacket, I stopped at the shop window to look inside, but it’s too dark to make out. “Alexa,” I called, beating a fist on the front door. “I know you’re in there.”

Behind the frosted glass, a bright light outlined a tall, progressing form. Jace, I thought, stepping back for him to open the door. It swung open and, as suspected, Jace, in only low hanging sweatpants, begrudgingly greeted me. “Warren.” Folding his inked arms at his chest, he stared me down with arrogant disdain. “What do you want?”

“Don’t fuck with me, Jace.” Gripping the top of the door frame, I leaned in, putting us nose-to-nose. “You’re running out of lifelines.”

His green eyes narrowed. “Alexa doesn’t want to see you.”

“Alexa doesn’t have a choice,” I spat, daring him to prevent the inevitable. “You got five seconds to call her downstairs before I wipe that smug look off your fucking face.”

Alexa, drowning in Jace’s oversized T-shirt, appeared from behind his back. My disapproving eyes lingered on her bare legs whilst her condemning stare burnt a hole in my neck. “Get in the car.”

“Jace, can you give us a moment?” she asked, and he concernedly looked between us. “It’s fine. Liam would never hurt me.”

“What, you got to justify our relationship to that prick now?” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t roll your fucking eyes at me, Alexa.”

Jace reluctantly left us alone. Alexa’s bare feet touched the concrete step as she shut the door. “You were with Hellen,” she said, not meeting me face-on. “I assume you both had fun.”

“Don’t do that.” When I reached up to cup her face, she recoiled. “Alexa?”

“What’s that?” She pointed to my face. “On your neck, Liam.”

“Blood.” My eyebrows snapped together. “I just killed a guy.”

“No, Liam,” she interrupted, rubbing her temples. “It’s a hickey.”

“A hickey,” I repeated in disbelief. “No, baby. It’s not like that—”

“Stop mugging me off,” she retorted, jerking me in the shoulder. “I am sick of all the lies between us, Liam.” Her wet eyes did something to my chest. “Does me carrying your child mean nothing to you?”

It meant everything to me. “Hellen’s dead. I got her to shake security so I could get us alone.” Her sombre expression morphed into puzzlement. “You’ll see it all over the news tomorrow. I had to pretend I wanted her so that she’d meet me in a hotel room. Yes, she touched me, but it didn’t escalate, Alexa.”

“Why did you lie?” She slivered her eyes to me. “Why couldn’t you admit this over the phone.”

“You don’t listen to me, baby.” This time, when I gripped her hand, she didn’t stop me. “You’re reckless. If I told you, I was meeting with Bennett? You’d have…” Fucked everything up, I thought, biting my tongue. “It’s done—over. I never want to talk about that bitch ever again.” Her head lowered despondently. “Don’t make me throw you in the car, Alexa.”

“Let me think,” she said frustratedly, rubbing the cold night air from her arms. “All my stuff is upstairs.”

“I’ll send someone over in the morning.” Snaking an arm around her waist, I pulled her chest to mine and buried my nose in her hair. “Come on, baby. I don’t want to go to bed without you.”

Alexa eased her head back to look up at me. I wasn’t hiding my vulnerabilities, not from her. “I promised Jace I’d help with last-minute renovations tomorrow…”

“Fine.” Extending an arm behind her, I opened the door and hauled her inside. “I’m staying with you.”

“What?” Her worried eyes darted. “Why?”

I came to an abrupt stop. “Were you sharing that cunt’s bed?”

“What?” she asked, stunned by my reasonable question. “Obviously not, Liam.”

“Then, why are you troubled by me being here?”

“Because I fear you might wake up in the middle of the night to kill Jace,” she punctuated each syllable, pattering past the main desk and into the back. “Please refrain from doing so.”

I make no such promises.

On the next floor, I followed her to the end of the hall and into a spare bedroom. Alexa wasted no time retreating to an uncomfortable-looking single bed. Falling to the pillow, she snuggled and pulled the duvet up to her chin, watching me undress and fold my suit onto a desk.

“What?” I asked, leaving my leather shoes on a chair. “You got the look on your face.”

Her lips puckered. “What look?”

“Like you want to ask me something, but you fear my response.”

Rolling onto her back, she stared at the ceiling. “I was checking you out, actually.”

Arching an eyebrow, I stifled a smirk and crawled over her beautiful, awaiting body. “I’m glad you approve.”

“I can’t stomach someone else’s mark on you,” she huffed, glaring at the blemish on my neck. “It sickens me.”

I’m sorry, I thought, kissing her cheek. “You own me, Alexa.”

Her fingers curled around my chain, and she pulled me down for a breath-consuming kiss. “You might need to remind me.”

“I can do that.” My hands fixed on either side of her head, I teased her mouth with my tongue, seeking entrance. “What do you want, baby?”

Coming onto her elbows, she peeled the T-shirt from her body and parted her thighs. “I want you down there.” Her brazenness and exposed pussy hardened my cock in a heartbeat. “And then I want you to fuck me.”

Holding her throat in a soft grip, I kissed her delectable lips and urged her to lie down.

We won’t be sleeping tonight.

Chapter 26

Alexa

Firefighters wearing breathing apparatus found a woman, thought to be in her early thirties, dead in her hotel room after somebody deliberately set the Ivory Vale hotel on fire, according to leading detectives. Fighters remained at the incident for approximately five hours to extinguish the blaze.

Flipping over the newspaper, I briefly read the next article.

Police are seeking information about an arson attack subsequent to witnesses seeing a young Asian male fleeing from the crime scene.

Spooning cereal into my mouth, I switched papers and read the front page.

Described as the former Mayor’s closest advisor, Mrs Beverly Bennett, raised distressing concerns this morning regarding her missing daughter, Miss Hellen Bennett. As stated by an eyewitness, a young Hellen was last seen entering the Ivory Vale the night of the wilful burning of property. Mrs Bennett distressingly believes her daughter might-have-been the attacker’s victim.

On page three, I scanned Hellen Bennett’s college and university photos. My father, Patrick Haines, or to the people of London, formally known as Mr Larry Fagan, stands beside his step-daughter, overjoyed and imposingly proud. He genuinely loved her, I thought, the pad of my finger, outlining his angular profile.

“Hey.” Came Jace’s unexpected gruff voice, and I jumped on the spot. “Why are you up so early?”

I opened the pantry cupboard and buried the newspapers at the base of the bin. “I couldn’t sleep, so I popped to the newsagents to grab milk.” And updates on Hellen’s murder. “Coffee?”

Nodding, Jace took a ceramic bowl off the draining board and poured himself a helping of cereal. Splashing the puffed wheat generously with milk, he scooped a serving into his mouth. His green eyes training in on me, he put his back to the kitchen counter. “Shane’s moving in today,” he tells me over a chew. “He liked room three.”

“It’s furnished.” Popping on the kettle, I prepared two mugs. “Will the plumber finish fitting the ensuites today, too?”

Tipping his chin, Jace chowed down fodder. “How did it go with Warren?”

“Better than I thought.” I hand him a sweet coffee. “Liam’s still in bed.”

“Here?” he asked, and I dipped my head. “Well, that’s new.”

“I know, right?” Chewing the inside of my cheek, I glimpsed at the kitchen door to ensure Liam wasn’t standing there. “He killed Hellen last night.”

Wincing, Jace placed our bowls into the dishwasher. “Authorities ain’t overlooking her murder any time soon.”

Yes, I think Liam’s primed for backlash. “What’s on the agenda today?” I changed the subject, not wanting to discuss Hellen further. “How do you feel about gothic-looking artificial flowers? I think they’d look good in the shop window.”

“Do whatever makes you happy, Alexa.” Kissing my cheek, Jace pattered out of the kitchen. “I’m taking a shower.”

I finished cleaning the kitchen and carried a steaming mug of coffee to a sleeping Liam. I sit beside him on the bed. “Liam,” I whispered, nudging his shoulder. “I made you a coffee.”

Rolling onto his back, Liam let out a groan. His eyes closed, he scratched his bare chest, the white sheet dangerously low at his waist. “What’s the time?”

He was meant to be at Club 11 for seven a.m., but I hate disturbing his sleep. “Almost nine-thirty.” His tired eyes snapped open. “Don’t yell at me for not waking you, Liam. You were tired.” Setting the mug onto the bedside table, I sat crossed-legged on the mattress. “You’re allowed to sleep.”

Throwing off the covers, Liam clambered off the bed in all his glorious nakedness. “Is there a spare toothbrush?” he asked, flinging open the en-suite door. “Fuck, Alexa. I had a meeting with Nate.” I marvelled at his naked backside and swinging length. “My eyes are up here, baby.”

Suppressing an approving moan, I fell back on the bed. “Why are you so perfect?”

Liam alleviates his bladder and washes his hands before stealing my toothbrush. I hear him brush and spit. “I should put you over my knee.”

I squeezed my thighs together in anticipation. “I might like it.”

“Alexa,” he reprimanded, and I giggled. “This isn’t funny. The syndicate depends on me. What do you think they’re doing right now?” Wiping the minty foam from his lips, he stormed into the bedroom. “Probably sitting around like waiting ducks, huh?” An exasperated flush darkened his clenched jaw. “Quit fucking laughing.”

Propping onto my elbows, I arched a brow at him. “You might want to watch your tone, Mr Warren.” He squared his rigid shoulders. “I bite.”

Liam Warren’s an unselfish lover, and sexual deliverance isn’t a chore for him. Attentive, passionate and eager to please, he flung the shirt over his shoulder and sank one knee to the bed. His lusting eyes disrobed me before the T-shirt peeled off my body and landed on the floor.

Being privileged enough to touch this man heated my veins. He’s dangerous yet impossibly stunning and all mine.

“I want you,” he breathed, and my heart lurched out of my chest. “All of you.”

His evasiveness invited questions, but I kissed him instead. The roughness of his hands gliding along my thighs tighten my core.

Wrapping my legs around his waist, I pulled him onto me, stroking his tongue with mine.

With meticulous precision, Liam’s hands toured the length of my body. Kissing and biting the crevice of my chest, his head disappeared between my thighs. He licked my sex, and a violent shiver passed through me.

Crying out in ecstasy, I threw my head back, my fingers tangling his hair. He pushed his tongue inside me and dragged arousal through my lips, latching onto my aching bud. He lapped my throbbing heat, devouring me with starved suckles.

His hands tight to the apex of my thighs, he rolled onto his back, bringing me with him. My knees astride his head, I steadied my palms to the mattress and shamelessly rocked my hips. Cupping my breast, I slowly rode his face, taking what my body so urgently needed from him.

Gripping my waist to prevent me from moving, he groaned against my pussy, drawing my clit with rhythmic suctions, licking and parting my lips.

Trembling with need, I combusted above him, a lengthy wave of pleasure reverberating through me.

Breathing heavily and slicked in sweat, I uncurled his taut fingers from my waist to descend his chest. I rubbed myself along his hard cock, teasing an erotic moan from him.

With ease, I bowed my spine to feel the thickness of his swollen crown at my entrance. Engulfing his length, I slid to the root of him and rocked him into acquiescence.

“Fucking hell,” Liam groaned, grappling my ass and matching my painstaking thrusts. “Harder.”

My insatiable desire to please him expedited. Hard and determined, I pounded myself onto his cock, my backside slapping on his bunched up thighs. Holding my breath, I fucked him, riding him at the right angle.

His cock was big, thick, beautifully yet deceivingly consuming the rational part of my brain. Our tongues met, fierce, feverish and all-consuming. He never relented, not once did he come up for air, his tongue exploring me thoroughly.

“You were made for me,” he growled, and I writhed in his grip.

Lifting his head to watch me work him, Liam sank his teeth into his bottom lip. “That’s it,” he rasped, his fingers bruising my hips. “Killing me.”

Fisting the back of his hair, I pulled him upright. Snared in the thrall of his muscular arms, he pinned me to the base of his cock.

He claimed the oxygen between us. “I’m in love with you.”

I shuddered at his declaration of love. “Always.”

Liam craned his neck to look up at me. His dilated eyes held mine as we drove each other over the edge.

Putting our misted foreheads together, I stole his guttural moan with a firm kiss, feeling his cock throb and empty inside me.

“I’ll never fucking tire of you,” he said huskily, his hands on my waist restraining my movements. “Never.”

“I’ll hold you to such promises,” I teased, moving a dark strand of hair from his brow.

His lips brushed over my shoulder blade. “Swing by the office later,” he demanded, squeezing a handful of my ass cheek. “We have a date.”

“I like the sound of that.” Enveloping my arms around his neck, I rolled my hips, and he groaned deep within his chest. “Where are you taking me?”

“It’s a surprise.” He palmed my breasts, his thumbs circling my taut nipples.

“I’m not a fan of surprises.” I felt his cock hardening to its full potential as I rode him slowly. “Give me a clue.”

Biting the shell of my ear, he sucked the tender spot of my neck. “No.”

“Then, how will I know what to wear?”

Liam’s back met the sheet. “Wear a dress.” He stared at my chest, admiring the red blemishes he’d put there. “Leave the lace at home.”

I clenched around his length, and his eyes rolled back. “That’ll be a fine sight for Bundy.”

Delivering a harsh slap to my buttock, he massaged the ache he’d left behind with soft fingers. “Quit fucking with my head.”

“He’ll get front row seats of my pus—Liam!” I screamed at the suddenness of me being underneath him. “Must you be a damn troglodyte all your life?”

Wedging his cock inside my needy sex, he dragged back only to plunge forward. “Rake those claws down my back,” he commanded, hissing as I severed his muscles. “Fuck work.” He found a pounding rhythm and fucked me senseless. “I’m the boss. I don’t need to justify fucking my woman.”

***

Liam

At three thirty-five p.m., I entered the office well and truly satiated. Alexa’s infectious, and I cannot get enough of her. Before leaving Jace’s place, I lost myself in her arms, her softly spoken words and meaningful touches. I love her, I thought, collapsing onto the leather chair behind my desk.

What I feel for Alexa intensifies with each passing day. It’s a game-changer, our relationship. It’s a lifelong future of undying love and promises.

Opening my desk drawer, I relaxed against the leather and stared at the assemblage of paperwork, packaged drugs, flash drives and…I shut the drawer and put a cigarette to my lips. Igniting a flame, I inhaled smoke and respired in intervals.

Loading the monitors, I combed through surveillance and watched a vibrant red-head hasten the halls. Clicking another slide, I see Cherry, conveying a cardboard box, waving to security-lined men outside of my office.

I waited.

Cherry knocked on my door.

“Come in,” I authorised, kicking my feet onto the desk.

“Good afternoon, boss,” she sang, carrying the box to my desk. “I trust you slept well.” Leaving the delivery, she dusted off her hands and hugged her hips. “Cora called in sick.”

I blew out a train of smoke. “Reason for absence?”

“She got one of those twenty-four-hour bugs or something.” Lifting a shoulder, she spied the pre-rolled blunt perched on the ceramic ashtray. “May I?” I nodded, and she pinched the roach between her fingers. “Nate’s looking for you. He visited Will with Josh this morning, but he told me to message him when you arrived.” Lighting her smoke, she parked her ass on the desk edge, clouding her face with puffs of thick smog. “Shall I inform him?”

I already texted him. “No.”

“Okay.” Wafting marijuana fumes from her face, Cherry altered the delicate loop of chains decorating her perky breasts. “Three dancers handed in their notice last week,” she expounded. “It’s not my job to tell you what to do, Mr Warren, but may I suggest hiring additional staff for clientele? Poor choice encourages our best-paid buyers to look elsewhere. Heck, I don’t even contribute these days, as I’m too busy keeping our girls in check, but lately, inattentiveness forced my hand. I had to give three blow jobs this week—three,” she emphasised, clicking her pierced tongue. “Never claimed to be too good for delivering the goods, boss, but cut me some slack. My days of prostitution terminated years ago.”

“Grab the application forms,” I said, and she swayed to the filing cabinet, fossicking through ring binders. “Bring them to me.”

Cherry shut the cabinet and plopped a stack of possibilities onto my desk. “Have you considered hiring males?”

I glared at her from under furrowed brows. “Come again?”

“It’s just…” She shilly-shallied from the force of my unconcealed disapproval. “The gentleman, well, they sometimes request a male companion.”

Leaning back in my chair, I read an applicant form. “No.”

“No?” she repeated, scratching her head. “Can I ask why?”

“I believe there are three gay bars within our vicinage,” I mumbled, tossing the file and selecting another. “If clients wish for a better experience, give them direction.”

“Of course.” Relenting, Cherry wrung her fingers. “Do you need help with those?”

“Select ten,” I ordered, sliding the narrowed down applicants towards her. “Read their body language. If the women, at any point in the interview, appear uneasy, withdrawn, introverted or abashed, send them packing. I want fierce women, extroverted, confident and sharp-tongued.” Putting out my cigarette, I glimpsed at my wristwatch. “You know the score, Cher.”

“What about appearance?” she mused, and I made a noncommittal noise at the back of my throat. “It was obligatory to be the perfect woman once: fake breasts, curvaceous with a slim waistline, tall and glamourous. Is that still a requirement?”

I didn’t miss the acidity in her tone. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Cherry hollowed her cheeks. “Alexa got the job sans assets—”

“Alexa wasn’t a fucking hooker,” I fired back, and she flinched. “Do we have ourselves a problem, Cher?” A threat flamed in my unblinking eyes. “I’d hate to make an example out of you.”

“No, boss,” she stuttered, retracting her steps. “I was only curious—”

“Unsolicited inquisitiveness could put you in a box,” I reminded her, and she cleared her throat. “Get out.”

“Sir,” she whispered, stumbling to the door and racing past the guards.

Yanking open the stiff drawer, I snatched a bag of cocaine, emptying a mound onto the desk. Slipping a debit card out from my leather wallet, I sliced lines and rolled a fifty-pound note to snort.

Nate rapt his knuckles on the door. “Sir?”

“You wanted a meeting.” Itching the irritation from my nostril, I delved in for a second hit. “Come here.”

Tugging his shirt collar, Nate loomed before me and clasped his hands behind his back.

“Well?” I hedged, unscrewing a bottle of Jameson. “What can I do for you?”

“It’s regarding Blaire,” he drawled, rubbing the scruff of his jaw. “You recall ordering me to train her, right?”

I had forgotten about Blaire. “What of it?”

“I let her stay at mine,” he informed me, his green eyes capturing my judgmental ones. “I whipped her into shape. Got her to overcome anxieties and whatnot.” He peered over one shoulder, and I trailed, too, finding an unrecognisable woman at the threshold. “Blaire?”

Modelling all-black tight-fitted clothing, knee-high boots and a leather jacket, the former timid girl from Bajramovic’s chambers dragged a hand down her long ponytail. A strong woman, I thought, watching her move to stand next to Nate.

“With your permission,” said Nate, “I’d like to vouch for her.”

“Vouch for her?” I asked incredulously. “And what, pray tell, does vouching do for this woman?”

“I want an assigned position,” Blaire syllabised, poised and unruffled. “As a member of the syndicate, Mr Warren.”

I laughed once, looking at Nate dubiously. “Tell me this is a joke.”

“I am exactly what the organisation needs.”

“No, Blaire,” I beg to differ. “You are the opposite of what we need.” When Nate remained quiet, I snapped whatever restraint I had left. “Don’t hush your gums on my account, brother. You inconvenienced me with this fucking bullshit, so get talking.”

“Blaire’s fierce,” he stressed, and my eyes darted heavenward. “Trial and error, sir. What harm could she possibly do to us? If anything, she’d be an unforeseen addition against enemies and spawning serpents; a contracted decoy who knows how to kick ass.”

His irrational cognitive irked me. “No.”

Knowing what’s right for him, Nate resigned, cleaving his tongue.

Blaire, however, fought her case. “You can utilise me,” she argued, tilting her chin in defiance. “Send me on one job, Mr Warren. Let me prove my worth.”

Picking up a sealed envelope from the file tier, I tossed it on the desk. “Find this guy. He’s a regular at the Grape and Vine. Will believes he stole a limited release of Errazuriz from the cellar last week.”

“Yes.” Blaire spurned the idea of such a pointlessly tedious task but proving me wrong meant more to her than self-perception. “Anything else?”

“If Will’s true to his word?” Fixing a cufflink, I stood. “Reclaim what’s rightfully mine and kill the guy, without the assistance of The Brotherhood, of course.”

A muscle throbbed in Nate’s cheek. “It’s nothing you can’t handle,” he tells her, pointing to the door. “Get it done.”

With great reluctance, Blaire huffed out a weary sigh and left the office.

“I give her a week.” Pulling on my black Bobbi Parka jacket, I rounded the desk. “Did the agent respond to my email?”

“Yes, I met with him this morning,” Nate confirmed, following me into the hallway. “Here.” Slapping a set of keys on my upward-facing palm, he squeezed my shoulder. “I forged your signature, and the guy didn’t bat an eyelid.” He exits the club through the fire exit. “It’s all yours.”

***

I returned to Club 11 in time to find Alexa occupying Josh at the bar. “You look beautiful,” I whispered in her ear, palming her tight rear end. “Nice dress.” The black number sheathed her figure like a glove, leaving nothing to the imagination. “Fuck, I want you right here.”

Cheeks dusting pink, Alexa sipped sparkling water. “Josh has ears.”

Josh’s too busy checking out a blonde broad on the dancefloor.

“You give that lad too much credit.” Moving behind her, I set my palms to the glass bar top, caging her in. “He’s dirtier than you perceive.”

With my warm breath on the nape of her neck, Alexa straightened her posture, goosebumps sprouting on her exposed back. “He’s far too chivalrous and reverential to be as corrupt as you lot.”

“You clearly don’t know him the same way I do.” Taunting her earlobe with a flick of the tongue, I trailed my lips along her neck and shoulder. “How long did you wait for me?”

“I only got here ten minutes ago.” Her back touched my chest, and I curled an arm around her waist. “Since when did you wear ties?” Tugging the grey satin, she puckered a brow. “This is a good look on you.”

l ignored her desire-filled eyes.

“So, what’s in store for me, Mr Warren?”

“Come.” Helping Alexa off the barstool, I put a protective arm around her and steered through the erratic sea of dancing bodies.

Clutching a glittering purse to her chest, Alexa ascends the glass stairs to the main doors, sneaking between gathered security and paying customers.

Stepping into the night, I laced our fingers and caught the Bentley keys from Gavin, the head doorman.

Unlocking the vehicle, I held open the passenger door. “Ladies first.”

Not able to hide her smile, Alexa kissed my jaw and ducked into the car. I closed the door and jogged to the driver’s side, sinking behind the wheel. “So,” I fired the engine and swerved onto the main road, “are you looking forward to tonight.”

“No, I’m in bits,” she confessed, teeth worrying her lower lip. “I hate anticipation. I like to know what’s happening around me.”

“It’ll be gruesomely hideous,” I half-joked, hand fused to the stick, switching gears.

“Such a theatrical raconteur,” she mumbled, arms folding at her chest, hiking a small yet remarkable eyeful of cleavage. “Oh, come on, Liam. Where are we going?”

Before reaching our destination, I pulled over and unknotted my satin tie. “I already told you.” Inching in, I kissed the corner of her mouth and watched her eyelashes flutter shut. “It’s a surprise.”

Her red lips stretched into a smile. “Will I like this surprise?”

“Do you trust me?” I asked, cataloguing her beautiful face. “Baby?”

“Yes.” Keeping her eyes closed, she placed a palm to my chest. “I trust you with my life, Liam.”

Bringing her hand to my lips, I laid a kiss to her inner wrist. “Then trust me to do right by you.” Setting the tie over her eyes, I fastened a knot at the back of her head. “Can you see anything?” She shook her head, and I cocked mine to see if she was lying. “Okay. Don’t let me down, Alexa.”

Back in first gear, I put my foot down on the accelerator and drove into the gated community, beyond millionaires row of luxurious living. I parked the Bentley in front of the manor and turned to face an anxious Alexa. “Are you ready?”

“No,” she said breathlessly. “No, I think I’ll stay here.” Her head tilted when I jostled the car door open. “Where are you going?”

Striding to her side, I unbuckled her belt. “Did I mention how beautiful you look tonight?”

“Flattery will not save you, Liam.” Her fingers gripped mine as she stood. “What’s that sound?”

Claiming Alexa’s hips, I faced her to the three-tiered Edwardian fountain. Unknotting the tie, I lowered it from her eyes. “What do you think?”

Against the fountain’s light, the green specks in Alexa’s hazel-coloured eyes sparkled in awe. “Wow,” she said, seemingly relieved. “It’s beautiful.”

Not as beautiful as Alexa, but I had to agree, the fountain was magnificent for a last-minute purchase.

“Okay, so I guess it’s a late-night stroll around a park.” Pivoting to look at me, she opened her mouth to finish her assumption when the manor caught her sights. “What’s that?”

I hold a key between us. “Home.”

“Home,” she whispered in disbelief, her round eyes saturated with unshed tears. “Liam?”

“I want a life with you, Alexa.” Untightening her clenched fist, I forced the key into her possession. “I love the penthouse. It’s one of my first achievements, but this,” I gestured to the prestigious estate of unsurpassed extravagance, “you and the baby.” My hands grasped her slender waist. “It’s a new beginning for us.”

A single tear rolled down her cheek. “I don’t deserve a house like that.”

“You deserve that and more.” Walking backwards, I coaxed her towards our new home. “Don’t you want to see inside?”

Chuckling nervously, Alexa wiped her blotchy cheeks and fumbled with the key. “Look at the size of the front door,” she said in utter discombobulation. “Okay.” Gathering her scattered thoughts, she inserted the key into the lock. “I’m shaking.”

I placed my hand atop of hers, stilling her fit of trembling. “Baby, breathe.” At my command, she inhaled a deep breath. “You unlocked it.”

“Yes.” Fixing her raised dress hem, Alexa pushed open the door and entered the all-marble ivory foyer. “Holy shit,” she said, her voice echoing throughout the capricious unified space. Her clutch bag dropped to the floor, strewing cosmetics across the shimmering tiles.

Four roman columns dominated either side of the hall, the second floor, braced and guarded by gilded balustrades. From the ceiling, a gold, crystal chandelier brightened the grand bifurcated stairs to the landing, which offers eight en-suite guest bedrooms and an imposing master bedroom with garden views.

Alexa regained consciousness, pointing to one of many ground-level doors. “Where does that go?”

“Kitchen,” I explained, urging her to look around. “It’s a fully furnished property…” I watched her open the double doors to the dining room. “You can change anything that you don’t like.”

“What’s over there?” Her eyes ping-pong. “Where does that room go?”

“Alexa, it’s your house. Kick your shoes off and find out for yourself.”

“It’s too much,” she said, her hand concealing her mouth. “That dining table has twenty chairs, Liam. And that’s not including the cream armchairs beside the bookcase.” She returned to my side, gripping my elbow. “How big is the kitchen? You know I can’t cook, right?”

“I love your cooking,” I lied, and she sliced her sceptical eyes. “What?”

“I am…You did this for us?” Her sad eyes baffled me. “I don’t deserve you.”

“How can you say that?” I hate how she perceives herself. “Alexa…” Frustrated by her diffidence, I gently slid the straps of her dress off her shoulders until her small, yet perfect swells met the frigid air. “I kneel for no one.” Declining to one knee, I dragged the material over her hips. “Except for you.” The dress pooled at her heeled feet. “What does that tell you?”

Towering above me in all her mesmerising beauty, Alexa combed her fingers through my hair. “You know…” Her genuine smile inflated my lungs. “We should probably christen that table.”

Smirking wolfishly, I abruptly stood and picked her up. Laughter ruptured out of her as she locked her legs around me. Our lips welded, raw, passionate, breathless strokes of our tongues.

With Alexa in the safety of my arms, I stumbled into the dining room and laid her onto the long-stretched table, but not once, did I come up for air or question my future. Her hands slid off my suit jacket whilst I unfastened my belt. “I love you,” I whispered between kissing, stroking my hard shaft and sinking deep into her wetness. “I can’t stop loving you.”

Alexa pulled me in by the chain. “Then don’t.”

Chapter 27

Alexa

Owning top-of-the-range vehicles isn’t as satisfying if you can’t drive them. I smooth my palms on the hood of a matte black Maserati whilst eyeing the Bugatti and Tesla. Parked in a monochromatically showcased fashion beneath the Manor, the impressive supply of luxurious vehicles overshadow the modified Bentleys.

Lost in a parallel universe, a transitional place between today and yesterday, I fumbled with the light switch, closed the door to the underground garage and hastened upstairs to the kitchen with all its culinary wonders. Pausing to dissect the reality of my new life at the Z-shaped island, I put an investigatory hand on the grey-veined white marble, my barefoot to the polished black chevron-shaped floor tiles.

“Shit.” Wiping a droplet of sweat from my brow, I rounded the island and opened the American style fridge freezer, a carton of milk on the glass shelf was my only discovery. “I should write a list.”

Unzipping my handbag, I grabbed a parker pen and a notepad. Ink to paper, I scribbled essentials across the page: tea bags, orange juice, ice cream, vodka (for when the baby’s born), chocolate, scrubbing supplies…

I eyeballed the spotless counters.

Can I use everyday cleaning products on marble?

What about the floors?

Examining the all-encompassing marble, I typed a search on my phone.

Google said: Using harsh materials with any acid may result in dull spots known as etches. Avoid cleaners with vinegar, lemon or orange as these products could etch your marble surfaces.

Determining hired help a better option, I tossed the pen aside and wandered through my new home, too scared to touch the ostentatious ornaments or leave smudges on the furniture.

Set in rich opulence, the spacious Manor—every woman’s dream come true—is fit for royalty, the modern-day glitterati and the idle rich. It’s not, however, suitable for a discomfited parvenu who cannot function the technological washing machine inside that all-too-big utility room.

A knock on the front door was the cessation of my martyrdom. Sliding my arms into a faux fur coat, I stepped into my much-loved Louboutin heeled shoes and hurled an impatiently waiting Ted a packet of cookies. “I made them myself,” I lied as he read the Maryland label. “I dare you to argue the obvious.”

“No, ma’am.” Keeping his dislike in check, he led me to the humming Bentley and held open the passenger door. “Any requests before I entrust Mr Williams with your safety?”

Being judgmental contradicted my usual non-judgmental, open-minded and tolerant characteristics, but Ted is an imponderable human. Until the man proves to be irredeemably likeable, he’s under my watchful suspicion. As it stands, though, I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him.

“No, thanks.” Buckling up, I side-eyed the tall, sinewy rogue as he started the engine. “Are you married?” I see a faint line on his wedding finger but no ring. “Recently separated?”

“Do you always stick your nose where it doesn’t belong?” He threads the steering wheel through clenched hands. “No offence, ma’am.”

Inhaling the pungently offensive smell of cheap perfume, I wrinkled my nose. “What are you wearing?”

Ted passed me a glance. “A suit, ma’am.”

“No, I meant your aftershave.” His lady friend’s scent rather. “You smell like a combination of summer fruits and fetid acid.”

Popping a muscle in his jaw, he eased onto the accelerator. “Clive Christian, ma’am.”

Liar, I thought, toying with my mother’s bangle. “Liam wears Clive,” I mused, familiarised with the masculine collection. “He doesn’t smell like you.”

Affronted by my hypercritical attitude, Ted puffed out his flared cheeks. “I fucked a club bitch.” He projected a vehement truth. “Got a problem with that?”

“No,” I muttered, folding my arms. “Does your wife?”

He veered into Jace’s street. “Do we have a problem?”

“I don’t know.” I turned at the waist to face him. “Do we?”

Ted left the gear in neutral. “Why are you so antagonistically annoying?”

I threw off my imaginary gloves. “Why did you prejudge me before Liam assigned you as my bodyguard?”

Unmasked and encountered, Ted, caught red-faced and by surprise, glared pensively at me. “I don’t know what you mean, ma’am.” He flattened his lips. “Who said I didn’t like you?”

Presenting his unjustifiable aversion to his unwanted duty smugly, Ted goads me into an acrimonious war of words. His provoking smirk was inefficacious, though. I’ll reserve his inevitable tongue-lashing for a rainy day.

“Enjoy your cookies, Bundy.” Kicking open the car door, I soared beneath the warm, beautiful skies and prepared myself for an overworked, overloaded and stressed-out Jace.

***

I visited the hospital for my antenatal appointment.

My bladder threatens to explode.

Pacing the women’s unit, I soliloquise to myself regardless of any hearers or medical workers, entertained by my idiosyncratic rambles of uncertainties. “Fuck my life.”

Ted stationed himself at the main doors to read a newspaper. From time to time, his rootless, licentious eyes undress fertilised goddesses. I mean, he’s not even trying to hide his fetish for pregnant women. Hell, I think his unmissable bulge has a lot to answer for.

I checked my phone for the umpteenth time.

Me: Liam, where are you?

Me: You promised to be here.

At the nurses’ station, a mum-to-be handed the receptionist her notes. Mr Bundy, the married, lying, cheating asshole, appreciated the view of his prey’s behind. His unashamed behaviour sickened me. I didn’t want anyone associating me with him, so I moved to the farthest side of the room, disconnecting us entirely.

Noticing my unsubtle abhorrence and distancing, Ted, who’s no longer within my proximity, offered a bored eye-roll and returned his attention to the paper.

Pig, I thought, fixing my bouncing curls of madness.

Me: Can I be assigned new security?

Me: Ted’s cool, nice-ish, but he’s boring.

Me: I want a talkative Suit.

I typed out another message to Liam. Ted’s far from friendly, but encumbering myself with his death isn’t an option—a suitable upgrade will suffice.

“Alexa Haines?” someone called, and I stuffed my phone away. “Alexa?”

“Here,” I responded like a juvenile dimwit, hurrying towards the front desk. “Sorry, I zoned out.”

“Follow me,” ordered the nurse, and I traipsed in her shadow. “Did you leave a urine sample at the desk?”

Inside a pleasant smelling private room, I draped my coat on the back of a chair. “Yes.” Yet my bladder’s protesting for exhilarating release. “The receptionist told me to keep a full bladder for the ultrasound, though.”

Pointing to a lilac leather chair, she snapped on a pair of sterile gloves. “How are you feeling?” Opening my antenatal file, she clicked the top of a pen. “Any symptoms yet?”

“Morning sickness.” I sit on the cold leather. “Actually, I am sick all the time. I can virtually puke at the drop of a hat.”

Black-framed glasses perched on the tip of her nose, she thoroughly read my notes. “If it doesn’t improve, the doctor will prescribe antiemetics.”

Nodding, I folded my hands on my lap.

“Any allergies?”

“Not that I recall.”

Overturning my arms, the nurse identifies an appropriate vein to puncture. Vaguely explaining the procedure, she selected my left arm to strap a tourniquet and organised a line of venepuncture equipment.

My stomach cramped and pivoted into piercing knots. “What’s that for?” I asked, knowing she’s seconds away from stabbing the living daylights out of me. “Will it hurt?”

“Just a scratch,” she fibbed, and I salivated acidic bile. “You can look away if it makes you feel uncomfortable.”

I did as the nurse instructed.

Laboriously, she lined the sharpest point to my vein and perforated.

“Oh, shit.” Blinking nerve-stricken tears from my eyes, I clenched my fists on instinct, not watching her alternate the blood tubes. “Are we done yet?”

“Almost.” Three tubes later, she withdraws the needle to apply a cotton wool ball. “All set.” Keeping the gauze in place, she taped my inner elbow and shut my folder. “You can go back to the waiting room.”

Sliding the purple file into my bag, I picked up my coat and trudged outside, feeling sorry for the poor bastard taking my place.

Inside the bustling waiting room, I parked my backside on a chair and searched for Liam or an amiable Suit. Men sit beside their partners, comforting and offering their support. Not me. I sit unaccompanied, pondering the many ways to murder Liam for letting me down.

Me: I am going to kill you.

Me: I might smother you with a pillow tonight, so sleep with one eye open.

Me: Do you not care about this baby at all?

Me: Why must I beg for your support?

Me: Yes, I am annoying you with messages that you refuse to read!

Me: You are on a sex-ban. Don’t even think about touching me later.

Me: Ted’s looking juicy this morning. I may flash him my arse.

Nothing. Not even a baiting message regarding Liam’s repulsive Suit gained me a reaction or response.

As if sensing my outlandish mentation, Ted lowered his newspaper to penetrate me with a disgusted scowl.

I fling him the bird—“Alexa Haines?” A male sonographer in comfortable uniform scanned the room. “Alexa?”

Peering at the main doors one final time, I inhaled a deep, encouraging breath and gravitated towards the smiling gentleman. “Here,” I whispered, passing him my folder.

“You look terrified,” he said, but terror wasn’t the reason for my crestfallen rejection. “Do you have a rough idea of your last period?”

In the sonography room, he pulled a computer chair to the ultrasound machine and tapped the bed for me to lie down.

“I don’t, sorry.” Sitting on the bed edge, I stare at the empty visitors’ seat, a tight lump forming in my throat. “Where do you want me?”

With profound professionalism, he glanced at my exposed legs. “Rest the hem of your dress beneath your chest and use this,” he held out my coat, “to cover your intimate area.”

Relaxing on my back, I draped the faux fur across my pelvis and settled the folded dress skirt at my breasts.

“First pregnancy?” he asked, I mutely nodded. “Cold compress to follow.” Tilting the monitor screen away from my prying eyes, he extracted a transducer and squirted aquasonic gel to my lower tummy. “Ready?”

No, I wasn’t ready. I’m too immature to be a mother and seeing the blossoming baby on a screen materialised the significance of what I ostracise. “Yes—”

The room door suddenly burst open. “Wait.” Ignoring the sonographers curious eyes, Liam enters a room and imperiously expects everyone around him to fall into line. Unbuttoning his suit jacket, he came to the bedside and brushed a hand over my head. “Forgive me,” he rasped in my ear, ghosting a kiss to my jawline. “Proceed.”

“You’re late,” I clipped, pinning my murderous glare to the ceiling. “And you ignored my text messages.”

Pulling a chair up to the bed, Liam seized my hand, threading our fingers. “I…” His stone-cold glare diverted to the silent gentleman, whose only mistake was tolerating Mr Asshole’s supercilious manner. “Is your hearing impaired?”

“Uh, no.” Coughing into a curled-up fist, the sonographer revisited the screen. Applying mild pressure, he rotated the transducer around my stomach.

I, however, refrained from gouging Liam’s eyes out. “Can you leave the officiousness at the door?”

“You look beautiful,” Liam complimented, paying no heed to my enraged anxiousness. “Has Jace finished renovations?”

Liam knows that I’m pissed. He doesn’t care for Jace’s new business venture, so this feigned act of interest is a misrepresenting plan to evade punishment, or a bullet, or a slap to the chops—I have yet to decide.

I scoffed. “You don’t care if Jace’s business takes off.”

Liam brushed a thumb along my knuckles. “I care about you.”

“You almost missed the ultrasound.”

Watching me intently, Liam leaned in and breathed a kiss to hip bone. “Is the baby okay?” he asked the sonographer, the genuineness of his voice surprised me.

Confirming Liam’s question with a pleased smile, Mr Resilient tilted the screen. In the midst of a small, white outline of our unborn baby, I see a tiny, thumping heartbeat and an unfamiliar emotion uncaged a protective lioness. “Approximately eleven weeks,” he estimated, and Liam’s hand loosened its vice-like grip on mine. “Everything appears normal, but I’d like to book you in for a twelve-week scan to check the baby’s development.”

My eyes glazing over, I study my baby’s pulsing heartbeat on the screen with an unexpected urge to cry. “Why am I so emotional?” I asked in a hitched voice, draping an arm across my eyes. “I can’t handle these damn hormones.”

“It’s quite normal, Miss Haines.”

Liam’s too quiet, and it troubles me. Through rigid fingers, I peered at his impassive face, wondering if attending the ultrasound vacillated his initial commitment. He’d repudiated the idea of fatherhood and starting a family. He feared venomous opportunists might target us to hurt him.

“Liam,” I whispered, my fingers grazing his solid gold curb bracelets. “Are you okay?”

Perceiving the elongating uncomfortableness between us, the guy tapped a keypad button to print scan photos. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

I wait until he’s exited the room. “Liam—”

His hands were on me in a flash, cupping my face as he bruised me with a breath-snatching kiss, the lash of his tongue freed scattering butterflies inside my constricting chest. “I love you,” he husked, and I almost missed his imperceptible shake of the head. “It’s real, huh?” With one hand to my cheek, he blindly snatched a paper towel and wiped the gel from my stomach. “Christ, I loved you before, but now, seeing you here, sacrificing your body in preparation for a child—my child,” he expressed, true devotion and adoration in his piercing blue eyes. “I’m weak for you, baby.”

Liam Warren’s a deceivingly handsome yet tyrannical man who wears his intimidating superiority conceitedly. Some believe he was born evil, but the ones who love him know that a young boy adopted his self-important demeanour as a defence and coping mechanism against continuous neglect and rejection. Even though I have assured him on many occasions, he still struggles to understand why I willingly keep him in my life, or why I choose to love him and proudly bear his unborn child.

“I’m not going anywhere, Liam.” Pulling down my dress, I wrapped my arms around his neck. “You’re my forever.”

Expecting to see frozen indecisiveness or a trace of deceitfulness in my eyes, Liam curled a strand of hair behind my ear. He tapered down any questions or reservations and leaned over my body to obtain the printouts. “It better be a boy,” he said, smiling down at the black and white ultrasound images. “And I hope he has your eyes.”

No, I imagined a little girl with Liam’s beautifully captivating ice-blues. “Why not a girl?”

Helping me off the bed, Liam fixed my dress with meticulous hands before sliding the images into my handbag. “Never.” He held up my fur coat, and I looped my arms through the sleeves. “God could never be so cruel.”

Laughing at his ludicrousness, I nudged the door open and joined the queue at the reception desk. “Liam, since when did you believe in God.”

“I believe in a higher power,” he said ambiguously, stuffing his hands inside his trouser pockets. “Besides, I can’t handle another you.”

Faking offence, I jabbed an elbow to his ribs and, of course, Liam didn’t flinch or lose his innate aloofness. “You said, I was perfect.”

When the wobbling pregnant lady moved, Liam tossed my folder on the desk. “I did.”

“Yet a miniature version of me concerns you,” I pointed out, more for my benefit. “I see no logic here.”

“I booked you in for a twelve-week scan,” the receptionist said, stapling an appointment card to my notes and returning my file. “Have a lovely day.”

Liam held my hand as he walked us outside. “Wait in the car,” he ordered a hovering Ted. “You don’t like your bodyguard.” His eyes followed a punctilious Bundy to the Bentley. “Why?”

I am not falling for an ensnarement of Ted’s premature death. “No, it’s not that I don’t like him…” His cold blue eyes burnt me up inside. “He’s just a tad bit boring.”

“Ted’s not here to be your friend. He’s here to protect you.” Towering above me, Liam cocked his head to the side. “Unless you have a better reason for me to alleviate his duties?”

“No.” I’m grousing without providing a reason. “You’re right. Ted’s vigilant, so that’s all that matters.” Too damn observant, I thought, hugging myself. “Do you fancy a coffee break?”

There was an infinitesimal pause. “Not today.” Liam’s hand found the small of my back. “I’m to pay Vincent a visit.” At Ted’s Bentley, he opened the passenger door for me. “I’ll buy takeout on the way home. How does that sound?”

I’m glad Liam’s visiting his brother. I happen to like Vincent. I think, once Liam accepts their bloodline, Vincent will be a great asset to the syndicate. But most importantly, this man, the one I love so much, he deserves happiness. He deserves at least one person from his dysfunctional family to stand at his side with pride. “Did you reach out to Vincent prior?”

“No.” Liam kissed the crease between my eyebrows. “Preparing the enemy?” he half-joked. “It’s not my style.”

My phone vibrated. “That’s probably Jace.” My palms to Liam’s chest, I craned my neck to kiss him. “Don’t come home too late. You owe me for this morning. Plus, I crave noodles, so Chinese food works for tea.”

“Whatever you want,” he agreed, watching me climb inside the Bentley. “Ted?”

My movements stilled mid-buckle.

Ted regarded his boss, peering up at him through the window. “Sir?”

“Is there an issue between you and Alexa?” Liam asked, his chagrined expression betraying the calmness of his deep voice.

“No.” Coughing away the irritation in his throat, Ted slipped me a furtive glance. “I am happy to assist, Sir.”

“Assist with good grace, Ted.” Emotionless, Liam blinked once. “Learn the difference between willingness and reluctance. Your position depends on it.” He bent a deriding eyebrow. “Understand?”

My cheeks flared a scorching red. “Liam—”

“Don’t interrupt me, Alexa,” Liam said intolerantly, and I sank in my seat. “I don’t like repeating myself.”

Ted swallowed. “I understand.”

“Good.” Leaning through the window, Liam snatched my jaw, bruising my lips with a possessive kiss. “I love you.”

“Always,” I whispered, not looking up until he’s gone.

Across the road, Brad and Josh stand beside one of the Bentleys. Uncurling their spines, they straighten for their boss, but it’s Brad who gesticulates to something down the street. Much like Liam, I tried to see who or what my favourite Suit gestured to— “Thanks for that,” Ted clipped, firing the engine. “You do realise Warren’s capable of murder, right?”

Was that even a serious question?

My nostrils flared. “Fuck off, Bundy.”

Chapter 28

Liam

The Rubenesque woman standing at the bar nursed a glass of white wine. Her short blonde hair and pinstripe black and grey suit screamed operative. Companionless, she scoured the antics of Club 11′s nightlife, looking down her nose at intoxicated customers.

I recognised those almond-shaped eyes.

Rubbing my six o’clock shadow, I meandered through the mob of perspiring inebriates and slid up to the bar beside her. “Johnson,” I drawled, my hands burrowing in my trouser pockets. “What can I do for you?”

“That’s hardly an appropriate way to address a detective, Warren.” Her orange-painted, claw-like fingers, curled around the wine glass stem. “Or an old flame.”

“An old flame?” Resting my back to the architectural glass, I watched one of the dancers lift onto a floor to ceiling pole and knee spin. “It would be an exaggeration to claim you were more than a lousy fuck.”

In the past, Taylor Johnson made herself available to me. It was an equally beneficial arrangement without obligation. You see, Johnson didn’t start out as a homicide detective. Before the prissy bitch modelled sophisticated designer wear and ice diamonds, she was the product of tawdriness and had a hush-hush penchant for high-grade cocaine. Her addiction—which I callously enabled—of course, cost her, her marriage. Husband number two—the primary income provider and property magnate—filed for divorce, leaving his former wife frail, vulnerable and financially insecure.

Taylor’s shame and impecuniousness resulted in desperate measures. Akin to most visits, she came to me one night and asked for something more intoxicant. Heroin is available from the syndicate, but it’s not the type of drug we store in-house. It’s a dirty substance we distribute to small-time dealers who represent the organisation, selling to hopeless junkies on our behalf. “I need help, Warren,” she had said. “I’m losing everything. My husband, home and the car, and I had a final disciplinary meeting at work this morning.”

From the second I began to build my empire, I made it abundantly clear to anyone who dared insult me with financial bribery or contract killing solicitation that I wasn’t a loan shark, a hired hitman or easily obtainable.

Trusted association based on reciprocation.

You scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours.

Favour-for-favour.

With my generous support, Taylor signed into a rehabilitation centre to get clean. In the hope of long-term success and long-lasting sobriety, she finished the program sixty days later to find an identifiable yet unacquainted man waiting for her in the car park. Chief Superintendent Reginald Burton. She had admired and envied Reginald from afar, so his appearance had been overwhelmingly perplexing. On my order, Reginald helped Taylor transcend her low-paid police officer role to the well-paid detectives’ programme. “I want to thank you, Mr Warren,” she said one evening. “If it weren’t for your kindness, I’d likely be homeless or dead.”

Taylor offered reimbursement.

I declined.

“Then, how can I repay you?”

After all, I didn’t need money—had an inexhaustible cash flow since the night my father died—but you can never have too many allies. Taylor, equivalent to Reginald, had been an unfaltering bluecoat snitch, whispering advanced notices in my ear and she was a dissolute lover. She eagerly pleased until she grew restless, wearisome and possessively expectant of me. I had no choice but to quell the relationship, losing a reliable source in the process.

“Really?” Taylor mused, glaring up at me from under fake eyelashes. “Yet you came back for more.”

I am a hot-blooded male who undeniably loves sex.

Previously, Taylor lusted after a man who she deemed her saviour. Being the dishonourable asshole that I am, I took advantage of the situation. “I don’t recall soaring from my chair,” I sniped, my lips close to her ear. “Pretty sure you did all the kneeling.”

Taylor rolled her eyes. “Not my finest moments in life.”

I’d respond if I were offended.

“You treated me like trash,” she continued as a voluptuous Cherry sauntered past us. “Like I was one of your noxious harlots.”

I never claimed to be an honourable gentleman. “That’s your inferiority talking,” I droned, my index finger rotating my gold thumb ring. “Jealousy is a sign of toxic insecurities.”

“Yes, because I am so envious of those plastic tits and silicone arse augmentations,” she muttered sarcastically. “Tell me, Warren. Did leading me on and tossing me aside like I was cheap and worthless stroke your ego?”

“You wanted a good fucking, and I delivered.” My patience hangs by a precariously thin thread. “The arrangement between us worked until you became unreasonably importunate.”

“Asking for respect and fidelity is not unreasonable.” Taylor snorted. “Heaven forbid Liam Warren exerts himself to try and be faithful.”

“We weren’t exclusive.” My jaw hardened. “If you were worth the effort, I’d have committed.”

“Is that your idea of a piss-poor apology?” Taylor argued, flinging me a disgusted look. “Thank you for fucking other women behind my back, Warren. It really helped boost my confidence.”

“What the fuck do you want?” I barked out, snatching her by the elbow. “I understand your scorn, Johnson, but let’s cut to fucking chase, shall we? You don’t care about me, so why did you come to my club tonight?”

Her eyes sparkled mischievously. “How’s the Haines girl?”

My lip curled at the corner. “Careful.”

“Is it true?” she asked, licking her glossed lips. “Are you in a loyal, faithful relationship with the girl? Leaning in, she laid a kiss to my jawline. “Or will you continue to fuck your way through women? Haines’ young and quite ditzy really, so it’s understandable if you stray. I think I speak on behalf of everyone—we expected so much more from you, Warren.”

“Your disdain offends me. You speak ill of the woman I love. I might be ten years Alexa’s senior, but I found my match.” Our noses touched. “Don’t underestimate her, Johnson. You have no idea what that young, ditzy woman is capable of.”

“Did she do it?” Her tongue peeked out, smoothing across her upper lip. “Did Alexa Haines kill Rohan Wallace?” I snatched her by the throat, and her eyes rolled back. “Or did her hellacious lover intercede?”

Turning my head, I put us ear-to-ear. “You play a dangerous game, Detective.”

“Incarcerating a criminal is the precision of the law,” she purred, cupping me between the thighs. “I can make it all go away, Warren.” Applying light pressure, she caressed my flaccid cock. “I ask very little of you in return.”

In a moment of sheer anger, I gripped Taylor’s wrist and snapped it back, feeling the bone-shattering impact beneath my crushing fingers.

“Warren!” she screamed out in excruciating pain, hastily withdrawing her wilted arm. “You broke…you hurt my…” Against her better judgment, her eyes watered. “You assaulted an officer of the law.” Unable to prevent her pained tears, she made a lackadaisical attempt to uproot her gold badge. “Mr Warren, I am arresting you for assaulting an officer. You do not have—”

“Shut up.” Seizing her badge, I hauled it across the bar. “You made a big mistake coming here, Taylor,” I said threateningly, fisting her pale pink blouse. “I bow to no one.”

“I’m wearing a wire,” she sneered, showing me her pearly white teeth. “Go on, Warren. Continue with your threats. Take me out back and let the metropolitan hear you and your staunch goons rip me from limb to limb.” Her round, wild eyes provoked my inner beast. “Whether I live or not, you are going down.”

“Trying to set me up.” My angry eyes roamed her chest. “After everything, I did for you.”

Her nose twisted. “London’s sick and tired of your bullshit.”

“The streets of London can suck my dick.” Ripping the seam of her blouse, scattering the plastic buttons, I yanked the tapped wire from her chest. “Let me guess, Detective Donny Stevens?” When she forced a smile, I unclipped the listening device from her ear. “How unfortunate for you?”

Taylor held her damaged wrist close to her chest. “Am I expected to understand your jargon, Warren?”

Drowning out the club music, I inserted the earpiece. “Stevens,” I said, tossing the dismantled device onto Cherry’s tray of multicoloured shots. “I’m confused. Does Vincent know his closest alliance planned to trick a confession out of me?”

“Vincent’s privy,” Donny confirmed. “I am not authorised to speak on his behalf, though. Just know that he always has your best interest.”

I harrumphed. “Who else knows Taylor’s here?”

At my question, Taylor sliced her eyes. “What’s that muppet saying to you?”

“No one,” Donny assured me, and I waved down a passing Nate. “As I said, Vincent has your best interest.”

A loud chime buzzed in my ear. Removing the earpiece, I dropped it on the floor and crushed it under my shoe. “Nate?”

Nate crossed his arms, assessing the situation. “Sir?”

“Johnson has a broken wrist,” I said calmly, and he read between the lines. “Help her fix it.”

“I can find my way to the hospital.” Not bending her arm, she used her undamaged hand to collect a glittering clutch purse from the bar top. “Until next time, Warren.”

Before Taylor could walk past, I slammed a hand on her chest, preventing her departure. “I can’t let you leave.”

Her eyes jutted out like a deer in the headlights. “Warren…”

Nate extracted something from his suit jacket. Wrapping an arm around a protesting Taylor, he stabbed a syringe in her thigh, and within seconds her struggling body lolled against his chest. “Sir?”

“Acid,” I ordered, and he dipped his head. “Don’t leave a trace of her behind. Once finished, delete all the surveillance. I can’t trust the metropolitan not to slam me with a search warrant.”

Without a backwards glance or second thoughts, I took the stairs two at a time and exited the club through the main doors. Beneath the dark skies, I strolled past the long-stretched queue in search of Donny Stevens. I know he’s waiting for me.

As predicted, the man appeared from the shadows of Club 11′s alleyway. Donny’s a smart man. Dressed from head-to-toe in Bottega Veneta, he gestured to his parked Audi Q7 and situated himself behind the steering wheel.

Opening the passenger side door, I sank on the heated leather. “Does Reginald know Taylor was building a case against me?”

“No.” Revving the SUV to life, Donny grasped the back of my headrest and reversed out of the alley. “Is she dead?”

I shrugged a noncommittal shoulder.

“It was a personal vendetta, Warren.” Veering onto the main road, he put his foot down, shifted gears and sped ahead. “I caught wind of what Taylor had planned and discussed the matter with Vincent. He told me to keep a close eye on her—to befriend her and offer my services.”

Popping a cigarette to my lips, I sparked a lighter flame and lit the end. “Where is Vincent?”

I heard a crunch. “I’m behind you, brother.”

“Fucking hell, Vincent,” I spat, keeping my glare on the windshield. “This feels like a bastard ambush.” Twisting in my seat, I bore into a smug-looking Vincent who sits aloofly on the backseat. “Tinted windows. It’s a good touch.”

“I know.” Biting into a green apple, Vincent licked citrus juice from his lips. “I’m still waiting for a regretful acknowledgement, brother.”

“You’ll be waiting forever.” Respiring smoke, I put my head to the headrest. “I’m not convinced you’re worthy of my trust.”

“I orchestrated Taylor’s death beautifully,” he said cockily, and I mumbled. “Sent her straight into the lion’s den.” He unscrewed a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label. “Do you want some?”

“No.” Our gazes caught, and I sharply looked away. “Any communication from Serena?”

“Yes,” he verified, swigging a generous amount of malt from the bottle. “An email here and there.”

Donny paused at the traffic lights. “Vincent?”

Raking dark hair strands from his forehead, Vincent relaxed on the backseat. “Park Chinois.”

I laughed dryly. “I’m not welcome at Mayfair.”

“Nonsense,” said Vincent, lowering his window. “You’re with me.”

***

Inside the opulent subterranean of Park Chinois, the crystal chandeliers coruscated a kaleidoscope of colours throughout the decadent dining and lustrous cocktail bar. Debonair waiters in tuxedos served the late-night demands alongside the live artists playing swing remixes from the centre stage for entertainment.

Popping open the button of my suit jacket, I throned myself behind a mahogany table, encircled by red velvet, gilded-gold columns and thick curtains draping around the leather banquettes.

I scan the menu: Cantonese and pan-Asian dishes.

From the cherry blossom tree, six of my men enter the restaurant and station themselves. Vincent’s intense gaze marked them individually. He looked at everything with the most scrupulous attention and with the utmost calmness.

Imposter, I thought, accepting a Royal Doulton glass from the suave waiter.

“Are you ready to order?” the gentleman asked, and Donny’s the first to read from the menu. “Yes, the Peking duck roasted to order.”

Donny burst a pink chewing gum bubble. “Vietnamese spring rolls, too.”

“King crab steamed in Shaoxing wine,” Vincent ordered, closing his menu. “Bring a bottle of cognac to the table.”

“Of course.” Jotting down their orders, the guy turned to me and stilled. “Warren.”

Here we fucking go. “Give me a moment.” I scoured the menu, feeling the heat radiating off the man’s ramrod body.

“Meng this is my brother, Liam.” Vincent draped an arm on the bench rear. “Although it seems you’re already acquainted.”

“No.” Meng neatened his bowtie. “However, if my mind serves me correctly, Warren, you once had a somewhat affiliation with my father.”

I briefly jogged my memory. “No conclusion.”

“Well, he’s dead now.” Meng’s all-knowing glare solidified. “Murdered. Someone garrotted him to death and just left him cold and alone on the side of the road.”

If I was responsible for Meng’s father’s death, I certainly blacked it out. “Are you waiting for my condolence?”

Red-cheeked and amused, Donny’s devious eyes bounced around the table.

Meng frowned as if he were in pain. “The process of admitting might work.”

It’s condescending people like Meng who make loathing outsiders that much easier. “You can say I asphyxiated him, Meng,” I said, sarcasm dripping from my tongue. “I won’t be offended.”

“Brother,” Vincent warned, and I flickered my bored stare heavenward. “Pardon his manners, Meng. He’s drunk.”

“Don’t speak on my behalf,” I retorted, my finger outlining the circumference of the glass. “I don’t trust him.” Chucking the menu down on the table, I knocked back my drink. “I’ll pass.”

Meng clicked his knuckles. “Are you accusing me of something, Warren?”

Judging by the wicked glint in his eyes, hacking phlegm in my food would be the least of my concerns. Keep goading me, I dared. My forbearance level is being put to the test too much tonight. “Tread carefully.”

He stuffed the notepad in his back pocket. “That’s sounded like a threat.”

I shrugged one shoulder. “Make of it what you will.”

“Meng, I’m wasting away over here,” Donny piped up, rubbing a hand on his stomach. “Get our orders to the kitchen.”

Reluctantly, Meng left our table in time for the cognac to arrive. I craved something stronger but poured myself another drink in the meantime.

Vincent gave me a lopsided grin. “You killed his father?”

“It’s a matter of hearsay and poorly-conjured misrepresentations.” In all honesty, I don’t catalogue or enumerate the victims of my past. Of course, some deaths project more than others, but it would be impossible to recollect whose intangible blood marred my hands. “I don’t care enough for it to mean something, Vincent.” I looked between both men. “Slake your habitual curiosity and ask your questions. However, it’s highly doubtful that my response will appease you.”

I craved a blunt and settled for Patrón tequila. “There are only a few reasons why I have committed murder. One, the person had something I wanted. Two, the person conspired against me or somebody I love. Three, the worst of them all, Judas.” Tilting my head back, I swallowed a burning shot. “Any motherfucker that dares to sit at my table and then stab me in the back deserves the ultimate punishment.”

Vincent listened while admiring a bodacious brunette, sitting alone at the table to our right. “Relatable.”

“If I am responsible for Meng losing his father?” I pondered, waiting for Donny to refill my glass. “Then he must have pissed me off.”

Folding his arms, Vincent laughed a husky laugh. “End of discussion.”

I stifled a smirk behind my glass. “It’s a good job that I didn’t eat. Alexa’s banking on takeout noodles for dinner.”

“How is she?” Vincent asked, staring into his whiskey glass.

“Hormonal.” Alexa’s hypersexual behaviour has indeed contended my libidinousness. My woman loved sex before, but it was me who instigated our encounters. Now, though, she’s pursuing me at any given opportunity. I wake up, her mounting my thighs and her eagerness to deliver head. “Tired.” If we’re not having sex, she’s sprawling across my chest to fall asleep. “Beautiful.”

Vincent’s eyes settled on me. “And you?” he wondered aloud, his voice low and oddly soothing. “How are you feeling about being a father?”

“I don’t know yet,” I answered honestly, rolling my shoulders back. “Mental conflict.” Tapping my temple, I remained closed-mouthed for a few seconds. “I can’t deal with thoughts of anything bad happening to them.”

This time it was a female waitress tending to our table. Unloading the stainless steel trolley, she organised gold rimmed dinner plates in front of the men and substituted the bottled cognac for Dalmore. “Do you need anything else?” she asked, and Vincent flicked a dismissive hand. “Enjoy your meal.”

“I share.” Donny pointed to his plated duck and thinly sliced cucumbers. “Do you want some?”

“No.” I took note of his allusive undertone. “Besides, I’m far too selfish to share anything, Donny.” His lips stretched into a naughty grin, and I eyed Vincent. “You need to control your pup.”

Insulted, Donny gestured to himself. “I’m right here with a pair of ears.”

“Donny’s harmless.” Vincent, ignoring Donny’s penetrating scowl, forked noodles into his mouth. “About Serena. She’s not willing to meet with us again, but she’s happy to provide us with an address for the twins once we transfer significant funds.”

“How do I know she won’t take the money and flee?”

“We don’t. It’s worth a gamble, though.”

A frown strained my face. “How much?”

Vincent glanced up from his meal. “Pardon?”

“Serena,” I clipped, drumming my fingers on the table. “What’s the financial requirement? I need a figure.”

He topped up his glass. “Just a mill.”

“Was that your way of softening the blow?” My look sharpened. “I’m not giving her a fucking yard. Five hundred thousand,” I clicked in his direction, “split between the two of us, or else Serena can get fucked.”

Vincent appeared sceptical. “Are you sure you want to risk it?”

“I’m not paying any more than what I’ve put on the table,” I persisted. “No money goes into that bitches account until I have an address.”

Dabbing a napkin to his lips, Vincent took out his phone and typed an email. “Anything else?”

I can’t think beyond the dubiety of possible manipulation. “Nothing is more dangerous than a betrayed man with a mercurial temperament.”

“Was that message for Serena or myself?” he asked, setting his phone aside.

“For anyone who double-crosses me.”

Our blue eyes aligned as Vincent clinked our glasses. “To brothers,” he said, swirling his drink before knocking it back. “What a force to be reckoned with?”

I didn’t like Vincent.

But I didn’t hate him, either.

Chapter 29

Liam

It’s the coldest of nights. Burnt orange and rustic brown leaves drifted along the damp ground. The old weeping willow trees stood hauntingly around the squalid, dilapidated mansion that’s fallen into eerie abandonment; it’s winding vines adhered within conduits of the red-bricked exterior and crumbling stone.

Pulling on a grey bobble hat, Brad stuffed blond strands of hair beneath the knitted fold-over. “What time does Jace open-up shop?” He licked a toothpick to the curve of his mouth. “Can’t we make an excuse? I’m not into the whole demonic-witchery-malarkey.”

Tonight is the grand opening of Pierced and Inked. I am sure, Alexa’s the mastermind behind my wangled invitation. Not that I particularly wanted to socialise with a bunch of drunk people I didn’t know.

Nonetheless, Alexa drives a hard bargain. It’s almost impossible to deny that woman anything when she uses sex to coax a seal of agreement from me. “It’s a tattoo parlour, Brad. Not a satanic cult.” This man’s eccentricities often disorientate me. “Talk about superficial judgment.”

“I learnt from the best.” He twisted a silencer onto his Glock with deft fingers. “What about a night on the town instead? I haven’t had a decent orgasm in three days,” he grumbled, the toothpick stilling in the middle of his central incisors. “My balls feel heavy.”

Balancing a lit joint in my mouth, I unlocked my phone to check the array of text messages Alexa had sent me.

Alexa: Where are you?

Alexa: You promised, Liam.

Alexa: Why aren’t you answering my calls?

Vincent: Running late.

Alexa: That’s it. You’re on another sex-ban, and I’m not convinced I like you anymore.

Alexa: Sorry, ignore the last message. I obviously love you.

Alexa: You’re still not getting any, though.

Brad peered over my shoulder to sneakily read her idle threats.“What are you smiling about?”

“Starving me of sex is Alexa’s go-to punishment.” Chuckling under my breath, I tucked the phone in my pocket. “Yet she says one thing and does another. I can guarantee, tonight, when I walk her through our front door, she’ll be on me in less than five seconds.”

“It’s alright for some.” The muscle in his jaw ticked. “Christ, I need sex.”

Mentally questioning his logic, I tilt my head to level with him. “It’s only been three days, Brad.”

“Three days?” he asked in confusion. “Since I last had sex?”

I remained impassive. “You literally said it had been three days and your balls feel heavy.”

“No,” he waggled a finger in my face, “I said it’s been three days since I had a decent orgasm. I fucked a bird this morning, but the moment I was about to come, she convulsed and squirmed off my lap. Selfish bitch,” he spat, his expression hardening. “My climax went flatline just as quickly as my cock.”

Down the windy, timberline country road, approaching headlights slewed across the dark asphalt. Gravel crunched under the tyres of a gunmetal grey Bugatti as the driver parked amid old-growth and sycamores.

Vincent, in his black trademark trench coat and grey three-piece, climbed out of the vehicle. Removing the satin tie from his neck, he popped open the Bugatti trunk and retrieved two firearms.

Brad gave me a tight-lipped smile. “Your blood brother is a bit on the tardy side, huh?”

“Apologies for the lateness,” Vincent said dryly, his thumbs tapping out a message on his phone. “Serena sends her appreciation.” He showed me the screen, and I skimmed over her long list of gratitude. “She hasn’t had time to collect the parcel yet, though.”

Vincent wired two hundred and fifty grand into our half-sister’s account. I matched the balance once Nate returned from the urban depot, where he’d left a fake passport, social security number, birth certificate, financial and professional background documents. Everything Serena needs to start a new life concealed in the metal locker of self-storage.

Brad puckered his lips. “That’s odd.”

I blew out a veil of smoke. “What?”

“Serena, not collecting her package,” he said, and I shared a pensive look with Vincent. “Call me a materialistic spendthrift, but my ass would already be sitting at the airport with two birds on my arm, waiting for a one-way flight to the blissful Bahamas.”

“Perhaps Serena doesn’t know how to deplete her earnings,” Vincent voiced wryly. “Not everything in life is a conspiracy.”

“When handling deranged women?” Brad joshed, adjusting his beanie. “Christ, it’s screams conspiratorial.”

Vincent held Brad’s stare with an air of sternness. “Shall we proceed?” He gestured to the old house. “Serena thinks there’s a forty-minute window ahead of the twins’ arrival.”

The road is too narrow for us to walk beside each other, so I moved ahead, and the men formed a line in my shadow. Ducking under low hanging branches to dodge jagged welts, I skulked along the sloping tree-lined pathway, the wet, surfaced mud, sticking to my leather shoes.

“My day cannot get any worse.” Brad, the master of trivial complaints, scuffed his shoe across a nest of grass. “No, It doesn’t matter if horse shit sticks to my shoes. They’re only Cavalli, right?”

On smelling the pungent foetor of ammonia, I had prepared myself for a walkway of successive manure. Apparently, Brad didn’t get the memo. “You didn’t need to walk through it.”

“What, because I knew there’d be clumps of shit to dodge?” he argued, leaves and twigs cracking beneath his weight. “I can barely see.” Palming his phone, he switched on the torch and directed a slew of light. “I’m starving.”

Vincent rubbed a hand down his face. “Do you ever stop grousing?”

My second-in-command halted. “Do you ever look in the mirror and think why the fuck was I born?”

“Brad,” I scolded, and he gave me a dramatic eye-roll. “Wind your fucking neck in.”

“Oh, I see,” he muttered, ramming his shoulder into me as he stormed past. “Brotherly favouritism already. Christ, I’ve only had your back all these years.” Reaching a wooden fence, he cocked one leg over and dropped onto the misaligned paving slabs, his shoes squashing sprouted dandelions and weed rosettes. “Good old Vinny boy comes along and, lo and behold, you, Mr Boss, make an exception. What, being a relative and all that biased bollocks.”

I paid no attention to Brad’s constant grievances.

Vincent climbed over the fence, eyeing the ruined building. “What’s the order?”

“Look around first.” Racing down the gravelled road, I ascended the concrete steps with maintained vigilance. “Hurry up.”

Tucked into the shadows, I gripped the majestic brass lion’s head knocker and jostled the iron entry door open. With a whinge of protesting hinges, I stepped into the dark echoing foyer, peeling sheets of spider’s gossamer from my face.

Brad’s entering close behind me, his eyes raking over the antique-looking furniture and the faded, threadbare carpet underlay pasted to the serpentine spiral staircase.

Pillars and archways bolstered the high ceiling. Ethereal moonlight passed through the lancet stained glass windows that reminded me of an old medieval cathedral.

“I’ll check the living quarters,” Vincent said, disappearing through a wrought-iron door.

Brad clicked his tongue. “I don’t trust your tearaway siblings.”

Straight-faced, I side-eyed him.

“What? I’m honest. Serena’s a no-show at the locker and Vincent decides to take a late-night stroll through the creepy-looking castle. Yeah, because that’s not weird at all.”

“Brad,” I sighed, popping open the top button of my shirt. “I’m not asking you to take Vincent under your wing, so what’s the problem?”

He inserted a magazine into his Glock. “Do you want me to check upstairs?” he asked, dismissing my question. “The jungle perhaps?”

“Omit the garden.” I bit back my frustration. “Go through the kitchen and see if there’s a basement.” My hand to the metal guard rail, I vaulted up the stairs. “I’ll overturn the bedrooms.”

Adrenalised, I ransacked the landing, nudging open empty closets and cupboards utilised for neatly folded bed linen. It wasn’t a home. Nothing about the rustic slate walls or ancient, dusty floorboards had a commodious sphere of proprietorship. Unlawful habitants keeping a low profile, I thought, entering a box-sized room flanked in high cedar wainscoting. If not illegal squatters, then good-for-nothing idlers who willingly choose insalubrious living.

Upon discovering another empty room, I buried my hands in my trouser pockets and examined the magnificent four-poster bed and suede chaise lounge—the discoloured monogrammed ivory sheets degrading both items of furniture.

Ancient tapestries bedecked the smoke-stained walls, and embroidered canopies thatched the ceiling. Walking across the assortment of oriental rugs, I ran my fingers along over the marquetry inlaid writing table, admiring its gold tooling and re-polished condition.

The sound of a door slamming downstairs resounded throughout. I glanced over one shoulder, suspecting a maddened Brad, but when he didn’t arrive, my interest revisited the mosaic tapestry, looming over the table. One of the twins fixed a colourful push pin to each frayed corner. However, the bottom right appeared tampered. Noticeably sticking out compared to the others, a faint foundation mark tipped the once-white plastic head.

Taking the cloth in both hands, I ripped the material from off the wall, scattering pins and disrupting ubiquitous dust.

Chilling pictures of Vincent stared back at me. Him arriving at restaurants, walking out of night clubs and short-lived breaks to fuel stations or designer stores. His late-night extravaganzas and a sequence of romantic dates.

A predilection for blonde and red-headed females it seems. Each companion openly venerated Vincent with doting eyes and longing smiles, yet his indifference made me believe they risked unrequited love.

Peeling off another barrier of intricate tapestry from the wall, I let the soft fabric slip through my fingers and tried to compartmentalise the fascinating yet disturbing display.

My blood scorching under my flesh, I unclipped an image of a woman from the wall and, although they’d scribbled black marker across her face, I know it’s a snap of Alexa. I recognise her body. Her elegance when pausing near a parked car.

Why do they draw black rings around Alexa’s face?

“What did you find?” Vincent’s quiet question breathed against the nape of my neck. “A shrine.”

Standing alongside me, Vincent obtained an image of himself, which the twins had stapled above tarot cards, and he read the penned note with unperturbed remoteness. “He compared her to the sun while she looked into the eyes of another.” His eyebrows drew in. “All rights reserved?”

My dark, troubled gaze fixated on the conglomeration of polaroid photos, penned notes and a highlighted map of London. “Ambiguous.” They had images of me before Alexa, too, escorting nameless women from bars and attending a variety of charity events. “The best way to get rid of someone with an obsession?” I mused, curbing an amused smirk. “Garrotte.”

“I’m happy to assist.” Vincent cracked a forced smile. “Yes, it’s an entirely new level of ridiculousness, brother.” He tossed the photograph on the floor. “Molly’s most definitely an emotional hoarder.”

Yes, the puppetmaster had questionable characteristics for sure. “Molly’s blonde,” I pointed out, assuming she’s the woman who cornered me with Alexa that night. “You seem to have a preference.” I pulled off a photo of an attractively long-legged golden-haired vision. “I am not judging. You have great taste in women.”

“It’s not personal partialities for fair-headed women.” He claimed the image from my hands and crushed it into a ball. “But what is it they say?” A twinkle of mischievousness in his round blue eyes. “Blondes have more fun?”

“Blondes do it better in bed,” Brad chirped, rubbing his palms together. “I speak from an experienced point of view. Look at me.” He wildly gestured to himself. “It’s all working in my favour. No offence, Bossman. And, well…” His stoic glare stayed on Vincent. “Whatever the fuck you are. But the whole dark-and-dangerous look? It’s dieted.” Wedging himself between us, he crossed his arms. “Are we bonding?”

“Not that it matters.” Vincent laughed in puzzlement. “Where do you come up with this nonsense?”

Taking a Polaroid from the wall, Brad mumbled a response. “Who’s that?” Broadening his eyes, he pointed to a striking blonde. “I recognise this bint.”

“That bint has a name.” Vincent opened his wallet to slide the photo inside. “Bernadette. And no, before you ask, we’re not in a sexual relationship. Bernie’s a friend of mine.”

“If my memory serves me correctly,” Brad said, for the first time tonight, seriousness replaced his jokester tendencies. “Isn’t your not-so-very-fuck-buddy part of the gavers?”

I immediately fired Vincent a quizzical scowl. “What?”

“Enough of the dramatics, Jones.” Vincent’s annoyance soared. “Yes, Bernie’s Homicide.”

Brad vehemently shook his head. “I fucking knew you were two-faced twat.”

“I have nothing to gain by being disingenuous or duplicitous,” Vincent retorted, spearing a hand through his dark hair. “I do, however, have a brother at stake here, so loosen the noose from my neck, for fuck’s sake.”

“I’ll ‘for fuck’s sake’ you in a minute.” Brad thrust Vincent’s chest. “You left that important piece of information out. If you got connections with The Met, then your brother—the one you so passionately claim you don’t want to lose—should have heard that from you.” He unclipped another snapshot of Bernadette. “Not from the crazy-ass Olsen twins.”

“With all due respect,” Vincent said, stepping up to Brad. “Who I choose to keep within my inner circle isn’t your business. Yes, I want a relationship with my brother, but I am not an active member of the syndicate. I am not bound to The Brotherhood by rules and regulations—I run my own fucking ship!” he added angrily, reciprocating Brad’s coldness. ”I decide what’s good for me.” His round, bleak eyes turned to me. “Not even my brother has the capabilities of controlling me, so do us a favour, Jones. Get out of my goddamn head. If I want to brush shoulders with The Met, or fuck and slaughter my way through London? It’s got nothing do with you.”

In less than five seconds, I could kill Vincent. One bullet between the eyes and his body would be lifeless on the floor, a pool of blood beneath him.

But I didn’t want to end him.

Even after Vincent’s no holds barred fulmination, I had no desire to punish him for lambasting my right-hand man in the throes of disrespecting me.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Brad continued to aggravate Vincent. “I’m not sorry for questioning an ulterior motive.”

Between the co-occurrence of their discursive contestation and the unanchored uneasiness I felt to the bone, it was impossible to interpret the sudden rush of dread blackening our ambience. “Shut up,” I barked, cocking my head to the side. “Do you hear that?”

Both men, steamed-up and primed for a brawl, watched me wander towards the boarded-up window. “Uh, Bossman,” said Brad, flattening a palm to the scruff of his jaw. “Have you lost the plot or something? What are we looking for?”

Listening to insistent ticking, I dropped one knee to the floor and scoured beneath the bed. “I thought…” Across the room, the ajar wardrobe beckoned me. “Call Serena.”

Vincent furrowed his eyebrows. “Why?”

“Just do it!” I spat, rounding the obstructing bed to swing open the wardrobe doors. “Well?” Snapping coat hangers aside, I searched the shelves and stilled. “Brad…”

“No answer,” Vincent replied.

“What’s wrong, Bossman?”

Immobilised by the dead weight of trepidation, I counted the red, ticking numbers almost as if I had all the time in the world.

00:19

00:18

00: 17

“It’s a setup,” I mumbled, stumbling back and quickly regaining my footing. “They set us up.”

00.16

00.15

“What are you talking about?” Brad snatched my shoulder, forcing me to turn around and face him. “Boss, as much as it entertains me to see you so speechless…” He belatedly discovered the explosive. “Holy fucking shit.” Fisting me by the shirt collar, he dragged me across the room. “I am not their barrel of flesh-fetti, Boss. Snap the fuck out of it and run!”

Shaking myself out of momentary light-headedness, I yelled my brother’s name, and his echoing footsteps bolted behind us.

We quite literally ran for our lives, yet the world around us moved in slow-motion. My heightened senses heard and felt everything—I smelt their unvoiced fears. Their reverberating footfalls and strained, heavy breathing as they wrestled for an escape.

My heart thumped hard against my ribcage. I sloped the spiral stairwell, staggered to the front door and ran faster than Linford Christie beneath the depressing skies of taunting murkiness.

Feeling an escalating tremble under my panicked strides, I snatched Vincent by the neck. “Get down!” I yelled, dragging him to the ground just in time for the thunderous explosion to erupt into the night. “Brad!”

My face buried on the grass, I grasped my head and fisted my hair at the root, hoping the sharp sting would reduce the piercing shrill, ringing through my ears. “Brad,” I mumbled, tasting a mixture of mud and sweat on my lips.

Ashen white and in shock, Brad crawled beside me like a sniper. “You good?”

“Yeah,” I rasped, snatching the beanie from his head and tousling his sweat-slicked hair. “Don’t be scaring me like that.”

Smiling flatly, he squeezed my shoulder.

Rolling onto his back, Vincent choked on a shuddered inhalation. “I am going to string Serena up by the neck.”

Repositioning onto my back, I propped myself onto the elbows and watched the acidic black smoke and wild, licking flames billow towards the sky, the scorching, ashen hues illuminating its destruction.

The old building didn’t stand a chance. Uncontrollable flames clambered the bricked exterior, snaking through the ruptured windows to claim the place that once stored someone’s memories.

I wiped ash and perspiration from my forehead. “I want a location on Serena.” Rising to my feet, I dusted off my soiled shirt. “She dies tonight.”

“Boss,” Brad said, taking out his phone to call Nate.

Vincent stood with an unlit cigarette in hand. “Do you want one?” I nodded, so he passed me his before lighting one for himself. “If Serena knows what’s good for her? She’d be on a flight by now.”

“No,” I disagreed, putting my back to a tree. “After this shit storm, I am beginning to understand.” I urged myself to calm down, to take a breather. “You said that the twins have been harbouring resentment for me since the night Molly witnessed me kill her mother.” And our father, I thought. “Since then, they’ve had an ample of opportunities to harm me or the people I love.”

He stayed quiet while I had a moment of reflective thought.

My jaw steeled. “I’m a pawn on their chessboard.”

Putting his phone away, Brad neatened his appearance. “Nate and Josh will drive to Heathrow,” he explained, the dancing orange flames alight in his eyes. “If Serena’s going to flee, then they’ll catch up to her in time.”

“What about Gatwick and Luton?” Vincent asked. “We paid for a flight at Heathrow, but Serena has enough money to travel elsewhere.”

Brad jerked his chin. “So, we’ll send the men to every possible escape route within the London Borough.”

“I don’t think she’ll run,” I said assuredly. “I didn’t die tonight. That’s enough motivation for all three women to hang around.”

Vincent tossed his cigarette. “Is that your phone?”

Inhaling a long drag, I patted down for my phone. Seeing Jace’s name flash across the screen, I frowned. “Jace,” I answered, letting smoke roll at the back of my throat. “What can I do for you?”

“Warren,” he croaked, and I overheard panicked, raised voices in the background. “You need to get to the hospital.”

Chapter 30

Alexa

I have never had dreams or ambitions.

My main objective was surviving my childhood. During the state of traumatism, I focussed on conquering phantasmagorical demons and sempiternal hardship. However, this morning, whilst buying a simple chocolate frosting celebration cake from the old-school bakery, I considered my future.

Did I want to attend college, or apply for a receptionist position?

Did I want to utilise some of the stolen politician money to invest in a company or become an independent businesswoman?

None of the above excited or energised me.

What am I passionate about?

What brings me pleasure?

What do I find satisfying and rewarding?

“Are we going to stand here all day while you read a newspaper?” Ted jested, holding a multicoloured umbrella over us. “In case you hadn’t noticed, it has been raining non-stop for almost two hours.”

“We only got out of the car five minutes ago, Bundy.” He’s so melodramatic. “Besides, the brolly serves its purpose.”

Through the sheet of rain, I looked at the new-build youth centre and then back to the article. “Here.” Handing over the paper, I dragged a hand down my long ponytail and quickly sorted my appearance. “How do I look?”

Puffing out an uninterested exhalation, Ted toured my body with objecting eyes. “You look like a supercilious saleswoman.”

I wore an olive-green satin blouse tucked into a black pencil skirt and black Giuseppe Zanotti three-strap sandals with gold embellishments.

My hands smoothing down my skirt, I examined the aureate six-inch high-heeled shoes and self-consciousness increased. “I wanted to look smart.”

Rain hammered against the umbrella, the steel-grey clouds, rolling above, threatened a thunderstorm.

His cold, stable eyes on me, Ted blew a white chewing gum bubble, and its resounding pop mocked me. “You come across as vaingloriously apathetic.”

Patronising indifference contrasted what I wanted to achieve. I aimed for a classy, sophisticated look. “Well, I’m here now.” Adjusting the handbag strap onto my shoulder, I ducked out from under the umbrella and vaulted towards the main door. “Wait for me in the car!”

Getting thoroughly soaked, I beat a fist against the glass window, waiting for a member of staff to welcome me indoors. By the time a convivial gentleman appeared, my soaked blouse had clung to my body, and rain beads besprinkled my face.

“The great British weather,” he joked, holding open the door for me to enter. “Wasn’t the sun out this morning?”

“Yes.” My once straightened ponytail bounced back to unruly curls. “Pardon the state.” God, I hope mascara has not left smudges under my eyes. “At least it is warm in here.”

“Matthew,” he introduced himself, giving me a firm handshake. “How can I assist?”

My initial thoughts of Matthew is he’s exceedingly affable. His smile reached his honey-coloured eyes, and his approachable demeanour alleviated my anxieties. He looked roguishly handsome, wearing ripped denim jeans, pristine white trainers and a long-sleeved grey T-shirt. His blond hair pulled back in a tight bun, and a strong, angular jaw dusted in a graze of stubble.

Rooting my tongue to my inner cheek, I marvelled at the signed sports posters complementing the stark white walls. “I saw your advert in the paper,” I finally said, hearing a crescendo of loud, chortling teenagers in the next room, an assembly room or the main auditorium maybe. “I came here to see if I were eligible for a volunteer position.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You want to spend your free time here?” he asked incredulously, scrutinising the length of my immaculate wardrobe choice decision. “Sorry, for some reason, I assumed you were a social worker, or that perhaps you came to collect a relative.”

“Oh, no,” I said meekly, slipping loose strands behind my ears. “I didn’t know the correct uniform, so I opted for smart.” A humbled ruddiness attacked my cheeks, and I battled the temptation to disappear. “Sorry.”

“Why are you apologising?” Matthew used a key fob to unlock the door to an office. “Would you like to come inside…?”

“Alexa.” Following him into a boxed room of purloiner supplies, I dropped my handbag to the floor and sat comfortably on a swivel chair, facing his desk. “Alexa Haines.”

Matthew flinched but tried to hide his initial shock. “Alexa,” he said with an edge of familiarity. “I mean, wow. It’s an honour to meet you, personally.” Clearing his throat, he collapsed onto a tattered leather chair and rolled himself close to the desk. “I read your case file as part of a training programme.”

My interest piqued. “What type of programme?”

“To understand and learn the practice of young victims who dissociate,” he explained, and I listened closely. “Although, fortunately, having not endured mistreatment before, I’ll never truly comprehend why dissociation helps victims to overcome violation.”

“Selfless denial, abiding fear, intense shame and self-blame,” I ticked the boxes for him. “It’s a means of mental escapism.”

Matthew gave me a knowing smile. “The evasion of truth.”

I nodded. “Did the programme help for your line of work?”

“Yes, actually.” Loading his laptop, he tapped the keyboard. “In my position, it is important to recognise the signs of child abuse and neglect. It’s also my job to help children cope with traumatic events by offering a warm, friendly environment for troubled teenagers. Also, working tirelessly beside me, practised activity managers, widely experienced social workers, childcare professionals and behavioural specialists.” He pointed to the centre’s blue and gold logo on the wall. “It’s a home, Miss Haines. One I am exceptionally proud to operate.”

My cheeks ached from smiling. “It sounds wonderful.”

“For the uniform? Casualwear works best.” Opening the desk drawer, he pulled out an application form. “As above mentioned, we deal with a lot of problematic youths. Let’s just say; they aren’t the easiest to get along with. Earning their trust takes strenuous effort, but the result can be quite rewarding if they confide in you.”

Unzipping my bag, I selected a black pen. “I do not have any experience,” I said aloud, second-guessing my decision for being here. “Not even with children.”

“Miss Haines—”

“Alexa,” I corrected.

“Alexa,” he said, sliding the form across the desk. “You have more experience than most. You are relatable. Who better to help the vulnerable than a woman who survived the gruesome reality of child abduction?”

My throat tightened. “I hope those teenagers aren’t the product of such environments.”

“Luckily, no.” Crossing his arms, Matthew relaxed in his chair. “Though, many of our youths suffer in silence. We have reservations regarding some cases, but until they entrust us to help them, all we can do is provide a safe haven in expectation of disclosure, which, unfortunately, doesn’t occur often.”

With newfound confidence, I penned details on the form. “Trust is a two-way street.” I scribbled my signature. “If the people who brought you into this world—or certain relations—can abuse you instead of loving and protecting you, why would you trust a stranger?” I returned the form. “Everyone becomes a suspect.”

He dipped his head in agreement. “I…” Turning his head, he stopped conversing to listen to full-throated, strident arguments in the hallway. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Jumping out of his seat, Matthew stumbled past his desk to swing the office door open. Raucous yelling flooded the room in chorus with shrieking females and clamorous upheaval.

Snatching my handbag, I exited the room in time to see a horde of untameable youths surrounding two brawling lads, throwing brutal, unforgiving fists.

Someone tumbled into me, and my hands mechanically shot to my stomach. “Shit,” I whispered, putting myself behind the curved reception desk to watch the commotion.

“Matthew!” A female worker blew a whistle, the deafening sound falling on the lads’ deaf ears. They wrestled for an advantage, landing blow after blow, shoving each other into metal lockers. “Separate immediately.”

“That’s enough!” Matthew’s stentorian voice bellowed as he slipped between gathered teenagers. “Broderick!” Wrapping an arm around the tallest boy’s neck, he peeled him off his bloodied rival. “Segregate!”

“Leave it, Samuel.” Another male intervened, stealthily dragging the other boy into the main room and shutting the door behind them. “Time out.”

“Calm down.” Matthew pinned the distressed, angry boy to a locker. “Broderick!”

“Fuck him!” Broderick, I think Matthew called him, shirked out of Matthew’s hold. “Don’t touch me!”

“Form a line,” the flustered caseworker ordered, mopping sweat from her wrinkled forehead. “Into the room.” Holding open a door, she wildly gesticulated for the enthralled teens to move ahead. “Now, Christie.”

Rolling her striking, beautiful green eyes, Christie weaved her arm around a friend and obeyed churlishly.

Amped up with wild eyes, Broderick snagged an old backpack from the floor and began to gather scattered pencils.

“What have I told you?” Hands to his hips, Matthew loomed above the boy. “Violence is not how you deal with situations—”

“He told me to chow down on my mother,” Broderick spat, stuffing crumpled up sketches into his bag. “Would you be okay with someone saying that shit to you?”

Wringing my fingers, I watched the hall empty, leaving only Matthew and Broderick to break the awkward silence of gloominess.

“Then, you come to me,” said Matthew. “Do not take matters into your own hands.”

Liam would beg to differ.

“Impulsive behaviour doesn’t get you anywhere,” Matthew continued. “Let me deal with the likes of Samuel.”

“Fuck, Samuel.” Pushing up to his feet, Broderick fixed the bag straps to his shoulders. “Fuck everyone. I don’t care what you people think.”

Matthew ran a palm down his tired features. “You leave me with no choice.” Extracting a small leatherbound from his pocket, he clicked a pen and jotted something down. “Two weeks suspension.”

Broderick bristled. “Whatever,” he muttered, snatching the suspension card to fling over his shoulder. “I don’t even know why I fucking come here.”

I had a sudden urge to intercede.

Matthew threw up his hands in frustration. “Logan…”

Broderick—Logan jerked open the main door and stormed outside, and I stared at the entranceway even when I could no longer see him.

“Logan Broderick,” Matthew explained, collecting crushed pens from the tiled floor. “He’s one of the cases I was telling you about. We try with him, Alexa, but he doesn’t make it easy for us.”

My heart fractured. “Will Samuel face the consequences of his actions, too?”

“Absolutely,” he assured, tossing rubbish in the bin. “Logan’s a hot-head. It’s always best to deal with him first.” He looked at the door in pensive thought. “You cannot save them all.”

I wanted to know Logan’s story. No, I needed to know his story.

No, Logan’s misconceived.

“I have to go.” My heels alternately clicked as I rushed to the door. “I look forward to hearing from you.”

Before Matthew responded, I staggered outside. Torrential rain blanketed the streets and an impatience Ted glared at me from the Bentley. I bypassed the humming vehicle and stepped onto the empty road. Amid the downpour, I see a tall Logan fading into the distance. I swung open the passenger side door and fell onto the heated leather. “Drive down the street,” I ordered, and Ted begrudgingly accelerated forward. “Follow that boy.”

“Why are we chasing down teenagers, ma’am?” he asked in a bored tone.

Ignoring Ted’s curiosity, I kept my eyes on Logan with bated breath. “Pull in by the bus stop.”

Steering into the bus lane, Ted expelled an exasperated breath and dropped the car into neutral. “Ma’am?”

“I’ll be right back.” My shoe met the pavement as I soared, the depressing heavens clouding over our horizon.

I stalked towards a pacing Logan, feeling this unexplainable, gravitational energy drawing us together. For an indecipherable reason unbeknownst to the boy who drifted and wandered our cruel world alone, my heart ached for him, reacting for him—imprinted on him.

His dark, jet black hair cleaved to his pale complexion and his clothes, time-worn and far too small for a lad his size, weighed down his determined strides.

Pausing at a park gate, Logan grasped the wrought-iron poles and lowered his head. His eyes flickering shut, he immersed himself in the drifting mist and cold showers, a quiet moment for himself as it seemed.

I stopped, too, giving him time to calm his heavy breathing.

Rivulets of diluted blood trickled from his cracked knuckles. He must have sensed someone watching him because his head snapped in my direction and, in a breath-snatching occurrence, our gazes collide.

I loved a man with rare blue eyes that reminded me of the ocean, but those Nordic tones, outlined in the thickest of eyelashes and the smallest of dark pupils, a paralysing sight that stole the oxygen from my lungs.

With a semblance of wariness, Logan squared his shoulders. His eyebrows meeting as he scowled harshly, he stepped back, creating additional space between us.

He’s beautiful, I thought, gliding towards him. “Does it hurt?” I asked, pointing to his ruptured eyebrow. “You should clean it up.”

It’s easy to see that offering to help a boy like Logan isn’t the right approach. He’s damaged and inarguably guarded; the type of boy who frowns upon the attention of others.

He set his jaw. “Do I know you or something?”

And stubborn, I concluded, stifling a humoured grin. “No, but I saw you get into it at the youth centre and thought—”

“You thought what?” he argued, his tight, incensed features twisting in repulsion. “Don’t be looking at me like that, lady.”

At his brusqueness, my eyebrows clambered. “Like what?”

Creating unnecessary tension, he put us eye-level. “Like you feel sorry for me.”

Craning my neck to look up at him, I snorted. “I don’t feel sorry for you,” I lied, folding my arms. “And I don’t appreciate your level of disrespect, either. You might be annoyed because of what happened just now, but I don’t warrant your callousness, kid.”

Logan sliced his eyes. “Again, do I know you?”

“Alexa Haines, the overbearing female who hopes to land a volunteer position at the centre,” I introduced myself proudly.

“Aren’t you a little young to be managing troubled teenagers,” he mocked with an eye-roll. “And overdressed.”

“What’s wrong with my shoes?” I challenged, tapping my floor to the floor for theatrical effect.

I perceived that I made no logistical sense to Logan.

Tilting his head to the side, he licked rainwater from his swollen lips. “You won’t last two minutes at the centre,” he said arrogantly, hiking his backpack straps as he brushed past me.

I spun around. “How so?”

Logan came to an abrupt stop and flung me a contemptuous glare. “You were brought up with a silver spoon in your mouth.” He openly condemned my designer shoes. “So don’t pretend to understand us.”

I know when a person’s silently crying out for help.

We are one and the same, Logan.

It would be easy to counterattack, but I took the moral high ground by persisting matureness and behaving accordingly. “Flowers grow through dirt before they bloom.” Rain droplets danced on my eyelashes. “Never judge a book by its cover,” I whispered, sauntering away from him. “For I carry many a secret in my eyes.”