by Raven Scott
His kiss was magical, soft and ginger, but rough from being chapped and constantly downturned. Slinging my arms around Carlyle’s neck, I pressed against him just to be closer, and he caressed my mouth with a slow-burning passion. There was so much anger in his gentleness, and I threaded my fingers through his hair to deepen our kiss.
There was so much anger, but there was also happiness and hope . . . and a barrage of other emotions that rushed down my throat and filled up the gaping hole in my chest. Carlyle’s kisses didn’t lie, didn’t fudge the truth, didn’t avoid the question.
That’s why he was so bad at it before. He never let anyone feel what lays below that stony exterior. Not a single soul knew except me.
“I never settle, Valerie, and this . . . I’m going to crush anyone that gets between us.” Squeezing my face very gently to punctuate his point, Carlyle’s eyes blazed full on with all the hate and rage he’d been hiding from me, and I smiled. Tears sprung to my eyes, and my heart became so full it barely beat properly. Even as his blurred features twisted in malice, I warmed, and I rested my cheek on his chest to feel the furious ripple of his muscles.
33
Valerie
“What’s Theo’s progress?” Seeing Carlyle in such complete control was beyond reassuring, beyond words themselves. He owned everything and everyone, and he made sure they knew he wasn’t someone to mess with. Trailing behind him, I couldn’t take my eyes off the determined set of his shoulders and straight set of his spine. He spoke with authority. He walked, and people scurried out of the way. His every pore exuded power.
There had been signs and hints, but the man I’d known until now was considerably tempered down.
“He’s halfway done. Also, Jerry’s on his way back to help Greg, and Hano believes he’s close.” There were no specifics, but Carlyle knew exactly what was going on even though he sat with me all night. Well, early morning into noon. He didn’t stop walking to listen, and his long strides forced his brother to work to keep up with him. “We have five hours until the Network activates, but Theo’s confident he’ll find the rest long before then.”
“Tell Hano he’s carpooling, and we’re not waiting on him.” Pushing open a pair of glass doors, Carlyle didn’t miss a beat, and I barely noticed Oran holding one open for me before slipping off back down the hall. “Pedro! My man, when I call, I expect you to jump. I’m not known for my patience.”
“I was jumping.” Pedro Gonzalez was shorter than me, distinctly Mexican features scrunching up in disgust, and he stood up from his seat to sneer noticeably. “I didn’t call back immediately be—”
Holding up a hand to silence Pedro’s really, honestly, good English, Carlyle gestured to the chair wordlessly. Slowly, the drug lord sat down, and Carlyle pulled a seat out for me before dropping himself to prop his feet on the table. This was all an act, I realized . . . well, maybe not all of it. Maybe, this was just how Carlyle wanted Pedro to see him.
“I don’t give a shit, honestly. Here’s the deal. Tonight at five p.m., I’m going to issue a bounty for every single Baron Ninety-Nine member in Dallas. I had called you last night to let you know so you could pull your people, but, you know, whatever. It doesn’t matter anymore. Obviously, you don’t appreciate the favor. I’ve instructed the Network to hunt down all of them. You and I have a deal, which I honored, but what I do not appreciate is being ignored.” Pedro was quiet, narrowed eyes firmly on Carlyle but staring him down, and I glanced between the two. “I lost faith in you when you fucked up that job in Nevada. So to regain a smidgen of trust in which to build a future relationship, I want something of yours.”
“What would that be?” Carlyle smacked the top of the table, a malicious grin puffing out his cheeks at the question, and Pedro tensed.
“Good of you to ask, my friend. See, someone made a bomb and sent it to my girl, here.” Pedro’s breath hitched, eyes widening as they flew to me, and a sense of surrealism overwhelmed me when I gazed back. This guy had tortured and killed people, whole towns. He was responsible for death every single day, but he was afraid of Carlyle. “According to my forensics team, it came from one of your bomb makers. A man by the name of Julio Montoya. He uses these incredibly distinct pink blast caps, which I’m sure you’re aware of. This puts me in a situation, see. Either you knew about him doing side work, or you didn’t know. Neither of those are good things, Pedro.”
“If you’re gonna kill me, just do it.” I was watching a scene in a movie— it was just so insanely casual, and Pedro jutted out his weak chin.
“Why would I do that? You can’t repay me if you’re dead. And make no mistake, Pedro . . . you’re going to pay quite a lot.” Carlyle was toying with Pedro, and his words from what seemed like so long ago floated up in my head to blare in my ears. There’s a beauty to being refined and keeping a cap on violence. Pedro’s got a lot more to worry about than just Carlyle. Whole governments are after him. “So, my proposal is this.”
Standing up leisurely, Carlyle walked around the medium-sized table, pulling a knife out of his jacket pocket. The difference between them was startling now that they were side by side. Carlyle wore a nice suit, nicely styled hair, and no facial hair. Pedro looked exactly like one of those guys who’d be behind Home Depot— not that there was nothing wrong with those guys, but . . .
Of course, there was a safety to dressing the part, so if Pedro wanted to blend in, that’d be the way to do it.
“You can do two of three things here, Pedro. Pay your debt to my girl. She had a bomb blow up in her face, after all. Give me all your shit stockpiled in the States. Or slit your own throat. I’ll let you pick.” Flicking open the knife, Carlyle set it in front of Pedro on the table before sauntering back to his seat. He shot me a wink, the only break in his character yet, and my lip twitched up as heat slithered up my neck.
Maybe, I sustained some head trauma or something, and that’s why I feel so . . . detached.
This had nothing to do with me, but it had everything to do with me. It was a strange feeling, like being in the center of a hurricane.
“I’ll pay.” Just as the gruff reply came, Oran opened the doors, and I frowned under furrowed brows. Everything that happened was so smooth, it was almost choreographed. Seamlessly, events just ran together, and Carlyle was at the height of it all. Handing me a portfolio folder, he adjusted his glasses before turning around and leaving, and I cast a questioning gave at Carlyle.
“Pick one— or three— or all of them. However, many you feel will make up for the fact that your apartment was destroyed.” Rolling my lips between my teeth, I popped open the laminated front, and my brows rose in surprise.
“Are these houses?” The photos on the first page were gorgeous, and I flipped through briefly as Carlyle nodded out of the corner of my eye. “Why would I need a house in Chile?”
“Why not?” That was definitely not a helpful answer, and I scrunched up my nose when Carlyle shook his head. “Take some time. It’s not like Pedro here will be busy in the coming weeks. Isn’t that right, Pedro?”
“That’s right.” Grinding the words out through his teeth, Pedro nodded curtly, and he stood up slowly to tuck his chair in. “I’ll get things moving for you as soon as I get back to Mexico.”
“See, I would trust your word, but . . . I don’t. So, I’ve already gone ahead and sent a few teams to collect. Have a safe flight back.” Pedro walked out of the small conference room, leaving me in stunned silence and satisfaction dripping from Carlyle’s every pore. Closing the portfolio, I propped my elbows on the table to hold my face and stare at him, and he wore the smuggest, most amused smirk I’d ever seen. He held his head in laced fingers, leaning back in his chair, and I waited for him to say something because I was speechless.
“I’ve been searching for a reason to put Pedro in his place. Unlike him, I prefer to have something to back up my claims. By the way . . . ” Standing up to sit on the edge of the table, Carlyle crossed his knees and reached to tap the stuffed fo
lder. “Think carefully. Some of these properties are difficult to get to, like the one in Chile.”
“I don’t even know what I would do with something like this, Carlyle.”
“It doesn’t matter what you do with it. I thought about it last night . . . why should you not have your apartment because Pedro’s an incompetent idiot, but he has all these, and he never even uses most of them?” Rolling my jaw against my palms at that, I didn’t refute the point even though it was moot. “Trust me. He’ll recoup quickly. Regardless, why don’t we get lunch? I’m sure you’re hungry.”
“What about Natasha? What do I tell her?” A troubled crease marred between his brows, and Carlyle shrugged carelessly.
“Tell her whatever you want, Valerie. She’s your sister. I’m not going to get between you two. I doubt she’ll take it as well as you, but the point of all this with Pedro, it doesn’t even scratch the surface. I brought him here as some convoluted way to ease you into what comes next.” Puffing out my lips, I frowned as sourness coated my tongue, and Carlyle brushed my bottom lip with his thumb. His expression turned tender, and he smiled a little before continuing. “I won’t stop either of you from doing what you want with your lives. On paper, you’re an indie game development company that contracted my marketing firm. Right now, right here, it’s a different story.”
I only nodded before standing up, and Carlyle didn’t try to continue the conversation as he scooted off the table. I guess . . . there’s no point in keeping secrets from Natasha now. Not after twenty-five years together.
34
Valerie
“And you . . . you’re perfectly okay with that?” Natasha scrunched up her nose when I nodded, ducking her head to dig into her ice cream. Hope blossomed in my chest, and she fished for the perfect bite, the one with the brownie piece in it. “I mean . . . whatever. It’s not like I’m the one dating him. You don’t need my approval or anything. I just think you shouldn’t go all gung-ho considering you almost got blown up yesterday. You were already a romantic bitch, but that might’ve agitated yo—”
“Shut up.” Shoving her weakly with my shoulder, I smiled broadly, but my burst of relief didn’t last as I cleared my throat. “Um . . . the other thing is he wants me to look through these.”
Tapping the folder on the coffee table with my toe, I dug into my own ice cream as my sister reached for it. This conversation hadn’t gone too bad, but I didn’t expect it to in the first place. Natasha and I were great sisters, very understanding and level he—
“What the fuck!” Natasha’s shriek rang in my ears, and I glanced over as she dropped her half-eaten carton in her lap to hold the folder open with both hands. “What the fuck is this, Val? He’s giving you a house? Is this a joke?”
“It’s the guy who runs the gang of the guy who sent that bomb to me.” Wide eyes met mine, and my sister sat back with a huff as I snatched the folder from her. “Carlyle scared him. Bad. Anyway, that was what he said, that since my apartment got destroyed, I could have one of these— or three— or all of them. I definitely don’t want the one in Chile, though. I skimmed through it briefly.”
“What the actual shit? That’s . . . wait a minute. How come you’re so damn calm? Not that I thought you’d throw yourself onto a bed and weep like a Disney princess, but . . . ” I hummed softly around my spoon, savoring the crunch of chocolate chips and the grainy cookie dough as I contemplated her question. Reaching for my glass of wine, my mind puttered along leisurely, but my sister didn’t rush me. The silence deepened, and I blinked hard under furrowed brows.
“I guess, no matter what, I know it’ll never be turned on me.” Pressing the cold glass against my cheek as Natasha flipped the page out of the corner of my eye, I sniffed a harsh breath. “Everything he’s capable of, the lying and the violence, he won’t do that to me. I’m safe. We’re safe. He knows about what happened back then. He asked me if I thought I should continue therapy.”
“You can lie to that therapist, but you can’t lie to me, Val. You blocked it all out. What if that explosion and being targeted brings it back?” I only shake my head because I didn’t have an answer to that. If it happened and I went a little off the rails, then it happened. There was no way to avoid it, and I wasn’t going to just break up with Carlyle because maybe . . . “Well, I mean, you’re a grown-ass woman. I’m not gonna stop you from doing what you wanna do. I’m just gonna tell you when I think you’re wrong.”
“You’re a great sister, Natasha.” Nodding firmly, like she already knew that, Natasha huffed, and I smiled broadly as I leaned my head on her shoulder. “I don’t know what’s going on, but whatever it is, I have a feeling we’ll be seeing it on the news.”
“We have a bigger issue to think about, honestly.” Flipping the page to a beautiful balcony and kitchen, Natasha strafed the pictures with her thumb. “Since you two are fucking, and I’m a collateral casualty, do you think Carlyle will give me an allowance? I wanna be rich and spoiled.”
A laugh escaped me, and I set my wine glass down to take another bite of my ice cream. The doorbell trilled shrilly, and I unfolded my legs from under me to head down the short hallway.
“Oh, hey, guys.” Fred and Marshal stood on the other side of the door, with Carlyle behind them, and I nodded as I stepped aside. “Come in.”
He shot me a surprised, quizzical arch of his brow, but Carlyle didn’t question me as the three shuffled past. Shutting the door behind them, my fingers itched, and I grabbed his ass and squeezed. He tensed, glancing over his shoulder, and my smile widened before I moved to sit on the sofa.
“So, I was going through all the stuff last night, and thank God we weren’t too far in. All my paper shit is ruined from the sprinklers, but I’m confident I can get all the info on my tablet back.” Speaking up first, Marshal perched on the armrest of the sofa, and Carlyle sat on the ledge between the kitchen and the living room. “Did you guys hear from the manager of your apartment?”
“Yeah, the fire marshal said there’s no structural damage, but we’re not allowed back. Which . . . I guess . . . at least he’s not suing us.”
“That’s good. I really don’t want to delay because of this. Like Marshal said, we’re not really taking a hit from this, and I already called my mom’s hospice worker and let her know I’m on an emergency trip.” Fred leveled his gaze on me, and my brows furrowed as his lips thinned. “I’m sorry about all your drawings.”
“It’s okay. I can always do them over. It’s not like they were set anyway. We’re still going through all our stuff, but I’m sure my drawings and supplies are in there somewhere.” Turning expectantly to Carlyle, I nodded when he did, and he cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention. Clasping his hands in his lap, he rocked back, and his narrowed eyes swept the room. He was born to be in power. How sexy . . .
“As I’ve said, you’re going to be working across the bridge. There are some rules you have to follow. Work stays at work. Like all of my employees, you’re not allowed to bring materials over the bridge. If you do and I find out, you’ll be fired on the spot. Once you decide on a concrete plan for your living situations, you can decide among yourselves whether or not you want to move to another building. You two, specifically, I want to make clear that you’re not prisoners here.” Pointing between Fred and Marshal, Carlyle held both their gazes. “You can leave any time you want, no questions asked. The only thing I demand of you is that anything you witness here, you keep quiet about.”
“I didn’t see or hear shit,” Fred grumbled in agreement with Marshal, and my lips twitched up at the pleased smile stretching Carlyle’s face.
“Good. As with any investment, I’m providing you with a marketer who works exclusively with mobile apps. You’ll be meeting with her next week, so get yourselves sorted by then with a loose campaign. It’s all fairly ambiguous at this point. If you need anything for any reason, you can contact my assistant. Her numbers are posted on the refrigerators in your apartments. She’ll make it happe
n.” Carlyle’s expression fell flat, and the atmosphere became dense as he tapped his heels against the wall just above an outlet. “Now, I’m not in the habit of giving gifts, but considering the circumstances, I believe it’s appropriate. Pedro is responsible for the bomb, and he and I do business together. To some degree, I’m responsible for being negligent. Natasha, this is for you, as well. If you have a reasonable request, I’ll grant it.”
“What? This wasn’t enough?” Waving around the folder, the fwop-fwop of laminate flooded my ears, and I stuck my spoon in my ice cream as Carlyle shrugged.
“That’s not yours. Whichever or however many she chooses, they’re Valerie’s.” A shit-eating smirk crested my cheeks, and my sister shot me a mock glare and nudge of her shoulder.
“You said yesterday that you could buy anyone, right?” Speaking up, Marshal’s question sent a jolt through me, and he cupped his chin thoughtfully. “My wife and I haven’t even been to mediation yet. She just served me a few weeks ago. She thinks I don’t know she’s been cheating on me, and she’s trying to take everything I have. She filed a restraining order against me and put my apartment address as hers, so I can’t even go get my stuff. I’ve been wearing Fred’s clothes.”
“You want a lawyer.” His wasn’t a question, but Marshal nodded mutely, shame dragging down his features. “Your wife sounds like a cunt.”
“She wasn’t when we got married. She’s having a mid-life crisis, and her boyfriend is twenty-two. She is a divorce lawyer, and I’m having trouble finding someone to represent me. I don’t want to do anything drastic because I know that she’ll see she’s making a mistake and watching her be miserable when this guy bails because she’s pregnant is revenge enough.” I nearly choked on my melting ice cream, and Marshal sniffed hard as he hung his head a little, stuffing his hands in his jean pockets. “She doesn’t think I know about that, either, but her sister talks a lot.”