by Eve, Jaymin
I wrinkled my nose at him. “You went to Boy Scouts?”
“No, but I hear great things,” he replied with a smirk.
I shook my head and rolled my eyes. “Dick.”
The five of us blew past the lobby security desk, setting metal detectors blaring with alarms and not even pausing a beat. The uniformed officer there looked more interested in avoiding our gaze than stopping us, anyway, so we stepped into the elevator unhindered.
As the doors slid shut and the box started moving, Evan started humming a tune under his breath. At first, I didn’t give it much thought, but there was a thread of familiarity to it.
Glancing at him, I frowned in confusion. He just kept humming, but gave me an amused, brow raise.
It wasn’t until we were stepping out onto the conference room floor that it clicked what the song was, and I burst out laughing.
“How very appropriate,” I told him, snickering while he broke off the tune and grinned back. “Never smile at a Crocodile. Couldn’t be any more fitting for a meeting with Catherine Deboise.”
“I don’t get it,” Beck commented with a small frown.
Evan sang the lyrics under his breath as we walked across the plush carpet with the conference room ahead of us putting emphasis on the part about the crocodile imagining how well the object of its attention would fit inside it’s skin. Essentially implying Catherine was plotting to kill us all.
With the joke explained, we were all chuckling as we entered the board room, and I don’t think we could have disturbed the Delta council more if we’d walked in wearing eight-foot-tall Teletubby suits.
“Something funny, daughter?” Catherine asked, her voice tart and her blue eyes narrowed. “I wasn’t aware that this was a comedic meeting.”
Unable to pass up an opportunity to get under her skin, I just gave a blasé shrug. “Just discussing plans for your retirement home, Catherine. You’ve been looking so stressed lately, it’s showing around the eyes.” I indicated to the crow’s feet which were barely visible, but to a woman of Catherine’s vanity level it was a scathing insult.
Her mouth tightened, pursing into something that vaguely resembled a cat’s asshole, and I tried really hard not to laugh.
“Thank you for joining us,” Mr. Langham addressed us, cutting off whatever Catherine was about to respond with. “Please take a seat and we can begin.”
He indicated to the vacant side of the table where five seats were in a row, facing the older generation.
“We can’t begin,” Catherine snapped, shooting a glare at Mr. Langham. “Rome hasn’t arrived yet. We can’t start until all members are present and accounted for.”
“Rome couldn’t make it today,” Jasper’s father smoothly replied, and the dismissive glance he gave Catherine said he didn’t care much for her attitude either. “And given that he’s already signed over his vote to Sebastian, there seems no need to inconvenience him with the preliminary discussions.”
Catherine balked and looked a little pale. Frightened? No, not Debitch. Just annoyed, I was pretty sure.
“Yes, but Sebastian isn’t a sitting board member yet,” she argued back, not even trying to hide the irritation in her voice, “and it’s in the bylaws that all members attend this meeting.”
Dylan’s dad—prick that he was—just scoffed a laugh and leaned back in his chair. “Bylaws also don’t permit women a position on the board. Yet here you are, and with your whore of a daughter sitting as your heir, no less.”
Beck had just sat down in the seat beside me, and I spotted the tension zap through him at Grant senior’s misogynistic statement. Beck’s hands tightened on the arms of the chair, and it took every ounce of my control not to reach out and soothe him. Such a gesture would only fuel Dylan’s dad’s claims.
Besides. This was Catherine’s fight, not mine.
“How dare you speak to me like that?” Catherine hissed at the older gentleman, who just sneered back at her. Every time I was around them, I understood more and more why they all had such an issue with the bond the guys and I shared. The older Delta generation straight up hated each other and must be constantly watching for knives in their backs.
“That’s enough,” Mr. Rothwell snapped, interrupting the pissing match between Catherine and Mr. Grant. “Rome doesn’t need to be here, so let’s just get on with it. Greg?” He nodded to Mr. Langham—Greg—who nodded back and clasped his hands in front of him.
“Delta council meeting is now in session.”
Those words seemed so damn innocent, but they must have been the trigger for what happened next. Before anyone could speak another word, a loud explosion sounded from the base of the building and the room shook. As far as I knew, Jefferson wasn’t on a fault line, so that was no earthquake.
We all glanced around, confused, until Catherine acted.
Faster than I thought I’d ever seen her move—faster than she’d slapped me that first day I’d arrived—she pulled a knife from inside her Dolce and Gabbana jacket and stabbed Mr. Grant through the side of his neck.
Frozen in shock, I watched as she wrenched the knife back out again, sending a massive arc of blood spraying across the table and splattering her own face in the process.
Chaos was breaking out all around me, and all I could do was stare. Catherine grinned at me from across the table, blood dripping from her face and her white teeth flashing and right then I knew. Catherine was the one responsible for Oscar’s death. The look in her eyes as she grinned at me was so cold, so ruthless, so totally removed from sanity... she had zero issues murdering her children to get ahead in life.
And yet. There I sat. Fucking frozen.
Until a hard body slammed into me and knocked me to the ground.
“Butterfly!” Beck boomed from above me, “Snap out of it! We’re under attack!”
Dazed, I peered around me. Beck was hovering over me in a crouch, popping off shots from his Glock 19 every few seconds as shadowy figures appeared in his line of sight. The glass walls to the conference room were totally shattered and shit was going crazy.
“Sorry,” I gasped, scrambling out from under him and reaching for my own gun. “Catherine set this up. She murdered Dylan’s dad.” I was in shock, and repeating things we already knew.
Beck just grunted and shot another attacker dressed in black who tried to get close. The lights were flickering, probably damaged by that initial blast, and it was allowing our assailants the cover of shadows as they closed in on us.
“No wonder she was so pissed that my dad didn’t show up,” he replied to me, popping the empty clip from his gun and slamming a fresh one home. “She wanted to eliminate the entire board and heirs in one fell swoop. Ballsy bitch.”
From under the table, I could see bodies scattered around the room. Judging by the expensive wristwatches and signet rings visible, all three Delta board members were dead, along with several of our anonymous attackers. Huntley mercenaries, I’d be willing to bet.
“Are we okay here?” I asked Beck, pulling my own gun from the specially designed vest halter. “You guys can kick their asses, right?”
Beck grunted again, and a cold chill of fear ran through me.
“Watch out!” Dylan yelled from somewhere, and Beck covered me with his body just moments before another—smaller—explosion rocked the room. Dust from an obliterated wall kicked up in a storm cloud, and I needed to cover my nose and mouth with my blazer to keep from breathing it all in and choking.
“What the fuck?” I croaked, coughing and flapping a hand in front of my face to clear the air. “Did someone just throw a fucking grenade?”
Beck paused a moment, looking around before answering. “Yep.”
I spluttered. “I was joking! Fucking hell.” I shoved him off me again so that I could see more than just a pile of bodies and the back of Beck’s suit, but he put out an arm to hold me in place.
“Stay here,” he ordered, his voice all business. “Get under the table and stay out of sight. I
need to help Jasper.” He shot me a serious look over his shoulder. “I mean it, Butterfly. Stay hidden. I’ll be straight back.”
I nodded. With grenades being thrown, bullets flying everywhere and Debitch knifing people in the neck, I really didn’t think it was the best time to be practicing my female empowerment and independence. I was easily the least capable fighter in the room, so yeah, there was no shame in doing exactly what Beck told me to.
In saying that, I wasn’t totally cowed into hiding. When I heard shouts and rapid gunfire not far from me, I poked my head out just in time to see Jasper break a guy’s neck, right before he got shot three times in the chest by another masked assailant. Beck popped out of nowhere and slammed his fist into the shooters face before dropping him with a headshot.
It was too late, though. Jasper’s body hit the ground with a sickening thump, and a horrified scream tore from my throat.
Stupid, stupid Riley!
That scream pulled Beck’s attention—because of course it did—and the next thing I knew, his head snapped back when the butt of an assault rifle slammed into his cheek.
“No!” I shouted, halfway clambering from under the table, my gun up and ready.
Without even fully comprehending what I was doing, my finger squeezed the trigger, and my bullet hit home in the forehead of the masked man who was about to shoot my boyfriend. The man dropped, dead, and Beck staggered back to his feet looking dazed and pissed right the fuck off.
“Riley, move!” Evan shouted from across the room, but I wasn’t nearly fast enough.
The cold steel of a gun barrel pressed against my temple and Catherine’s cloying, floral perfume invaded my nose like poisoned gas.
“I ought to thank you,” my despicable birth mother hissed into my ear, “without you distracting these sociopathic pricks, none of this would have been possible.”
I let out a bitter laugh, even as my stomach twisted with knots of guilt. I was a distraction, I knew that. “You’re not making it out of this room alive, Catherine. Do yourself a favor and turn that gun around. It’ll be a hell of a lot quicker than Beck will make your death.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” she snickered, then raised her voice. “Drop your weapons or I’ll shoot my stupid daughter in the kneecap.”
I almost laughed at her ridiculous request, until I saw my guys—what was left of them—raise their weapons in surrender.
“What? Don’t listen to her!” I yelled. “She’s not going to shoot me. She clearly needs me alive.”
“Alive, not unharmed,” my bio-mom sneered. “Drop the guns, kick them away.” This was a directive for Dylan and Evan. For Beck.
I shook my head, pleading with my eyes but Beck just stared back at me, totally impassive as he did what Catherine ordered.
His gaze didn’t break from mine for a second. Not when Graeme Huntley stepped into the room flanked by a dozen more armed mercenaries. Not when someone grabbed me by the arms, wrenching my gun away and zip-tying my arms together. Not when Catherine and Graham started to drag me away, and all I could do was shout and fight to get back to my guys. I’d never seen Beck’s face like that, completely without emotion, as he kept me locked in his gaze.
I struggled hard, but with my arms bound, they had the advantage. Catherine slapped me a few times, but that was the least of my problems. Just before I was completely clear of the room, I heard Beck growl my name, and I cried out when one of the black clad goons picked up a Browning Hi Power and started spraying bullets across my guys.
The last sight before I was wrenched into the stairwell, was the heirs falling, and then they were gone from me.
The only thing to comfort me now was my own screams.
29
It was all a blur after that. After I watched the man I loved be shot not fifteen feet away from me ... something inside me just sort of snapped.
Soon the horrible screaming died off, my voice totally gone, and I slipped into a numb state of despair. They were dead. All of them. How? How had this happened? They were supposed to be the best of the best, totally unkillable. Weren’t they?
Except, they were only human. And not even the most highly trained human really stood a chance when so severely outnumbered… and a loved one held at gunpoint.
It was my fault. Their deaths were on my hands, and I couldn’t even escape the cold, endless pain of it all. Because Catherine needed me alive.
“We should have just killed her with the rest of them,” Catherine had snarled as they shoved me into the back of a van and the driver peeled out of the parking lot. “Fuck the bylaws. Who’s going to challenge me when they’re all dead?” Her voice was cold enough to freeze lava, and despite my numb state, I shivered.
“Rome Beckett isn’t dead yet,” Graeme reminded her, “and neither is your husband.” He spat that word like it was made of dog shit. “Your brilliant plan to wipe out the Delta council failed so you need your heir until the rules can be changed.”
Catherine snorted an ugly sound as we bumped around a corner, and I almost toppled out of my seat. No one had bothered to strap me in, and my arms were bound so I just had to roll with it when I bumped into Catherine and she shoved me away again.
"I’ve taken out the elders in co-ordinated attacks,” she said, “so now we just need to send someone to take care of Rome." Her face was creased in anger. “I should have known that bastard wouldn’t show up for the meeting.”Graeme huffed an annoyed sound. “And Richard? Why has no one taken care of him yet?”
“He’s harmless,” she bit back. “Nothing more than a senile, grieving old man. He wouldn’t speak up against my new structure in the wake of his friends’ tragic deaths. He couldn’t. That man is barely capable of tying his own shoelaces, let alone challenging a hostile takeover.”
Surprise zapped through me, almost enough to shake me free from the overwhelming agony of what I’d just seen happen. Catherine really didn’t know Richard was faking? The van pulled up in front of what looked like a half-finished residential tower, and one of the armed, masked men who accompanied Graeme dragged me out onto the street, keeping his fingers banded around my upper arm.
“Take her up to the penthouse,” Graeme ordered my jailer. “No one comes in until we get back.”
Without even giving me a second glance, he and Catherine jumped into a sleek, silver Jaguar parked across the street and disappeared into the night. Presumably to turn up at the Jefferson Delta office and feign shock and horror at the tragic deaths of their “friends.”
“Come on, kid,” my guard ordered, sounding tired as shit when I resisted a moment. “I’m really not in the mood to knock you out and carry you.”
Nor was I in the mood to be knocked out and carried. Wordlessly, I let him guide me into the open-sided building and into a cage that zipped us up the side. I lost track of what happened next because my eyes were covered. Probably so I wouldn’t know how to access his “secret lair”. The next thing I saw was the front door, which the masked guard unlocked and held it open for me to enter. Before I went more than two steps, he stopped me with a hand on my arm. From his pocket, he produced a switchblade and flicked it open.
For a moment, I thought... maybe he had other orders? Maybe he was going to slit my throat right here and leave my body for Graeme to find when he returned?
But instead he cut the cable ties restraining my hands, and I rubbed my wrists on reflex.
“Are you sure that’s wise?” I asked, my voice hoarse and croaky from screaming.
The man looked me over, nothing past his cold blue eyes visible but they were enough to convey his pity and contempt. “You’re not going anywhere, love. We both know that. At least this way I don’t have to wipe your ass for you.”
He jerked his head, indicating for me to get out of the way, then slammed the door in my face. The metallic clicking sound of locks turning seemed to echo through the empty, dark apartment, and I wrapped my arms around myself.
“Shit,” I whispered to myself,
taking a few more steps into the open living room. I’d lost my high heels somewhere and my tight skirt was crusted with blood. The deepest of my cuts from Johnson’s murder attempt felt like they had reopened, because they burned under my clothes. Worse, my whole body was trembling like a damn leaf in the wind. No wonder that guard hadn’t considered me a threat. I was just a pathetic, weak, little girl. No good for anything except bait.
My knees gave out and I collapsed right there on the floor.
* * *
Some time later—I don’t know how long—I peeled myself up from the floor. My tears had long since run dry and my emotions were drained.
All I knew was that I couldn’t just give up. Not like this. I owed it to the guys, to Jasper, Evan, Dylan... to Beck. I owed it to them to get the fuck up and do something. Kill Catherine, expose her, or at least die trying.
Grasping onto that glimmer of determination, I started searching Graeme’s penthouse for anything that might help me escape. Just the fact that he had a secret penthouse mere blocks from the local Delta offices told me how long he and Catherine must have been plotting this coup.
For the most part, everything about the apartment was standard rich-guy bullshit. Nothing personal, at all. Save one item.
An urn.
“Who are you, and why are you important to Graeme?” I murmured to the urn as I paused in front of it. The ornately carved golden object sat on a pedestal all on its own at the end of a corridor full of expensive artwork. A glass case covered it, and specially designed lights in the pedestal lit it up as an item of value.
Peering closer, I noticed something out of place. A necklace. Not the dainty, feminine sort, but a carved piece of bone or something in the shape of a turtle attached to a leather string. The sort of necklace guys wore if they’d been on a surf trip or something. The kind of necklace...
Oh shit.
That was exactly the kind of necklace Oscar had been wearing in that photo on Richard’s computer!
“Oscar,” I gasped, pressing a hand to my mouth in horror.