I flinched at the idea of the entire building blowing up. “You don’t think that it will really…”
“No,” Rex said firmly, shaking his head to emphasize the point. “Absolutely not. There is no reason to blow the building. There was no threat, and nothing has happened to make me think that this is anything more than another attempt to punch a hole in our security system by the bastard who has been attempting to crack us for the past eight weeks.”
“The past eight weeks?” I said, eyes widening. “And you haven’t done anything about it?”
Rex gave me a look. “We’ve done all we can to figure out who is behind it—the problem is that we’re not sure how he’s getting into the system as far as he has. Our hacker pinpointed that the intrusion is coming from an outside source, yet the code they’ve been able to breach is only accessible through servers that you have to connect with physically inside the building.”
I bit my lip, feeling a little guilty, which was ridiculous. I’d only been around a couple of days, and they’d apparently been having these issues for the last two months. There was no way this had anything to do with the Undercover Vibrator.
“I still don’t actually like you,” I said as I leaned suddenly into Rex, hugging him tightly against me. “I’m just really freaked out right now, okay?”
He nodded solemnly, lip twitching slightly in amusement. “Got it.”
“How did you know there could be a bomb?” I asked, eyes narrowing a little. “Jones didn’t say anything. Did you read it on the screen?”
Rex chuckled. “No. Jones said they apprehended the intruder but he left his ‘purse.’ It’s code.”
“Then when he told you to walk to your apartment four blocks away, you knew he was saying to get my ass out of there,” I said, feeling a little annoyed. “I’m a big girl, you know. Just because I don’t have something swinging around between my legs doesn’t mean I can’t handle an emergency.”
“Sorry,” Rex said, actually sounding like he felt a little guilty. “We just wanted to be sure. Better safe than sorry, right? I didn’t want you to get hurt.”
The words kind of made me feel warm inside, and it reminded me of how he’d reacted when Luke slapped me for daring to not want my breasts fondled in public.
“Hey, look,” I said, pointing at the television, where Sonny was now in front of the camera next to an eager looking reporter.
Rex grabbed the remote, hitting the mute, and the reporter’s voice filled the room:
“—have a comment on the reports we’ve received regarding a bomb threat at the Brotherhood Building this morning, Mr. Wentworth?”
“The reports are, thankfully, false,” Sonny stated, and I sat up straight, brow furrowing. “We did have a report of a possible gas leak which required the building to be evacuated; however, there was never any report of an explosive device. Bomb squads were brought in to insure the gas leak caused no damage. The leak, however, was a false alarm, and we are now reopening the building for business.”
“What?” I said, shaking my head. “That’s a bunch of bullshit.”
“Like I said: People find the idea of being blown up really scary,” Rex replied with a shrug. “It’s best to keep the word ‘bomb’ off the news or you can end up having panic in the streets.”
“Unbelievable,” I muttered. “You lie to the news.”
Rex rolled his eyes. “Everyone lies to the news. Welcome to the real world.” He stood. “Since you seem to be feeling better, I’m going to get that shower.”
I glanced around the perfect looking apartment and gave a satisfied smile. “I see that I win the bet.”
Rex chuckled and walked across the room, yanking open a closed door. Inside was basically a forest of plywood and insulation. “That’s my bedroom,” he stated, shutting the door and walking toward the open kitchen area. He pushed back a curtain I’d thought hid a window, revealing that half the kitchen was actually under repair. The cabinets were all ripped out, the counter was mostly destroyed, and nearly all appliances were ripped out, with only a giant silver box about the same size as the stove still wired in.
“Damn,” I muttered, and he chuckled.
"I pick the restaurant."
"Yeah, yeah," I muttered, shaking my head. I frowned at the big silver... stove? Fridge? Commercial microwave? "What is that thing?"
Rex's grin widened as he eyed the ugly silver box. "Oh, that's my breadmaker."
"Your breadmaker?" I said, brows shooting up.
He nodded. "Yup. Cuts down on, like, half the work. It's awesome. Should be for the eighty grand it cost me."
I shook my head is disbelief. Rich people. I bet he had insurance on that, too.
“Make yourself at home while I grab a shower. There’s food and drinks in the fridge. This won’t take long.”
“Good to know you finish quick,” I murmured as he disappeared down the hall, amused by my own joke. At least until Rex gave a laugh, and I realized he’d reversed his path and heard me. Whoops.
“Just wanted to say that if you want anything for your hangover, there are pills in the cabinet over the stove.”
“Thanks,” I said, cheeks red. I made sure he was actually gone this time before I stood up and headed into the kitchen, seriously considering trying to find some wine, or maybe some hard liquor. What a day—and it wasn’t even eleven o’clock yet. I still had seven hours of work left.
I opened the fridge, hesitating over an open bottle of cabernet before grabbing some flavored water. I noticed the shelves were stocked with heart healthy choices, and there was even a check list next to it showing what he planned to eat every day for a month. That was some serious planning.
I closed the fridge, smiling at a picture of what were obviously teenaged Rex and Jones. There was also an image of a young Sonny holding hands with a toddler girl, as well as a Polaroid of a skinny little black boy with the saddest eyes I’d ever seen.
The picture that really caught my eye was of a large woman, the type you’d call husky and strong, not fat. She was very tall, and she was young, maybe early twenties. The thing that really made me stop and look twice was the name tag on her fast food server uniform.
Felicia.
I sucked in a sharp breath and reached carefully for the picture, removing it from the fridge. I flipped it over. On the back was written:
My heart is yours forever. Love, Felicia.
I carefully placed the photo back on the fridge, swallowing hard as I turned away. It wasn’t as if I had any reason to be bothered. I didn’t even like the man. Maybe I was just annoyed because the person who stole Franklin’s life shouldn’t have women who loved them. Yeah, that was it. Absolutely.
My head suddenly pounded twice as hard, and I yanked open the cabinet over the stove, grabbing pill bottles at random. I recognized most of them as the immunosuppressants you took after a transplant to keep your body from waking up one morning and deciding to reject your heart, but some of them I didn’t know. Like, quetiapine… Wasn’t that an anti-psychotic? And oxcabazepine was a mood stabilizer, I was sure of that. My mom was on it before she killed herself.
I frowned, wondering what Rex could possibly need these for. Did it have something to do with the pills he made in Greta’s Lab?
“They’re my half-brother’s.” I jumped, gasping a little when I saw Rex standing behind me in a pair of loose linen trousers and nothing else. “He has BPD.”
“Borderline Personality Disorder, right?” I said, and he nodded.
“Yeah. It means he has a hard time always telling reality from fantasy, especially if he doesn’t take his meds. I keep those here just in case he ever shows up and wants to stay for a few days.”
“That’s nice of you,” I said. “Letting him stay, I mean. Does he come often?”
Rex smiled and shook his head. “He’s in a care facility right now, so it’s been awhile.”
“Ah,” I replied, not sure how to respond to that. Was being in a ‘care facility’—which
I assumed was a euphemism for a mental hospital—a good thing or a bad one?
Rex moved by me, and I gulped as his muscular arm brushed mine. He began to toss bottles back into the cabinet, then grabbed one from the shelf above where I’d been looking, handing it to me.
“Over the counters are a shelf higher,” he said with a wink. “Though if you really need some, I have prescription anti-anxiety pills.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “No, I think I’m okay. I was just a little freaked out by the bomb thing. I can’t believe someone did that!”
He nodded. “Yeah, I’m getting really sick of this shit, and I’m starting to really believe there’s an inside man involved somewhere.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, frowning. “What makes you think that?”
Rex shrugged, going to the fridge and grabbing himself a bottle of water as well, then settling down at the kitchen table. “They’ve been using information on me to try and manipulate situations, and they know much more about the design of the building than they should. Not to mention they knew you’d gotten the job as my assistant soon enough to hire Kansas to follow you within a few hours.”
“What kind of information on you have they been using?” I asked, and he smiled at me.
“The kind I'm so not sharing, Mase.”
I chuckled. “I’m starting to think you don’t trust me.”
“No, I don’t trust you. I like you, but I don’t trust you.” He cocked his head to the side. “Do you trust me?”
I opened my mouth, then shut it, then opened it again. “Yes, actually, I do trust you. I’ve done a lot of stuff with the singular intent of pissing you off, but you’ve never done anything to make me afraid of you.”
A kind of smile grew on his face that I’d never seen before—it was twice as bright as his usual one, and the happiness in it… It made my heart flutter.
“It will be nice to go on a date with someone who sees me as the wuss I am instead of a scary motherfucker,” he said in a teasing voice, and I laughed.
“A bet and a date are not the same thing,” I said with a grin, and he winked at me.
“You want to make a bet on that?”
- mason -
I tucked my hair behind my ears as I zipped down the busy Manhattan street, desperately wishing I’d worn a skirt today. It was hot and humid thanks to the rain we’d had this morning, and my vagina felt like a swamp. My curls were sagging around my face and sticking to my forehead, in desperate need of the hairdo version of the Little Blue Pill, and my purple silk blouse had sweat stains under my arms and the curve of my breasts.
Considering that the dinner Rex won from me three days ago was in an hour and a half—and at a really nice restaurant—I should skip this stop and start doing some emergency primping ASAP, but I couldn’t make myself. I’d visited Yeah Baby Comics every Friday for the past ten years, and I wasn’t about to stop now. Especially not for a dinner with Rex Bennett, of all people. No matter how sexy he was.
I couldn’t believe I was even thinking that. Luke’s entire hand was in a cast because of Rex. Yet somehow that little incident between him and the man who was supposedly my boyfriend just made me tingle even more between the legs.
Looking both ways like a good girl, I crossed the street, dodging the honking taxis, and made my way into the shop, silently thanking God that they had an air conditioner.
“Evening, Mason,” Paul called out from behind the counter, his beer belly wagging and his bald spot shining.
“Hey Paul,” I replied, though I didn’t bother to stop and chat. Usually I’d spend a few minutes hanging around the counter, listening to my brother’s former boss and bestie babble on about comic book characters I’d never heard of and conventions I didn’t care about, but today I was a girl with a purpose. And a date.
My brother had loved this store. He’d spent every spare minute here as a kid, and the second he was old enough to work, he’d stood behind that counter talking comics with anyone who walked in the door.
I made my way to the back of the shop, eyes softening as they came to rest on the small memorial established a decade ago by an anonymous someone.
Franklin Dansley, the metal plaque read. A Superman and a True Hero. Never Forgotten, Forever Loved.
Tears welled up as I settled down next to the little table underneath it, running my fingers over the variety of comics and action figures that had been left by friends and family over the years, pausing when I came to the small Wolverine lunch box. Franklin had loved the X-Men.
This lunch box was also left behind a decade ago, and it was now filled with hundreds of notes. I didn’t read them—they weren’t meant for me—but I’d watched a new one appear every week throughout the years and always wondered who they came from. And okay, maybe I’d looked at one or two in hopes of finding out who else cared so much about Franklin that they still visited him after all these years, but all they said were things like ‘Today he smiled.’ and ‘I think he’s going to be okay.’ No name, no details, nothing. Just a little note about a mysterious ‘he.’
“I knew you’d show up here,” a voice said, and I looked up sharply, eyes narrowing when I saw a small, Hispanic woman dressed in a cheap, very unfashionable suit and wearing her black hair pulled up in a tight bun, a few loose curls around her hairline.
“Who the hell are you?” I snapped, more than a little annoyed at having my time with my brother’s memory delayed. “I’m here honoring my brother, and I don’t appreciate being interrupted.”
“Too bad, so sad,” the lady replied like she was six years old, and my eyes widened as she pulled a wallet out of her pocket and flipped it open to reveal a badge. An FBI badge. “I’m Agent Sanchez, and I’m here to chat with you.” She glanced down at my brother’s memorial, her harsh face softening slightly. “I really am sorry to come here, but I needed to talk to you somewhere that wouldn’t be easily visible to Rex or the Brotherhood and where the Saint wouldn’t be recording our every whisper.”
I scowled, climbing to my feet and shaking my head. “Really? The Brotherhood? Please don’t tell me you’re into that conspiracy theory, too. And if you wanted privacy, why not try my apartment? That’s pretty damn private.”
She shook her head. “I’m sure they have your place under surveillance. And if they don’t now, they will soon.”
“Are you kidding me?” I said, rolling my eyes, though inside my stomach was twisting a little. Was this woman implying that Rex knew about my plan with the heart? “Why in the world would Rex Bennett want to spy on me?” I grimaced. “The guy may be a criminal, but he’s not the kind to secretly record a woman in her shower.”
Agent Sanchez reached into her pocket again, this time removing a picture. I grimaced as I eyed the face of a very dead man—one who’d obviously been dead for several days, because he was unnaturally skinny and his skin was a sickening red color. Maggots were deep up in his nose and eye sockets, and he had some sort of greyish looking stick or something jammed in his mouth.
“Do you recognize this man?”
“Of course not,” I snapped, turning my face away and trying not to gag. “That’s disgusting. Can you please put it away?”
Sanchez complied, and I sighed in relief. Real rotting bodies were way grosser than the ones they showed on CSI: Miami.
“His name is Joey Schumer, and up until two weeks ago, he worked for your boss.” She paused, a little dramatically in my opinion. “At your desk, in fact.”
My eyes widened. “Wait, that was Rex’s last assistant? He said the guy was fired for stealing coffee filters.” Shit, had Mrs. Cho really killed the guy? I’d joked about it, sure, but I hadn’t honestly thought she was that crazy.
Sanchez shrugged. “That’s what the HR records state, but Joey sure ain’t going to be getting a new job anytime soon.” She cocked her head to the side. “I don’t think you know what sort of men you’ve gotten yourself involved with. According to my contacts, you went out with the group of the
m to a club a few days ago, stating you were with Conner Griffen to get access at the door. Is that right?”
My eyes widened. “Were you following me?”
Sanchez didn’t answer. “Are you aware of just who Conner Griffen is, Ms. Dansley?”
I sighed. “If you mean that he has a, um, dating service, I don’t really care.” Hell, just about every man I’d ever met was a whore at heart.
Agent Sanchez snorted. “I mean his identity as Prince Connely of Luthansa, a royal figure who has been missing for nineteen years and was presumed dead.”
I blinked, then shrugged, trying to sound casual. “Have you met Conner? I can see why they might have decided to declare him permanently gone.”
“And Mr. Jones? He kills people and works for a school. As a teacher.” Sanchez shook her head in disgust. “While the Saint cleans toilets and hacks governments in his spare time, because he’s an psychopath at heart.” She shook her head again.
“Are you talking about Valentine?” I said. “Everyone goes on and on about how he’s a miniature version of Dexter, but from what I’ve seen, he’s pretty damn well behaved for someone with absolutely no conscience.”
“Only when he’s away from the keyboard,” Sanchez replied. “The Brotherhood are very bad men, Ms. Dansley. Every one of them is a professional soldier and spy, trained by some of the best in the world. That is how they really made their big money. All these white collar businesses and minor crimes? Just covers for the true evil they do.”
She reached into her pocket, this time pulling out several pictures. I grimaced.
“I don’t want to see that again.”
“Your friend Jones doesn’t do paid hits for less than six figures, and it’s tough to say why someone would pay a hundred thousand dollars to off a personal assistant. That’s why I think this kill was done for fun.”
I shook my head, stomach turning. “You’re nuts.”
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