He studies the charm. “Is the white one you?”
I shrug. “They go together.”
“They do.” He takes the necklace from me and hangs it around my neck before fitting his own. “I’ll never take it off.”
I consider his stylish attire. “It doesn’t go with your outfit.”
Shooting me a boyish smile, he says, “I don’t care.”
Neither do I, and I love that he’s not that boringly conventional to match his jewelry with his clothes.
“Come here,” he says.
I close the single step between us.
Putting his arms around me, he kisses my forehead. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
When he releases me, I reach for my clutch on the bed, but he says, “I’m not done yet.”
The wariness in his tone makes me pause. He hesitates only for a milli-second before he goes back to the drawer, but I notice. When he returns, I understand the reason for his reaction. A Star .55 pistol lies in his palm, the barrel pointing away. It’s a beautiful model with roses engraved in an ivory-covered shaft. Wow.
“Take it,” he urges softly.
I wrap my fingers around the shaft and let it sit in my palm. It’s light but sturdy. It fits in my hand as if it was made for me, allowing my forefinger to easily caress the trigger.
“Have you used this caliber?” he asks.
Supporting my forearm with my free hand, I check out the aim. “Yes.”
He produces a box of bullets. “Let’s load it.”
I release the magazine and pop the bullets inside. The piece slips back with a satisfying click. The barrel moves back smoothly, the spring soundless and the metal well-oiled. The bullet enters the chamber, fitting snugly in front of the hammer.
“Comfortable?” he asks, a hint of concern lacing his rough timbre.
I know what he’s really asking. It’s not just about handling the gun. It’s about using it if I must.
My voice is steady. “Yes.”
Taking something else from the drawer, he comes back and kneels in front of me. “Lift up your dress.”
A thigh holster. Making sure the safety is on, I point the gun away and drag the hem of my dress up to my hips. He fastens the leather straps around my thigh and tests the fit by making sure he can’t slip a finger between the strap and my skin.
“Too tight?” he asks, the heat in his gaze scorching as he stares up at my face.
“No,” I say through dry lips.
He takes the gun from my hand and fits it in the holster, securing it with the diagonal strap. Cupping my hips, he sits back on his haunches and looks at my thighs. His gaze finds the triangle of fabric between my legs. With his jaw clenched and his eyes blazing, he slowly drags his gaze over my body back to my face. He lets me see everything I do to him dressed in an evening dress and a weapon.
Carrying a gun on my thigh turns him on. He doesn’t break our eye contact when he trails his knuckles ever so lightly over my lace-covered slit. I take a shaky breath and grab his shoulders for support when he circles the knuckle of his trigger finger around my clit, barely touching me.
“You’re going to make me come from just watching you,” he says.
I get that suspended-in-time feeling I get so often with him. Lost in time, fixed to the spot, I want him to come and make me come, but he grabs my wrist and checks the time on my new watch.
“We’re going to be late,” he says with regret, pulling his hand away and dropping the hem of my dress to cover the gun. He straightens and studies me. “Under the dress, a thigh holster will work best, but I also got you hip and ankle ones.”
My chest swells with gratitude. I do feel safer having my own weapon.
“Come,” he says, offering me a hand.
I put my palm in his, giving him my trust.
Chapter 16
Ian
Since Cas is all dressed up, looking good enough to eat, we’re not taking the bumpy Hummer or the Jeep. I don’t want her to get dust on her dress or mess up her pretty hairdo with the wind. We use the Merc. Leon takes the wheel, and Ruben drives shotgun. Cas and I sit in the back, our shoulders touching and her soft hand in my palm as I chew nervously on a cigar.
“What about my apartment?” she asks. “Shouldn’t I get someone to pack it up?”
My answer is curt. “No.” I make an effort to soften my tone. “We can’t risk anything that can lead back to us. I told you to take all your valuables when you left. Did you forget something?”
She chews her lip. “No.”
“But?”
“What happens after six months?”
“Nothing. You won’t make the rent, and the lease will expire. Do you care what the landlord does with your stuff?”
“No,” she says again.
I smile. “Then you have your answer.”
And I have mine. Officially, she’s agreed to move in with me. Indefinitely. Fuck, that feels right.
We pass the Zambian border without having to show our passports. The guard on duty knows me. I study Cas’s face as we drive through the gates of the Livingstone Casino and up the paved road lined with palm trees. Her features give nothing away, but her body is tense.
Golden flamingos guard the entrance. Leon parks and throws the key to a valet. I chuck the cigar and help Cas from the back while Ruben goes ahead to check out the situation. I never enter a room without knowing the headcount, estimated number of weapons, and available exits.
Leon covers our backs as I lead Cas through the lobby toward the private room at the back where Oliver is throwing his party.
Ruben comes out, giving me a nod to let me know the coast is clear. He inconspicuously raises four fingers as we mount the steps to where he waits on the red carpet in front of the golden doors. Four bodyguards. They will be armed with at least two pistols each and some knives.
We stop next to him.
“Drug lords?” I ask soft enough for only him to hear.
“Yang,” he says from the corner of his mouth. “Two guards. The minister of agriculture and five men.”
The minister of agriculture, Salesi, is one of the many corrupt government officials on our payroll. I’m not concerned about him or the drug lord. Yang and I aren’t in the same business. There’s no threat of competition. They leave us in peace if we leave them in peace. It’s Oliver I’m keeping an eye on tonight. He’s a genius at laundering money through his casino, and he gets away with it more or less openly because, like me, he pays a kickback to the government. However, he’s a cocky son of a bitch, and he likes to make a point of demonstrating his power. If we run into trouble with his men tonight, neither Yang nor Salesi will intervene. They don’t get into the middle of fights unless it’s personal.
I check my watch and nod for Ruben to follow us back in. We’re thirty minutes late. It’s a statement. It says we’re powerful enough not to give a damn. Statements are important in my line of work. They set boundaries and map hierarchies. They keep you alive.
Giving Cas’s hand a squeeze, I open the door and let her step in ahead of me. I keep my hand on the small of her back, not only reassuring her with the subtle touch, but also sending a message to every person with a dick in the room.
The guard at the door searches Leon and me. Ruben has already been searched, but since he’s stepped out, they check him for weapons again. We’re not carrying guns, but I have handy little tools like spikes and retractable blades hidden in my cufflinks and ring.
When the guard goes for Cas, I grip his wrist. “You touch my girlfriend,” I say in a measured tone, “and you’re dead.”
He backs off, giving a nod to let us through. I let go of his arm with a shove. If he thought he could put his dirty paws on Cas’s body and feel her up, he would’ve been in for a surprise. I would’ve broken his windpipe and stabbed out his eyes.
Putting my hand on her waist, I draw her close to me.
“So, I’m your girlfriend now?” she asks with a r
aised brow.
I smile down at her, getting lost all over again in the blue of her eyes. “We’re already living together.” I shrug like it isn’t the huge deal it is. “We may as well take it to the next level.”
When she returns my smile, my chest tightens with emotions. She said she was mine, and I’m still high on the fact that she’s willing to give us a shot. She agreed to stay, and in doing so, she’s given me her trust. The more she gives, the more I give back. I want to give her the world and more. I want to give her everything, which is why she’s here with me. She’s no longer my prisoner. She’s my partner. She’s the woman by my side. She’s the one I’ve chosen, and I show her off proudly even as I feel like gouging out the eyes of every man who turns his head to stare at her.
The private room is buzzing with men in suits and women in formal dresses. Cocktail tables are scattered around a checkered dancefloor. Waitresses with checkered leotards that have two holes in the front, allowing their tits to spill out, serve oysters and champagne. They balance the heavy trays while trying hard not to trip on their spiky heels. A disco ball throws colorful light over the floor, and a DJ spins from a corner. The music is, for the moment, low volume, lounge-style, making conversation possible.
I hold Cas close to me as we push through the crowd to give the customary good wishes to Oliver who sits like a king on a throne while accepting them. I hate this room and the people in it. I hate the sexual crassness and what it represents. I hate it even more that I have to bring Cas to such a place, but I’ve made a decision and I can’t go back on it. It’s time for the whole world to know she’s mine.
Finally, we break through the throng of bodies that are already too sweaty for my liking and make it to the other end of the room. Oliver sits on a purple chair with a golden backrest. He’s wearing a velvet jacket and matching beret. The redheads are at his sides, each perched on an armrest. Like the day he dropped in unannounced at my place, his girls wear short leather skirts and nipple tassels. He’s got a hand under each’s skirt, but when he spots us, his attention torpedoes on Cas. She’s a knockout. He’s wanted her from the moment he set eyes on her. My insides wind tight at the way he undresses her with his eyes.
The redhead on his left mewls, trying to bring his attention back to her. He moves his hand faster under her skirt without breaking eye contact with Cas. I have to give it to my girl, she doesn’t waver. She walks next to me with a straight back and lifted chin, not drawing her gaze away from his face to look at the work of his hand.
“Cas,” he says when we stop in front of him. “I’m glad Ian decided to bring you. Are you my birthday gift?”
I see ten shades of black. Rage claws in my chest. It’s a wonder I manage to keep my voice even. “Careful, Oliver. She’s with me.”
Finally, he looks at me. “Is she now?” His smile is victorious. That was what he wanted all along, for me to finally, for once in my life, admit a weakness.
“In that case,” he says, “I won’t insult the lady.”
I let a warning linger in my tone. “Best not.”
He turns back to Cas. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
“We just got here,” she says. “Happy birthday.”
The redhead throws back her head and utters a low moan.
“She comes easily, this one,” Oliver says, pulling his hand from under her skirt and offering his fingers to her sister or twin or who the fuck ever to lick clean.
While she sucks on his fingers, I say, “Happy birthday. I sent you a gift.”
“I got it.” He grins. “Most thoughtful of you.” He pulls his hands from the redhead’s skirt and mouth, and taps her on the ass. “Show Ian what we did with his birthday money.”
The women climb to their feet and lift their skirts, revealing clit piercings. They’re each sporting a golden ring with a diamond pendant dangling from the hoop. The girl on his right utters a shriek when he pulls roughly on the ring.
He laughs. “Only got it this morning. It still hurts, doesn’t it, cunt-cakes?”
The skin of her neck has turned blotchy. She bites her lip and nods.
Leon mumbles something that sounds like happy birthday and grabs a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. Ruben offers his wishes, slanting a look at the girl on the left.
“I’ll leave you to your guests,” I say, eager to get Cas the hell out of here before Oliver starts snorting coke from the cracks of his women’s asses. It’s a trick he shows off every year.
“Not so fast,” he says. “We need to talk business.”
Ah, fuck. “On your birthday? I thought we sorted out everything. ”
“Something new came up. It’s not every day I have the privilege of seeing you, and as you very well know, our business can’t be done over email or phone.”
I clench my teeth. Leon touches his jacket where it covers his belt. Like me, he has hidden blades. Oliver stands. Four men in black suits follow suit. Two of his bodyguards lead the way to a door behind a red curtain while the others follow after Oliver, casting glances around.
Rubbing my thumb along Cas’s spine, I whisper in her ear, “I’ll take you home as soon as I can.”
She gives me sidelong glance and a small smile. “I’m good.”
Once we’re all in the room, the guards take up positions by the door. A glass table in the center is set with a bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket and lines of neatly cut coke.
Oliver takes a discontinued five-hundred dollar bill from his pocket and offers it to Cas.
“No, thanks,” she says.
He passes the bill to one of the redheads, who rolls it and sits down on her knees to do a line.
“Sit,” Oliver says, waving at the half-moon bench at the far end of the table.
Leon scoots in on the left. I let Cas go before me and shift in on the right. Ruben stands, ogling the half-naked women’s nipple decorations.
Oliver takes the chair that looks like a stage piece made out to be throne. “I’d like to buy her.”
Cas stiffens next to me.
My first reaction is to want to punch his face in and break the glass top of his table with his skull.
“Anything you want, honey,” he says, addressing Cas. “I have a reputation for keeping my women very happy. Isn’t that so, cunt-cakes?”
One of the redheads drapes herself at his feet, humming her agreement.
I’m up before Leon has time to grab my arm. Oliver may be used to buying women for his harem, but insulting Cas by assuming she’d be interested is taking it a step too far.
“You will not disrespect my girlfriend again,” I grit out.
“Ah.” He laughs. “Just to be clear, it’s serious?”
I lean in. “Let me make this even clearer for you. Anyone touches as much as a hair on her head, and I’ll send him to the bottom of the Zambezi with his dick shoved down his throat.”
He raises his hands. “Sit down. Chill. I get it. You’ve staked your claim. I was just wondering if the pretty lady has a say.”
“I do,” Cas says, giving him a level look. “You heard Ian.”
“Okay,” Oliver singsongs. “In that case, I’ll stop bothering you.”
He flicks his fingers. The woman on her knees jumps to her feet and serves champagne, handing us each a glass.
“To me,” Oliver says, raising his glass.
We all follow suit, but I barely wet my lips with the liquor. I wait an appropriate three seconds after the toast to say, “Why are we here? Your guests are waiting.”
“Business before pleasure, right?” Oliver leans back and crosses his legs.
Cas fishes for something in her clutch and produces a tissue with which she dabs her lips. At the flick of Oliver’s fingers, the woman leaves the champagne in the ice bucket and hands around cocktail napkins.
“Thank you,” Cas says, leaning slightly over me to accept the napkin.
I let the weight of her body against mine reassure me, leaning a little deeper into the b
ench and pulling her under my arm when she settles back.
“My price is going up by ten percent from next month,” Oliver says.
“Ten percent?” I give him a narrow look. “That’s a steep increase for no extra added value.”
He clicks his tongue. “You’re hurting my feelings, Ian. Of course, I’m offering added value in exchange.”
“Like what?” Leon asks.
“Double the laundering capacity,” Oliver says.
I study the sly bastard. “We’re at maximum capacity at your casino.”
“Yang and Salesi are getting their drugs and weapons into the country via the port of Durban,” he says. “The deals are already set up on that end. I’ll make sure it goes through on this end. They need cash to see it through.”
No doubt bribe money and enough dough to pay for the goods.
“They want us to provide the cash,” Leon says.
Oliver chinks his glass to Leon’s. “Correct.”
“How do we get refunded?” Leon asks.
“Electronic bank transfer plus twenty percent interest when the goods are sold,” Oliver says.
“Which pays your ten percent,” I say.
Oliver grins.
“What makes you think we’ll agree to taking on that kind of risk?”
Oliver holds out his glass for a refill. When the woman has done the round, topping up everyone’s glasses even though we’ve barely touched our drinks, he continues, “You’ll move double the amount of money. That’s what you get out of the deal.”
Ruben chuckles. “That means double the heists. We’ve just robbed Sun City and the Zeitz Museum. There’s no way we can risk it back into South Africa in the foreseeable future, at least not until the dust settles.”
“Think big, Ruben,” Oliver says, spreading his palms. “Think Europe. Think the Louvre. The Vatican.”
“You’re out of your mind,” Leon says with a laugh.
Oliver fixes his black-eyed stare on me. “I’d like to hear what the leader of your clan thinks.”
“Five percent,” I say.
Ruben catches my eye. “I have some European connections. It shouldn’t be difficult setting us up with what we need.”
Stolen Life Page 17