30DaystoSyn

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  The smell of asphalt and warm tar greeted him as he walked over to the edge to look down. He was thirty stories up and the vertigo struck him as it always did but for the first time since he’d been using the roof as his virtual punching bag, he backed away from the rim.

  And she was the reason he did.

  He no longer had the death wish that had always pushed him closer and closer to the edge. He wanted to live.

  He wanted to live for her.

  He wanted to live with her.

  And that was something totally alien to him. He had never wanted a girlfriend. He had certainly never wanted just one female for the rest of his life. He had grown up vowing he would never marry and he’d made sure he’d never get some girl pregnant and be forced to marry her. He hadn’t wanted children cluttering up his life. He hadn’t wanted a lot of things that so-called normal men did.

  Until he met Melina Wynth.

  Then everything changed.

  He changed.

  “No pain, Melina,” he had lied. “No domination or depravity.”

  Definitely not for her but that hadn’t been the case with the other women he’d taken to the Dungeon. He knew he would never tell Melina about the depraved things he’d done—and had done to him—there. It wouldn’t do for her to ever know how truly wicked he could be.

  He glanced across the roofline to the helo pad. The chopper was back at the airport. Idly he wondered what she’d thought of her flight from the care facility to his office, if she’d ever flown in a helicopter before today.

  “Thought I’d find you up here, bro.”

  Jake’s interruption made him grit his teeth. “You’d better have a fucking good reason for bothering me,” he grumbled.

  “Papers to sign,” Jake said. He was holding a large manila folder in his hands. “Gotta file some of them today.”

  Cursing under his breath he turned from his contemplation of the skyline. “Did you draw up the ones I mentioned the other night?”

  The frown that tugged the corners of Jake’s mouth wasn’t encouraging. “I really wish you’d reconsider that idea, Synnie. I don’t think it’s wise at this point.”

  “I take it that means you didn’t do what I asked.”

  “I just want you to make sure you understand the ramifications of—”

  “Did you or did you not draw up the papers?”

  Jake lifted his chin. “No, I didn’t. I don’t think it’s a good idea and as your legal counsel, I am advising against the changes you asked me to make.”

  “I appreciate your concern. Your opinion is duly noted,” he said. “Now go draw up the fucking papers the way I fucking told you to.”

  Jake’s frown became a militant scowl. “You’re making a mistake, Synnie.”

  “My mistake to make and I take full responsibility for it,” he replied.

  “So nothing I say will change your mind?”

  “Nope.”

  The lawyer nodded. “As you say, it’s your mistake to make.” He laid the folder on a large electrical box. “I still need you to sign these papers.”

  He walked over to the box. “You gotta pen?”

  Jake reached inside the pocket of his suit coat and pulled out a Mont Blanc. He handed it over.

  Opening the folder, he began scribbling his name on the places where Jake had put a big red arrow sticker. He didn’t bother reading what he was signing for Jake was one of the friends he trusted with his life. With a flourish he put his name to the last document, closed the folder then handed it back to Jake. He looked down at the pen. “Is this the one Craigie gave you last Christmas?”

  “Yeah,” Jake said. He turned to go.

  “You know I didn’t come down in the last shower, Jake,” he said softly. “Give me some credit for knowing what I’m doing.”

  Jake kept walking. “You’d better fucking hope you do, bro,” he said as he reached the door and swiped his access card down the scanner.

  “Don’t be a misery guts!” he called out as Jake snatched the door open.

  There was no retort, just the bang of the door as it closed behind the lawyer.

  He’d been gone so long she was beginning to think he’d forgotten all about her. It was after six o’clock and the sun had set about an hour earlier. If he was—as Spike suggested—up on the roof, she hoped he at least had a jacket with him. He’d left his office in his rolled-up shirtsleeves.

  Spike came to the door. “You need anything before I go, love?”

  “No,” she said. “I’ll just wait for my lord and master to come back for me.”

  “I could wait with you if you like.”

  “No, that’s okay. If he doesn’t show up by six-thirty I’ll get a taxi back to my place. Thanks for the offer, though.”

  “She says that like I’d let her get a fucking taxi.”

  Spike moved to the side of the door as he walked past her. “You’re a plonker, Synjyn McGregor,” she told him.

  “And you’re a pain in the puku,” he mumbled. He plopped down in a chair and laid his head along the back, put a hand to his temple and closed his eyes.

  “Unh huh,” Spike said. “He’s got a migraine.”

  “Piss off,” he told her.

  The tall blonde woman snorted. “That one will drive you ‘round the bend, Lina. Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow unless you murder him in his sleep tonight.”

  “Tomorrow?” she questioned.

  Spike’s eyebrows drew together. “He didn’t tell you?”

  She looked from Spike to the Kiwi. “Tell me what?”

  “We always have Thanksgiving together at the club every year. The asswipe over there, Jono, Jake and whatever girl he can find to bring, Craigie, Kit, their wives and me. He didn’t tell you?” Spike inquired. “Damn it, Synnie, you were supposed to have asked her on Monday!”

  “I forgot,” he muttered. “So sue me.”

  “You’re inviting me?” she asked, looking at the Kiwi who was massaging his temple.

  He wedged one eye open. “Woman, don’t aggravate me any more than you already have for one day. Of course you are invited.”

  “What time?”

  “Seven sharp,” Spike said.

  “Should I bring something?”

  “It’s catered,” he mumbled. “And you’ll already be at the Club. We’ll be spending the day there tomorrow.”

  “Not all day,” she said.

  “Yes, all day,” he stated.

  “No, I’m having lunch with my brother,” she told him.

  He opened his mouth as though he would protest then snapped it shut. “Yeah, okay. We’ll fly out whenever you want.”

  “Fly?” she queried. “Why not drive?”

  “Because the paparazzi are camped out around the entrance road and I don’t want them bothering you again,” he groused. “Bastards can’t get on the property but they can fucking sure make a bloody nuisance of themselves.”

  “The joys of being associated with the gorsepocket,” Spike said with a laugh.

  “Go. Away!” he snapped. “Or I swear to God I will shit can you, Christine!”

  “You have my sympathy, Lina,” Spike said with a wink. “You’ve got to deal with him and his shittiness the rest of the night.”

  “Gunga,” he threw at her.

  “Punga,” she threw back.

  After Spike left he was silent for so long she thought he might have fallen asleep but then he held his hand out to her. She got up from the sofa and went over to take it.

  “You want me to call Craigie?” she asked.

  He didn’t open his eyes. Instead, he shot his leg out and plucked his cell phone from his pant pocket. He handed it to her. “I need to you to call Jono and have him come pick us up in the chopper and take us to the Club. I don’t feel like driving.”

  “I can drive you know.”

  “Talking heads.”

  “Oh, right,” she said. They were probably flocked around his office building as they would be the next day arou
nd Cedar Oaks.

  “‘Sides, you can’t drive my car,” he told her.

  “Why not?”

  “Stick.”

  “Humpf,” she said, thumbing through his numbers and clicking on Jonny’s. As she waited for him to answer, she tugged gently at the Kiwi’s hand. “How bad is it?”

  “On a scale of one to ten?” he asked. “Fourteen.”

  “You’ve got to learn not to get so angry, Kiwi,” she said. Jonny answered on the third ring. “Hey, it’s me. He asked if you would please bring the chopper ‘round and pick us up. He’s got a migraine.”

  “He actually said please?” Jonny asked.

  “Ah, well…”

  “Never mind. I’ll be there in thirty. Get him to drink something before it gets any worse. Chances are he’s dehydrated.”

  She hung up and tried to pull her hand out of his grip. He wouldn’t let her.

  “Nope,” he said and tugged her sideways onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around her and dropped his head to her shoulder.

  “I need to get you some water,” she said.

  “I’ll chunder it,” he protested.

  “How about Gatorade?”

  “Don’t wanna, Mommy,” he said.

  She smoothed the short hair at his forehead. “You are such a baby,” she said.

  “I’m your baby,” he muttered.

  “Yes,” she said. “That you are.”

  He lifted his head and looked up at her—his eyes boring into hers. “Really?”

  She put her arm around his neck. “Yeah, Kiwi. Really.”

  He studied her face for a long time then laid his forehead against her breast. “You’re my baby,” he whispered.

  With one arm around him—her hand cupping his shoulder—and the other hand gently stroking his cheek, she watched his eyelids flutter. Soon he was gently snoring but his arms were tightly around her.

  “How is he?”

  She looked up to find Jonny standing in the door. “Not so good.”

  “I called Craigie,” Jonny said softly as he came into the room. “He’ll meet us at the Club. I knew this would happen.”

  “I did too,” she said. “He doesn’t deal well with stress, does he?”

  “There’s a lot of things he doesn’t deal well with,” Jonny replied

  “He’s not deaf,” he told them. He relaxed his hold on her and opened his eyes wide. Suddenly, he shoved her hard and she fell out of his lap and to the floor.

  “Hey!” she yelped.

  He twisted in the chair and threw up over the arm.

  “Oh, delightful,” Jonny said with a grimace. He grabbed a wastebasket and shoved it close to the chair just in time. Another wave of vomit spewed from the Kiwi and his friend gagged.

  She scrambled up and to the bathroom for a washcloth.

  “What the hell did you eat today?” she heard Jonny ask. He was staring wide-eyed at the mess in the wastebasket.

  “Reuben sammie,” came the ragged answer.

  She returned with the cold washcloth, pressed it gently to his forehead and held him as he upchucked yet again. This time it was a dry heave.

  “We need to get him to bed,” she said.

  “Get the wastebasket from the bathroom,” Jonny ordered. He bent over and shoved his arms under the Kiwi and lifted him. “Don’t you fucking chuck on me, bro.”

  She followed Jonny to the elevator that went to the roof, kept the wastebasket close just in case but her lover didn’t need it. His cheek was pressed close to Jonny’s chest and his lips were a tightly clamped thin slash that told her he was in a great deal of pain.

  It wasn’t far from the MI corporate offices to the Club but felt like a long flight to her. Jonny sat with the Kiwi in his lap like a child, staring at her in a way that made her wonder what the Māori was thinking to cause such an intense look.

  Two of the hulking security men were waiting on the roof of the Club when the helo landed. As soon as Jonny hopped down from the craft, the smaller of the two took the Kiwi from him. Without a word the man turned and headed for the door to the roof elevator.

  “He’ll be out of it in the morning,” Jonny told her as they followed. “I’ll take you out to Cedar Oaks.”

  “I appreciate it, Jonny,” she told him.

  He stopped, reached out to put a hand on her arm. His eyes locked on hers. “Don’t hurt him, Lina,” he said. “He’s been hurt enough in his lifetime.”

  “I have no intention of hurting him,” she said.

  “Just saying,” Jonny told her. He entered the elevator behind her.

  On the way up to the seventh floor, she kept looking over at Jonny. His attention was on his friend’s pale face but now and again he’d flick that hawk-like gaze to her. She smiled but he did not return it. Instead, he seemed solemn—so unlike the man she had come to know—and she wondered why.

  “I guess I should have asked, but you do have access to his private suite, don’t you?” Jonny asked as the elevator stopped.

  “Yes,” she said.

  The doors opened and she was relieved to see Craigie standing on the landing.

  “Would you look at that?” Craigie said, pointing to the ceiling.

  Jonny glanced at the ceiling and his eyebrows hiked up. “Fuck me for a chocolate duck,” he said.

  “You guys have never been up here?” she asked.

  “Never invited ‘em,” the Kiwi murmured. “Got no business being here. My place, not theirs.”

  “Shut up, you cheeky bastard,” Craigie said with a snort.

  “Kumara cruncher,” the Kiwi insulted him.

  They reached the door to the suite and she placed her hand against the scanner. She was curious what their reaction would be to the ceiling beyond the bedroomdoor. She didn’t have long to wait.

  “Crikey dick!” Craigie exclaimed, his mouth hanging open.

  As he and Jonny and the steroid jockey carrying the Kiwi all stared up at the spectacular ceiling in awe, she went to the bed and turned down the covers.

  “More money than sense I always thought,” Craigie said. “But this was money well spent.”

  “My place,” she heard the Kiwi mumble.

  The hulk brought him to the bed and laid him down gently.

  “Thank you, Dwayne,” Jonny said.

  With a slight bob of his head, the big man left the room.

  “Get him undressed,” Craigie told Jonny.

  “Not gonna happen,” the Kiwi informed his friend. “Want Lina to do it.”

  “Then you undress him,” Craigie ordered her. “I’ll get the meds ready.”

  She reached down to take off his loafers.

  “Go ‘way,” he said, shooing Craigie and Jonny with a couple of flicks of a limp wrist.

  Once the men were gone, she leaned over him to unbutton his shirt. He kept trying to fondle her breasts and she slapped at his hand.

  “Knock it off or I’ll let Jonny strip you,” she warned.

  He made a raspberry to that statement but dropped his hand to the bed. “Hurt, Lina,” he told her.

  “Yeah, I know,” she said. “Can you sit up so I can take this off you?”

  With a wince and a fierce grimace he pushed himself up. She peeled the shirt from his shoulders and pulled the white T-shirt he was wearing under it over his head. He fell back on the bed with a grunt.

  “Hurt,” he repeated and threw an arm over his eyes. “Hurt, hurt, hurt.”

  She unbuckled his belt and the button at his fly, ran the zipper. “Lift your sweet little ass,” she ordered and saw him grin. She thought he’d say something crude or at the least do something vulgar but he didn’t. She tugged the trousers down his legs—not in the least surprised he was commando—then took off his socks. She pulled the sheet over his nakedness. “Craigie?”

  Craigie returned without Jonny. “Turn your ass over, mate,” he said.

  When he rolled to his side, she pulled the sheet down enough to give Craigie access to his hip.

 
“Fucking shit!” was the explosion as soon as the fiery payload was injected. “Why do you do that, you bastard?”

  “You’re such a fuck-knuckle,” Craigie said. “You know fucking well I’m not deliberately trying to hurt you, Synnie.” He gave her a roll of his eyes. “Call me if these shots don’t work and I’ll pop him again. I’ll be staying here tonight.”

  “Thanks, Craigie,” she said.

  “Fucktwit burned my arse to a crisp that time,” he complained as he rubbed his hip. He moved to his back. “It stings like a motherfucker!”

  “Poor baby,” she said. “You’re so picked on.”

  “Damn straight I am,” he said and already his words were slurring. She figured Craigie had given him something stronger than his normal dosage.

  She kicked off her shoes and went into the bathroom to get another cold washcloth since she’d left the other one in the chopper.

  “Where’d you go?” he called out to her. “Come back here, woman!”

  She returned with the cloth, skirted the foot of the bed.

  “Where you going?” he asked then came a long, drawn out, “Whoa.”

  “Med kicking in?” she asked as she climbed into the bed beside him. She folded the cloth then laid it on his forehead.

  “Mother McCree,” he whispered. “What the fuck did he give me?”

  “Just close your eyes and let it take you,” she said, settling down beside him. She reached for his hand. “I’ll be right here with you.”

  “Promise?” he asked and the word came out as promish.

  “I promise,” she said. “Now, get to sleep.”

  The last thing she heard from him was something that completely threw her off guard and she spent the rest of the night staring up at the cavorting fish.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Night Twenty-Eight

  He’d spent the late part of the morning in a drug-induced numbness that did little to assuage the anger he had at being left behind while she went to visit Drew. Not that he would have been of much use to her. He could barely walk a straight line thanks to the powerful drug Craigie had pumped into his arse. But he had wanted—desperately wanted—to spend Thanksgiving with her and her brother. Now, he lay on the sofa in his great room staring at one particular clown fish as it wove its aimless way through the water.