by Calinda B
Flames roared up the remaining walls. They shot through the open doorway, making it impossible to enter. Heat assaulted her, even from a few yards away. Inside, she spotted what looked like unmoving bodies, laying on the floor. Fire licked at their clothes. The remnants of a suit that looked like the one Adam wore fluttered and twirled in the air, lit by tiny flames, taunting her.
Her sorrow at losing Adam roared to life. What about his kids? His girlfriend? How can such a good man be taken from this earth? I should be the one dead, not him.
“No, no, no, no, no!” Tears lanced her eyes. “You can’t be dead, you can’t be dead, you can’t be dead!” She approached the doorway frame, but the heat was too intense.
“Naeva! Naeva!” The voice came from down the stairs.
It sounded like Liam. She ignored it. She had to get to Adam.
A spray of water streamed into the remnants of the front room from a barely visible aerial ladder erected by the fire department. Behind her, booted footsteps pounded up the stairs.
Her heart seemed to have taken the brunt of the explosion. She could barely breathe. She refused to believe Adam was dead.
“Adam!” she howled. “Adam!” Holding her arm in front of her face, she tried to progress into the room.
Overhead, timber creaked, like two trees rubbing together in the woods. A splintering, tearing sound erupted, as part of the ceiling collapsed. A scorched beam slammed into her head, pushing her to the floor. She let out a scream. She tried to get to her feet but stars danced in front of her eyes. She couldn’t push herself up.
The footsteps came quicker and louder.
“Naeva!” Liam bellowed.
“Liam!” Savannah cried, her heart shattering into a million splintered pieces. Adam, her beloved friend, was dead.
Right as Liam’s face came into view, another pile of debris fell from the ceiling. It struck her skull, knocking her unconsciousness.
20
Grief weighed hard on Savannah when she woke the next day as if the entire manor had crushed her. She refused to open her eyes, not wanting to face whatever reality she currently occupied. From pretending to be an Iraqi woman in Mosul to the goddamn, fucked up, murderous soul of the Diamond Club, to nearly loving Liam as her impostor self—it was all one giant, make-believe cluster-fuck.
But, losing Adam was real. Losing Adam sucked any reason to live straight from her heart. Tears filled her eyes. She squeezed her eyelids tight, forcing the tears to spill down the side of her face.
Go back to sleep. Her muzzy mind let her know she’d been drugged. I should ask for more of whatever they administered. Get them to give me a lethal dose.
She allowed the sedative to pull her back into a place of darkness, where nothing and no one could touch her.
Quiet voices tugged her back to wakefulness.
“Did you find out what happened?”
Savannah strained to listen. The voices came from outside the room. Ambrosia. That one’s Ambrosia.
“We’re still checking into it. We’ll know more later.”
Liam. That’s Liam talking. Where am I? Did they take me to his place, not the hospital? Are they afraid the hospital staff would ask me questions the club doesn’t want answered? Bitterness splintered Savannah’s heart.
“But they’re all dead. We don’t understand why Dr. Doucette was there. But the three of them—Doucette, Marcus, and the bodyguard—there wasn’t much left once the fire department got the fire out. They had to consult dental records.” Liam’s voice sounded tired.
“Thank God the fire didn’t happen in Marcus’s study, or we’d all be under investigation,” Ambrosia said.
“Christ, mother. People died. She’s hurt. And you’re worried about being investigated? Fuck.” Hard footsteps followed like Liam was striding away.
“Liam, wait! I didn’t mean…” Ambrosia’s voice drifted away, too.
Savannah let herself fall into sedated unconsciousness.
When she woke again, her bladder niggled at her. Her entire body ached, while wrapped in a cocoon of lethargy. She had bruises on the outside. They’d heal. The ones on the inside would remain with her until she died. Adam’s dead. More tears pushed their way to the surface.
“Naeva. Sweetheart. Open your eyes,” a familiar voice said from nearby.
I’m someone’s sweetheart? She shook her head.
“Naeva. Wake up. You’ve been asleep for thirteen hours.” It was Liam. He sounded exasperated like he’d been trying to rouse her for a while.
His hand landed on her shoulder, and he gently shook her.
“Go away,” she said.
“You have to wake up. You can’t sleep forever.”
“I don’t want to be here.” She squeezed her eyes tightly.
“Welcome to my world,” Liam muttered.
She let her eyelids open, wincing at the light streaming in the room they’d told her was hers—her bedroom. Her Chartier suite, filled with gold flowers, fragrant smells, and a four-poster bed, draped with purple velvet. She scrunched up her face. Her mouth felt like she’d sucked cotton.
“There you are.” Liam sat next to her on the giant bed. He swept her hair back from her face. “Welcome back.” He looked at her with tender eyes. His face appeared haggard like he hadn’t slept. Dark circles shadowed the space under his eyes. “I thought I lost you.”
She pushed herself up, leaning against the headboard. Her head throbbed. She glanced down and blinked. She’d been dressed in a silk gown. Who dressed me? Better yet, who undressed me? The thought of Liam removing her clothes—of his hands roaming her body—made her shiver. But then she remembered what happened, and she pushed that thought as far away as she could. He and his fucked club can go to hell.
“Why didn’t you show up at the bar? I almost went home with the bartender.” She grimaced.
“He doesn’t deserve you. I don’t deserve you. After I went back to the race track, a bunch of my acquaintances wanted to buy me drinks. I lost sight of the time. I drank too much. When I realized how stupid I’d look if I showed up two hours late, I had one of my friend’s call you. I’m…” He looked away from her. “I’m deeply ashamed of my actions.”
She stared at him with narrowed eyes. “Yes. You should be.”
He grabbed the back of his neck and squeezed. Then, he lifted his gaze to hers. “I am. You have no idea how sorry I am. I decided to man up and face you. That’s why I came over. The only good thing that came from my actions was…you’re not dead, too.” His voice cracked, and tears filled his eyes. “We don’t know much yet, but one thing is clear—that bomb was meant for you.”
She let out an anguished groan. “I wish I’d been in that explosion, too. I wish I’d said ‘fuck you’ and left.”
She glowered at him.
“Don’t say that.”
Tears spilled from her eyes. She tried to get control, but then her grief forced its way out. “Adam was my best friend.” The words emerged in stuttering sobs. “He was my only friend. And now the only person who ever loved me is dead. He’s left behind a girlfriend…kids…he was a good, good man.”
Liam’s face became an unreadable mask. “I know what that’s like, too, love. To lose someone who meant the world to me.”
He took her hand.
She tugged her hand away. “This club is awful. I hate it. I don’t want any part of it. It destroys lives. It destroys people.”
Gasping convulsions shook her lungs.
Liam pulled her close, gathering her in his arms. “Shhh. I’ve got you.”
She pushed against him. “That’s where you’re wrong. You’ll never have me. Every time I look at you, I’ll be reminded of who I lost. Adam was nothing to you. He was everything to me.”
Liam stiffened. He grew silent.
She could barely maintain her cover. He might be wondering why she was so attached to her bodyguard, but she didn’t care. Didn’t care if her words lanced into his heart, carving it to bits. He lived in an
evil world. He can rot there, for all I care.
He sat with her while she cried. Kept his arms around her, but said nothing. Simply rocked her back and forth, the way one might soothe a child.
When she’d finally cried herself out, he released her.
Her heart had grown numb. Her bones seemed weak, hollow, like nothing existed to support her, inside or out. She studied him.
All his familiar walls were in place, battened down, tightly fortified. He appeared numb as if reliving his own grief.
“Oh…” He fished in his pocket and retrieved a prescription bottle. He twisted open the cap and shook two pills into his hand. “If you need more rest…later, of course.” He shrugged and dropped them onto the side stand. “Here’s some water.” He tapped the full crystal glass near the lamp. Rising stiffly, he said, “I’ll send some lunch up for you. Let us know if you need anything—anything at all.”
“Can you bring back Adam?” she said, her tone laced with bitterness.
He jerked as if he’d been hit. “No, love. No more than I can bring back Charlotte.”
“Stop calling me love, or sweetheart. We’re a transaction, nothing more.” She wadded up the bedding into a tight knot.
Somberly, he nodded, pivoted on his heel, and strode away.
She listened as he strode down the spiral staircase. The faint thwack of a door let her know she was alone. She made haste to the bathroom, relieved her bladder, then slipped back into the bedroom. There, she flopped onto the bed and crossed her legs.
Her phone rested on the side stand. She picked it up and tapped the number she knew by heart—SLAE headquarters.
“This is the operator. How may I direct your call?”
Savannah frowned at the woman’s voice. “The operator? I’m sorry, I must have a wrong number.”
She was sure she’d dialed agent Ryan’s direct line.
“Were you calling Security League Alliance Enterprises?”
“Yes, I…I need to speak with Mark Ryan, please.”
“One moment please and I’ll connect you.”
Something was off. Since when did he get an operator to answer his calls? Her fingers curled around the gold phone.
“This is Agent Ryan.”
“This is…” She lowered her voice, even though the closest person would be two floors down. “This is Agent Summers.”
“Summers, you’re relieved of duty. We’ve informed Franzoni’s wife of his departure. And your services are no longer required.”
“His departure? Adam’s dead, asshole.”
“We’re aware of the situation. This phone number will no longer be in service once you hang up the phone. We’ll send your final paycheck to your address in Albany.”
Rage burst through her veins as if she’d been slugged in the gut. She wanted to throw something. Destroy something. Get her gun and shoot him through the phone. Turn into a psycho bitch and demolish Agent Ryan’s house and office. But she didn’t know where either one existed. SLAE kept everything a secret.
“You can’t do this to me,” she hissed. She swung her legs off the bed, rose to standing and began pacing. “I’ve done nothing wrong. Are you telling me you’re done with the heist?”
“Thank you for your service, Miss Summers,” he said, ignoring her question. “We wish you the best of luck.”
“Don’t you hang up on me. Ryan.” When he did not reply, she glanced at the screen. The green phone icon disappeared, replaced by a red one. “You motherfucker. You hung up on me?”
She re-dialed.
“The number you have reached is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this number in error, please dial again.”
She held the phone away from her face. “I’ve been disavowed?”
She slumped on the bed and fell back against the velvet pillow. She had nothing. Nothing to live for. No one to live for. She was pretending to be the daughter of someone who was now dead. Dr. Doucette, the person who threatened to out them all, was dead, too. With no other recourse, no ideas, nothing to look forward to, she seized the two pills, washed them down her throat, and fell into the only safe place she could find—unconsciousness. She knew she’d have to scheme. But in the meantime, she planned to stay sedated for as long as she possibly could.
21
In her lush suite at the Chartier’s, Savannah lost track of time. She hid, not wanting to interact with anyone. She huddled in her velvet-draped bed. Took long baths in her huge tub. Soaked and sobbed until she could last at least an hour without crying.
She could leave—her job was over. She could just slip away in the night. But she had nowhere to go, and no reason to. So she stayed at the manor. Each minute faded into the next. Each hour blurred into a day. The days rolled on until at least a week of numbness passed.
Liam left her alone mostly. Occasionally, he would knock softly on the door.
Sometimes she answered. Sometimes she didn’t.
When she did open the door, he would be standing with a grave expression on his exhausted looking face. “How are you today? Any better? Can I get you anything?”
“No, merci. Je vais bien.” I’m fine. I’m always fine. I’ll be fine until the day I die, never fulfilled. Far back in her mind, like viewing some distant hallway, she wondered how he was…what he had suffered seeing her lose her best friend.
He would nod and fade away like he’d become a ghost.
Ambrosia came and went, tutting, and clucking in a motherly way, fussing around Savannah as if she were a child. She always brought food and club gossip.
Savannah wanted neither, but she smiled and nodded until she could shoo her away with her ready excuse. “I’m sorry, Mother, I need some rest.”
On the eighth day of her self-imposed seclusion, she stood at her picture window, staring at Central Park. Her reflection looked ghastly. Have I even showered lately?
She mulled over her most recent conversations with Adam. “Adam would tell me to push on. And didn’t he want me to be happy, too? He believes in me. Why can’t I at least try to believe in myself?”
A bold knock sounded on her door. Ambrosia. That woman believes in making an entrance wherever she goes. She hesitated, wondering if she should ignore it.
Knock, knock, knock. “Naeva? Naeva, darling? I’ve got some juicy, juicy gossip for you.”
You always say that. She turned to face the door, deciding what to do. Should I simply shove her out the door or let her do her thing like I always do?
“You’re going to love this bit!”
You always say that, too.
Knowing Ambrosia would return every fifteen minutes if she didn’t answer, she dragged herself across the front room. Opening the door, she said, “Hello, Mother.”
“There you are,” Ambrosia said. She fluttered into the room like a big, buxom bird. “I’ve arranged for tea.”
“No, Mother, I…”
“Come, come, you need to join the living.” Ambrosia pushed past and made her way toward the sofa. She sat and patted the cushion next to her.
Savannah closed the door and shuffled toward her. “What is it this time?”
“Sit. Then, I’ll tell you.” Her eyes shone with eagerness.
Savannah sighed and slumped next to her.
“So, Master Steele has taken on an entirely new behavior. He’s become ruthless. I’m telling you, it’s something you did to change him. He hasn’t been the same since.”
“What’s his real name? I’ll give him a call.” Not. Her lips curved in a lifeless smile.
Ambrosia waved her hand. “No one knows who he is. That’s part of the fun. We love an unsolvable mystery at the club.” She leaned closer to Savannah. “Anyway, since Marcus passed…”
“Who did he pass? He got blown up,” Savannah blurted.
Ambrosia frowned, glaring at Savannah before continuing. “As I was saying…since Marcus died due to an explosion, Monique’s been a wreck. And you know what a drama queen she can be.”
; “Not really, but…” She pushed her listless hair out of her face.
“So, she’s been working out her anguish in front of everyone with Master Steele. Can you believe it? Oh, she goes on and on and caterwauls and wails. He reprimands her when she gets out of hand. Honestly, I wonder how he can stand her. But you should hear the gossip rolling around the club. They’re all talking about how you changed Master Steele.” She poked Savannah in the chest.
Savannah snatched Ambrosia’s hand and pushed it away. “I did nothing of the sort.”
“Oh, but you did! He’s never treated a woman the way he treats you.”
Ambrosia nattered on, but Savannah stopped listening. Who is this guy? Should I try and find out? Or, should I… She stared at Ambrosia. The woman talked non-stop, not caring whether Savannah paid her any mind.
“Isn’t that exciting?” She beamed.
“Oh, yes,” Savannah replied, not certain what they were talking about anymore. “Mother, I’m exhausted. Let me get some rest, please.”
She smiled wanly.
“Oh, of course.” Ambrosia rose to her feet, apparently forgetting about the tea.
Or, maybe none was ever ordered.
“Thank you for being so understanding.” Savannah got to her feet and ushered her toward the door. “You’re the best.”
Ambrosia puffed herself up. “I love having a daughter.”
“See you later,” Savannah said, opening the door. She put her hand on Ambrosia’s back and pushed her into the hallway. “Thanks for the gossip.”
She smiled, waved, and shut the door, leaning on it in relief. Then, she prepared for her plan.
Two hours later, hair shining, makeup applied and dressed in the sluttiest designer wear she could find, Savannah sneaked into the hallway. She listened for signs of anyone in the house. Hearing nothing, she tip-toed down the stairs, sidled down the hallway leading to the front door—and ran right into someone careening around the corner.