by Calinda B
She wanted to vomit. It sickened her to think of being used that way. “That’s disgusting. I hope you know that.”
He shrugged. “It’s the club.” He propped his elbows on his legs and rested his head in his hands, looking utterly defeated. “My mother knows nothing—except what I do as my persona. She sits in the audience, tittering, and cheering me on like I’m some prize put there for her amusement. Her son, for Christ’s sake. I think she’d take bets if she knew it was me. ‘One thousand dollars says he’ll let this one suck him off,’” he said in a high-pitched voice.
Bile filled Savannah’s throat.
“But, no one knows who Master Steele is. The only thing I’m a master of is disguise. And steel is what my insides feel like…” He lifted his head to glance at her. “Felt like…until I met you.”
His words split her apart, like tiny fingers, wedging themselves into her tissues and revealing her long-buried heart. She didn’t like to feel this vulnerable, ever. But, with Liam, she couldn’t seem to run from it. “You do something to me, too.”
“What? Give you ten thousand reasons to hate me? I excel at that, you know.” His lips curled into a derisive smile.
She dropped the bedding and scooted forward, to within touching distance. Sitting next to him, she placed her hand on his firm leg.
He stared at it for a few seconds, as if weighing how to respond. Then, he reached for her hand and lay back against the pillows, pulling her with him.
“Tell me how Master Steele came to be,” she said, softly, resting her head on his shoulder.
“I’m sure you could piece it together. After they killed Charlotte, my mother and Marcus arranged for me to be your husband. I hated having a scripted life that wasn’t of my choosing. I didn’t know you. Barely remembered you from childhood. My mother encouraged me to play the field until you arrived, but be ‘good about it’ at the same time.” He let out a long sigh. “‘Get on out there and sow your wild oats,’ she’d say like I was some fucking stallion. ‘But don’t you dare get anyone pregnant,’ she’d add like my prize sperm was to be saved up for you, my new show pony. I didn’t want anyone. Not after Charlotte.”
Savannah stroked his warm chest. “So, you created Master Steele.”
“Exactly. I hated myself. I hated my life. I had all this violent rage boiling over in me. The Master Steele persona allowed me to control my emotions. To channel them. And…” He screwed up his face in a sheepish wince. “I got to get at least some pleasure in my life, as shallow as it was. And no one could tell me what the fuck to do or who to do it with. I got to decide.” He sighed, looking askance at her as if seeking approval.
“I think I get it. I mean…I got to grow up and figure out my own life, at least.” A sense of appreciation for her life swept through her. Even though she grew up without parental guidance, she’d learned to be the boss of her own life. She was independent, relied on herself and no one else to tell her how to live. Isn’t it funny how one’s life can turn out to be a blessing when compared to another that—one the outside—seems better?
“Yeah. Tucked away in Paris. In a way, I’m sorry to have to be the reason you’re here.”
She jerked from her moment of appreciative musing, tugged back by slimy strings of guilt.
“The Club loves anything that distracts and entertains. I had this wing built after Charlotte died.” He swept his hand out, indicating the room. “My mother indulged me. She probably felt guilty over killing Charlotte.”
“I can’t believe she’d do that to you. Your own mother?” Her insides roiled.
“She didn’t pull the trigger, but I’m sure she played a part.” He tugged her closer. “I had all these secret hallways built. I bribed the contractor. People will do anything for a bit of cash.” He chuckled. “No one knows about it. I made sure of that.”
Savannah shivered, not sure if she wanted to know how he accomplished that endeavors.
“I’ve learned how to don and doff clothes like Houdini. It allows me to fool people and helps me maintain secrecy.” He worked his jaw side to side.
“After that, I bottled up all my feelings into a character. Who dominates. Who controls. Who has total say over what the women get and don’t get. Sometimes I jerk off while they submit. They cheer and clap. It’s disgusting. They practically wet themselves when I let them suck me off. Only a few have ever done that. They call themselves the Platinum Strumpets. Stupid name. Apparently, it’s something to strive for at the club.” He gave her a side-eyed glance, looking worried how she’d respond.
“I can see why,” she said, fingering his chest hairs. “You have a magnificent cock.” She kissed his shoulder. A disturbing thought swatted her mind. “Is…is Monique a Platinum Strumpet?” she asked, her lip curling.
“Fuck, no,” he growled. “God, I hate that woman. She’s a whiner and a bitch. I’m sure she only used Marcus to get at his money. She comes from a lesser family.” He sneered. “The politics here disgust me.”
A haunting musical tone sounded from the front room. Liam lifted his gaze toward it. He gave Savannah a curious look she couldn’t decipher. “Excuse me. That’s my phone. I have to get it.”
“Can’t it wait?”
He peeled away from her. “Not this one, no.” He swung his legs off the bed and hustled out of the room. A few seconds later, he said from the other room, “Yeah. What’s up?”
Savannah listened intently.
“Uh huh. Go on.”
She scooted to the end of the bed.
“What?” He reached through the doorway, grabbed the door knob, and glared at her before slamming the door.
She tensed. Something’s wrong. I’m about to go down in flames. Her instincts about danger had never betrayed her. All she wanted to do was escape.
She unclasped her jewels and let them fall wherever. Then, she scrambled from the bed. I have no clothes, she lamented. She scurried into Liam’s walk-in closet, flipped the light on and dug around for something to wear. He had a million choices, all neatly folded, arranged in terms of color and occasion. She must have found the “sports and working out” department when she slid open a drawer full of high-end sweatpants and t-shirts.
“You’re fucking kidding me,” Liam roared from the other room.
She tugged on the sweats and grabbed a blue shirt, pulling it over her head. Both garments draped around her, far too large for her frame.
The door flew open. It thwacked against the wall.
Liam stalked in the room, already dressed. “You’re coming with me.”
“What? Why? What happened?” she asked. She already knew the answer.
He kept his silence, seizing her wrist, and dragging her from the room.
Master Steele has arrived.
His ice-cold quietude continued as he yanked her toward the elevator.
“Tell me what’s going on, Liam.” Savannah tried to pry his iron grip from her wrist. He knows. He’s got to know who I am.
Once they stood inside the lift, he pounded the elevator button.
“Liam! You’re scaring me. What’s going on?”
“Dr. Doucette, that’s what. He left us a parting gift.”
She closed her eyes for a second. Oh, no. That fucking weasel.
Liam let go of her, shoving her arm away from him, jerking her back to the moment.
“God fucking dammit,” he said, his voice simmering with rage. “I don’t even know what to call you now. Should I call you ‘spy-girl?’ Or, would ‘deceiving heart-breaker’ be more appropriate?”
The look he gave her made her shrink inside.
“I can explain.” Her lungs shuddered, trying to push tears and fears to the surface.
“Don’t bother. I’ve heard all I need to know.”
The elevator came to a stop. The doors slid open revealing a garage lit by sputtering fluorescent lights.
He grabbed her wrist again and hauled her from the lift.
“My name’s Savannah Summers,” she
said, hurrying to keep up with him. “I worked for a private security intelligence firm called SLAE. It’s one of the best in the world.”
He lifted an eyebrow but said nothing.
“The operative phrase in those sentences is ‘worked for.’ Past tense. I’ve been disavowed, stripped of my duties.”
His jaw ticked as he powered through the garage. They passed Bentleys, Porches, Mercedes, Teslas, and Rolls Royce vehicles.
It’s like a car show for the rich and famous.
“Three weeks past I was in Mosul.”
His eyebrows stitched together.
“I was working on a top-secret operation. One of the agents went rogue and completely compromised the mission. I got blamed. Me. I nearly lost my job. It wasn’t my fault.” She swept her surroundings looking for a means of escape.
His grip tightened on her wrist.
“They gave me this Diamond Club job as a final effort. I got yanked into service at the airport. I had no time to think, process, or resist. All I knew was I still had a job.” She spied a stairwell.
He gave her a side-long glance before stopping in front of a black Range Rover. When he released her, she took off at a sprint for a door marked Stairs.
His footsteps pounded the concrete behind her. He caught up with her in a few seconds, capturing her between his powerful arms, and lifting her feet in the air.
“Let me go! Let me go, and I’ll disappear.” She writhed in his grip.
“You’re going to be murdered, Savannah Summers. Currently, there are two men looking for you. Both armed and dangerous as fuck. If I hadn’t taken you to my private suite, you’d be dead right now.”
“Murder me?” She shuddered. Then, she became limp in his arms. Fear washed over her making it impossible to think, form words, or even breathe.
Once he carried her to the SUV, he released her but kept one arm tightly around her waist, holding her close. He fished in his pocket for a key fob and pressed it. The doors unlocked.
“Are you going to get in, or will I have to chase you down again? It’s not hard, I assure you. But I’d rather you were far away from the club.”
“I’ll get in,” she said, quietly. In the back of her mind, quiet whispers urged, “he’s at least helping you escape.” Gratitude filled her for a kind of caring she didn’t deserve.
“Thank you.” He waited for her to slide in the seat, crowding her, should she change her mind about running.
She pulled the seat belt around her, locked it in place, and nodded, staring straight ahead.
He gently closed the door. Then, he strode around to the driver’s seat and slid in.
When he’d turned the engine on and backed from the parking spot, she asked, “Where are you taking me?”
“Away. Where do you live?” He sped up the concrete spiral, heading toward the exit.
“I have an apartment in Albany.”
“I’d stay as far away from there as possible. They probably have a hit-man watching your house. They’re going to be watching my home, as well.” He waited for the formidable metal warehouse door to lift, then sped out onto the street.
“I…I have nowhere to go, then.” As she stared out the window, a sudden sense of loneliness made it hard to breathe. Before, at least she had Adam. Tears pushed themselves into her eyes. She swiped them from her cheeks and tried to choke them back. More tears fell.
Liam opened the console between them. “Here are some tissues.”
She glanced at him, smiled wanly, and plucked out several.
“What about a relative?”
“I have no relatives.”
His head pivoted to look at her, and his eyebrows shot up. “None?”
She shook her head. “None. My mother died of cancer when I was a toddler. Dear old dad decided it would be too much to deal with a kid, so he put me up for adoption. After that, I moved from foster home to foster home.”
“Christ.” Liam’s jaw ticked. “Any friends you can trust?”
Again, she shook her head. “I move around too much to have any friends. Adam was the constant in my life. He’d protect me in a heartbeat.”
Liam pulled up to a stoplight. He looked at her. “Were you two lovers?”
“With Adam? Goodness, no. He was like my brother. We met at the last foster home I was in. We’ve been like this ever since.” She crossed one finger over the other. “He worked for SLAE, too, in case you wondered. When they found out he was killed, they canned the operation and gave me the boot, no explanations. I literally, at this moment, have nothing and no one. And I’m not saying this to get a reaction from you. It’s a fact. One I’ve dealt with on many occasions in my life.”
The light turned green. Liam floored the pedal and raced through the intersection. The muscles in his jaw bulged.
“So, where are we going? Everything I owned, which isn’t much, was at Fleur Rouge. I don’t even have the phone you gave me.” She studied the buildings passing by, recognizing some, like Charlene’s Nail Salon and the old no-name grocery on Sherman Ave. We’re heading to the borough at the north end of New York City.
He leaned across her, dividing his attention between the road and the glove box. He opened it and retrieved a wad of cash, held neatly in a gold, diamond-encrusted money clip. He dropped it in her lap and resumed his position in the driver’s seat.
“Take it. There’s probably a couple thousand there. Get a burner phone. Stay off the radar. Rent a place with a fake name. Under no circumstances can anyone know who you are or where you are. I’d stay away from airports, Greyhound buses, trains, or other forms of transit. In a few hours, they’ll have eyes and ears everywhere.”
“How long do I have to live like that?” She fingered the gold clip.
I can probably hock this, too, for another couple grand. If I live frugally, I can probably last several months.
“We’ll still go ahead with the heist. I know you won’t try to stop it. You’ll be too busy laying low trying to save your life.” He flashed her a smirk. “After that, I’d give it a few weeks. Once the heist happens, they might drop the search. But you’d better be far away from here by then.”
A few weeks? Her eyes glazed, staring blankly at the city buildings as they blurred past Liam’s profile. Her lungs convulsed with sorrow and grief. She forced her feelings into a solid lump, lodged in her throat.
“You don’t have to do it, Liam. The heist, I mean. If you hate it that much, run away with me. You can probably get some quick cash. I know some people at the CIA. If they’re still talking to me, they can protect you and me, both. We can get a fresh start.” She put her hand on his arm.
He shrugged his shoulder and shook his arm, like shaking off a piece of trash. “Right. So you can live off me. Nice try, but I don’t trust you or your motives. You’re nothing but a liar.”
She winced, and her stomach tightened. “You’re a sick man, you know that, Liam Chartier? Or should I say, Master Steele, asshole of the Club? You’re as much a liar as I am. You and your secretive bullshit. And all your justifications for why you can’t live your own life.” Anger built as the words flew from her mouth. “You have enough assets to disappear. Instead, you go all ‘poor me’ and give me nothing but bullshit excuses. Meanwhile, I, who have nothing, try to make the best of my life. It is what it is. I work to accept it. Done deal. Move on. Even now, when you’re drop-kicking the one thing I thought I could believe in.”
He veered toward the curb and screeched to a halt. She put her hands out to keep from slamming into the dash.
“And what’s that, my pretty little liar?” He had the nerve to give her a cold smile.
She flashed him a steely-eyed glare. “I fell in love with you. I thought I could see the man behind the dickhead. Adam warned me not to. He even suggested I remove myself from the case. But I swore I had my feelings under control. But tonight, I gave my heart a chance. I thought maybe, just maybe, I’d found something that mattered.” She let out a bitter laugh. “And now I have
nothing. I don’t even have Adam. All I have is an ache in my heart that, a few short hours ago, held hope for the future…hope for me. I thought I’d found someone to love.”
He swallowed, hard, clutching the steering wheel. His gaze bore into her. His breathing grew loud. When his eyes filled with tears, that was her cue.
She turned to look out the window. “Where am I? Inwood?”
“Yes,” he said curtly. “The last transit will stop at the corner in fifteen minutes. Take it up to 9th. I doubt if they’ll be looking there yet. There’s a decent hotel near West 216th called Budget Inn. They have long-term rentals.”
“And how do you know this? I doubt if you’ve ever stepped foot in a budget anything,” she said, not looking at him.
“I have to know things. I told you. I’m an excellent thief.”
Her head snapped in his direction. “Good to know.” Her face fell into serious regard. “So, one last thing.”
“What’s that?” he asked, his face a blank wall.
“Did you…did you feel anything for me? Anything at all?”
He huffed out a sigh. “I think you know the answer to that.”
“Tell me.”
His gaze lifted toward the rear-view mirror. “The bus is coming. It’s early. You’d best get out.”
“Tell me, Liam.” Desperation clawed at her for the answer.
“You don’t want to miss that bus.” He leaned across her and opened the door. “Take care of yourself, Savannah Summers. I like that name better than Naeva.”
He sat stiffly in his driver’s seat, giving her the saddest smile she’d ever seen.
The bus pulled up to the corner, ahead of the Range Rover.
She shook her head, then slid from the car. Without looking back, she slammed the door. She dragged her feet as she clumped toward the transit.
Liam’s vehicle sped away.
24
A few days after she’d been dropped off at the side of the road, Savannah—or “Marcia Smith,” as the hotel knew her as—sat at the window of her shabby, furnished room and kitchenette, staring out the window. If she squinted and craned her head to the left, she could make out the Harlem River through the industrial looking buildings.