Black Sheep

by Zara Cox

  She flicks her hair over one shoulder then leans forward to take a bite of food. Her every movement is graceful, beautifully choreographed in a bundle of everything I desire.

  Perhaps the power of my thoughts transmits to her. She can’t possibly see me from her seat. But still her head swings around. Her blue gaze finds me. Over the seats and through twisted miniature palm trees, she finds me.

  Downstairs, her eyes held questions first and welcome second. Now, there’s a smile first. A wide, welcoming smile that radiates through me.

  I stride through the seats, nodding here and there but not stopping to chat. Cleo tracks me the whole time, and when I stop next to her, her hand flutters up to mine. I grab it before she can change her mind. I take the seat next to her and kiss her knuckles.

  “You done with your meeting?” She repeats the question she asked at the nightclub.

  “I’m done with my meeting.”

  A pulse of erotic heat arcs between us. I turn her hand over, kiss her palm. Her breath catches softly.

  “Thanks, Axel. Way to make me feel like a third wheel at my own lunch break,” B grumbles.

  I rest our linked hands on my thigh and glance at B. The snark is fully operational, but the corners of her mouth are pinched and her gaze is watchful.

  Definitely something going on there. But our lines are clear and I’m not about to overstep.

  “I’m not staying,” I say reluctantly. “I have calls to make, a…long-term employee to fire.”

  Her eyes narrow at me.

  I ignore her, and I lean over and kiss Cleo’s cheek. “Don’t overstay lunch, or one of you is getting fired too.”

  B snorts and rolls her eyes but again, her usual sassy comeback is lacking.

  My journey from the roof bar is uneventful, but an overenthusiastic member who needs to be handled and reminded of the club’s rules takes me to the fourth floor for far longer than I prefer.

  Fionnella is waiting for me for when I walk into my office. I decide not to guess how she cracked the door’s entry code. She still oozes harmlessness but her smile is considerably pared down.

  My bubble of elation bursts. I grit my teeth and cross over to the drinks table adjacent to the sofas. “Drink?”

  “Vodka tonic, thanks,” she says.

  I fix her drink and pour a whisky for myself. My legs feel decidedly leaden when I take the seat opposite hers on the sofa. She sips her drink. I down mine in one go, contemplate another.

  “Well?”

  “I was wrong. You’re not doing all of this because of her. You want payback for yourself.”

  I exhale. “Yes. And?”

  She shrugs. “Trust me, I understand that too. Tell me about your connection to Taranahar.”

  I relay the story, fast and emotionless.

  She smiles. “Perfect.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I suspected you were in the area. I didn’t know you witnessed it firsthand. Why haven’t you handed this baby to anyone?”

  Bitterness shoots up my throat. “No one seems in a great hurry to take it. The first judicial inquiry was half-assed at best. It didn’t take much for it to fall apart”

  She nods. “Don’t worry, we’ll get them in the mood this time around. After we’ve taken care of those responsible for the Bearwood Lake situation.” For the first time, I catch a note in her voice. Fionnella is on her own path for vengeance.

  I shake my head. “I appreciate the offer but all I need is their identities. I’ll take care of the rest myself.”

  She eyes me, a touch disappointed. “You sure?”

  “It needs to play out my way.” Nothing else is acceptable.

  “Fair enough. I have a few more questions, mostly to do with that happened after Bearwood.” She pulls out a pen and giant pad.

  I give her what she needs. She scribbles rapidly. Her eyes narrow when she stops to probe deeper into Cleo’s Boston trip. Again when she asks about why I changed my mind and stayed at West Point following my decision to leave. I don’t go into details about Finnan’s video but she nods anyway.

  Ten minutes later, she finishes her drink and stands. “Okay, that’s all for now. I’ll see what I can dig up, so to speak. I’ll be in touch by the weekend.”

  “Three days? That’s all you need?”

  She shakes her head. “No, I mean I should know what I’m dealing with by the weekend. This thing could take weeks, months even. But I have a little time on my hands now seeing as my employer is currently absorbed in other…matters.”

  I recall the blonde with Quinn at the club last week. Elyse. Not his usual type. But they looked…good together. Hell, it was more than that. They looked combustible.

  Fionnella hefts her purse on her shoulder. “In the meantime…” She pauses, presses her lips together. “You can tell me to mind my own business, but I’m going to say it anyway.” She ignores my crossed arms and raised eyebrows. “That room upstairs has its purpose in your life. But don’t let it become your sole purpose.”

  “My choices are my own. I’m not going to debate them with you.”

  “Your choices are no longer your own. And you’re already changing them for that sweet girl. By all means, let her see the monster you think you are. But it wouldn’t hurt to show her another side. Who knows, you might achieve that goal you think is elusive much quicker than you expect.”

  My pulse continues to race long after she’s gone. I can’t ignore the impact of her words although I’m not completely certain what that impact is. So I shove it to one side and take care of the long overdue business of firing Malone.

  The detective accepts his fate with more dignity than anticipated. “For what it’s worth, I have a bit of news.”

  “Yes?”

  “Two of the four have found their way into non-extradition countries in the last six months. Unless you have superpower connections, they’re virtually untouchable.”

  “And the others?”

  “I’ve drawn a blank so far.” He clears his throat. “Do you want me to—?”

  “No. Our association is at an end, detective. Goodbye.

  “Wait! One more thing. Your brother Ronan has been…uhh…stirring things up with the Armenians in the last few days.”

  My fingers tighten around the phone. “In what way? Be specific.”

  “I think he’s planning a takeover of what’s left of the kingdom. Whether it’s hostile or not, I’ll leave it up to you to figure out.”

  I hang up and stare into space, my mind churning. Picking up the phone, I dial again.

  He answers on the second ring.

  “Ronan, I told you to stay out of my way.”

  He laughs. “Who the hell are you to tell me what to do?”

  “Twenty million.”

  He hesitates. “I don’t want—”

  “It’ll buy you a lot of power. At a safe distance from my crosshairs. It’s a good deal, brother. Way more than you deserve. Take it.”

  “Why the hell should I?”

  My breath stalls for a moment before I speak. “Because I choose to believe we were all pinned under a yoke that was impossible to shift. We all have blood forced on our hands we can’t wash away. But don’t make things worse. That time is over. His time is over. But you won’t be inheriting what’s left of his fucked-up kingdom.”

  “Why? When you’ve never wanted any part of it?”

  “Because it needs to end. You have forty-eight hours to accept. Then I’ll offer the money to the Armenians to kill any deal you’re hoping to strike with them.”

  I end the call.

  He may be the firstborn son and by rights the heir. But I’m going to inherit the kingdom I never wanted.

  And then burn it to the fucking ground.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  AXLE SHIFT

  Cleo

  He’s quiet. Scarily quiet.

  Has been for the last two days. Ever since he met with the woman who looks like Mary Poppins’s middle-aged aunt bu
t without the English accent. Something about her rattled me. B too, although for only an instant. I asked her what was wrong. She waved me away. I chose to let it be.

  But Axel’s dangerously brooding. The way he fucks me has changed too. There was always an edge to the way he took me, but that edge has intensified even more. And where he once left the bed shortly after we fucked, now he stays. All night. His arms tight around me, and with an after-sex tenderness that is slowly destroying me.

  Because I realize I’m yearning for this part of him, while desperately bricking up monstrous parts of him I don’t want to see. It won’t end well for me because a secret part of me craves that monster too. It’s part of who he is.

  Which makes me…what?

  “Are you ready?”

  I glance up at the low, deep voice. He’s standing in the doorway of the dressing room, his fingers moving over his phone. The phone that hasn’t been out of reach for the past forty-eight hours.

  I frown. “Are you…Is everything alright?” An absurd question considering our circumstances.

  “Fine.” His answer is clipped, but behind his eyes, I see a storm brewing.

  “We don’t have to go out if you don’t want to.”

  He looks around the room before his eyes meet mine. “I don’t want to. But you do. So we’re going.”

  I turn away, and under the pretext of slipping on my shoes, I hide my turmoil. This prison is slowly strangling me. Especially since my conversation with B. Reliving it, I feel the crazy cascade of emotions again.

  He’s seriously obsessed with you.

  A punch in my belly, followed by a frantic head shake. He’s not. He can’t be.

  Her mocking laughter. I’m pretty sure he can.

  No. You don’t know what…You don’t know him.

  Oh honey, do any of us ever truly know another person?

  Maybe not, but what he’s…done…

  Then why are you here? And don’t give me a story about not having a choice. I’m not exactly prying you off the ledge when we have lunch on the rooftop. You laugh more with him than you do with me. And come to think of it, he’s threatened to rip my head off every time I’ve come to get you, but he’s smiled more in the last week than…shit, ever. What you’re saying to me now may be a whole lot of truth, but even with a gun to your head, you still have a choice.

  I don’t.

  Well, test it. See if what I’m saying is true. What’s the worst that can happen?

  My hands shook so hard I nearly dropped the glass.

  Shit, forget that part. But a part of you is certainly enjoying…whatever this is. You fucking glow when he walks into the room. You may not think so but some part of you trusts him a whole lot. And please spare me the crap about sex. Every woman knows the difference between sex and love, regardless of what they may say. Think about it—

  “Cleo?” God, his voice. Deep, coaxing. Dangerous to my…everything.

  I compose myself and straighten. “I’m ready. Where are we going?”

  Sharp gray eyes probe me for several heartbeats before he holds out his free hand. “Harlem. Dinner at my club. What happens afterwards is up to you.”

  Statements that give the impression that I’m in charge of my own destiny and not fully under his control. I dig deep to find the fury that should accompany that lie. The effort it takes distresses me. Enough to keep me silent most of the way to Harlem.

  Playhouse X is a jazz club featuring live bands. Revamped from an old warehouse, it’s refitted with eye-catching tiered seats, clever lighting, and excellent acoustics, evidenced by the stunning strains of a sax solo that greets us.

  We’re escorted to our private booth to the left of the stage and we order drinks and food. Axel pulls me close the moment we’re alone. “Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?” he rasps in my ear after dropping soft kisses along my jawline.

  “Not that I recall.”

  A tense smile registers against my ear shell for an instant. “Probably because I’ve been trying to work out the logistics of how I’m going to get underneath this dress. I much prefer the black floaty one. And the blue one with the slit up the side. And the shorts-and-top combo—”

  “The romper suit?”

  “The romper suit. That’s my favorite so far. Now this one…”

  We both look down at the moss-green dress with black crystal detailing at the neckline and hem. Tight from neck to thigh, there’s no way to fool around in it without earning myself a public indecency citation.

  “I guess I’ll just have to work harder to get in.” Although his tone and expression are as powerfully sexy as ever, my senses continue to jangle.

  “Or maybe tonight I’ll take care of you,” I say, the words falling out before the thought process is completely formed.

  Narrowed eyes gleam down at me. A muscle twitches in his jaw. “You think you’re up to taking on the challenge?”

  I don’t need a crystal ball to deduce the question extends beyond the giving and taking of public sex. My senses tumble even harder. “Maybe…”

  A dart of disappointment chases through his eyes. “Be sure to let me know when you’re sure.” He goes back to kissing my temple, my cheek, the corner of my mouth.

  The drinks and appetizers arrive. Axel pours and passes me a glass of Malbec.

  Before I take a sip of the full-bodied red, he raises his glass to me. “Toast?”

  I shake my head. “I’m…not sure what…”

  A terse little smile twitches his lips. “Don’t worry, I’ll go. To ‘maybes’ in all shapes and sizes. To the possibilities they offer. To…being taken care of.”

  He clinks his glass to mine and takes a large drink. I follow suit, although the unwillingness to cloud my senses with alcohol slows my intake. If Axel notices, he chooses not to mention it.

  Maybe he doesn’t notice. His attention keeps darting to his phone.

  “What’s going on?” I finally blurt, unable to stand the tension seething through him.

  He sets down the fork he’s using to feed me the exquisite spicy crawfish served in bite-sized filo pastry. His fingers slide through my loose hair, arranging it over my shoulder. I’m fully prepared for a firm non-answer, much like I’ve received so far.

  “I gave Ronan forty-eight hours to accept a deal I proposed to him. The time expired three hours ago.”

  Shock holds me still for a second before I dive through the open door. “What type of deal?”

  “Financial compensation for abdication of a throne that will never be his,” he states with dauntless arrogance.

  “What did he say?”

  “He postured. He swore. Predictably.”

  I shudder. He frowns. “What?”

  “He…he scares me sometimes.”

  Axel’s nostrils thin as he inhales sharply. “Did he ever hurt you?”

  I shake my head immediately. “No, but I…sensed that he could.”

  He captures my nape and turns me to face him, his face set in granite. “No one will be allowed anywhere near enough to hurt you. You have my fucking word.”

  His words are harrowingly evocative of the words he said to me on the beach a long time ago. But now, like then, he didn’t exclude himself from the equation.

  My heart shreds as I stare at him. “Axel—”

  “Trust me, Cleo. Please.” There’s a fever in his eyes that light dangerous fires inside me.

  He’s seriously obsessed with you.

  In that moment, I almost believe it. Almost believe that, somewhere along the line, fate’s black magic has selected us to be its puppets. That our destiny is inescapable. Forever intertwined. Set on a course of ultimate destruction.

  “Yes, Axel. I trust that you won’t allow anyone to hurt me.”

  A groaned breath shudders out of him. His forehead drops to mine, and his eyes shut. Deep breaths lift and lower his chest. I stare, fascinated by the Hyde of the heartless killer and the Jekyll of the sexy, caring man who will grant me the worl
d. The man I’m beginning to believe is obsessed with me.

  After several minutes, we go back to eating. His tension eases a touch, although his eyes remain dark and charged, almost frenzied when they run over my body.

  We’re distracted when the band starts again. But the young black singer who takes the stage is captivating, her deep, soulful voice keeping everyone’s eyes glued to the stage.

  When I refuse dessert, Axel rises and holds out his hand.

  My thoughts churn some more as we exit the club. The thought formulating terrifies me a little but there’s a wicked power thrumming through my veins that pushes me to go for it.

  He activates the door when we reach his Spider. He cups my elbow to assist me in, but I draw away and place my hand on the low roof.

  Narrowed eyes take in my defiant stance. A different type of tension sizzles in the air.

  “Get in the car, Cleo.” Soft. Sensual. Hideously dangerous.

  I gird my loins. Then shake my head.

  “What’s going on here?” he breathes.

  “I want…I want…” Shit, use your words!

  He leans closer, his words for my ears only. “I know what you want. But if you don’t get in the car, how am I going to drive us somewhere quiet so I can fuck you on top of it? And don’t tell me you don’t want that. You’re fucking caressing my roof right now.”

  I snatch my hand away. “I want you to…fuck me. But not on the car. I want something else.”

  He pulls back. Stares at me. Watchful. “Whatever you want. Name it.”

  My heart shakes. My laugh doesn’t come off as airy as I want. Which isn’t surprising considering… “Whatever I want?”

  “Yes, within reason. Tell me, Cleo.”

  Licking my lower lip, I gather the words to my throat. “I don’t want to return to the Punishment Club tonight. I don’t care where we go but not…not there.”

  His whole body goes taut. An animal poised to strike. “Why not?”

  “Just for tonight…I don’t want to live in the past.”

  “Why?” He probes harder, his gaze piercingly direct.

  I stare at the can of worms slowly slicing open. “It’s too hard.”