by Geneva Lee
“That’s not what matters. Velvet is an important thread linking you to this family.”
He called them threads, but they were chains. We each wore them, some more willingly than others. Hammond’s extended family was linked through his many entrepreneurial endeavors. By the time one realized the true nature of the business, they were bound too tight to escape. Velvet was a chain I needed to break.
“I have more than enough threads connecting me. Need I remind you that my name is on every contract you sign.” This wasn’t a hand I wanted to play. Not with Hammond who rarely saw past sentiment and instinct. Facts never interested him. It was an important thing to keep in mind.
“And you have the protection of your profession. One that I gave you.”
“That’s funny,” I said lightly. “I seem to recall the Law Society granting me that profession after a few years of school.”
“This isn’t a lark.” Hammond jumped to his feet and I rose, reversing his imitation game back on him. “You will maintain your ownership share in Velvet, and if I continue to hear more disquieting rumors—”
“And who are you hearing these rumors from? I know you’ve never had a taste for legality, but I’m partial to having access to all the evidence.” There was a rat amongst my inner circle. The news didn’t shake me. I paid my people well enough, but I never expected their loyalty. I learned a long time ago that loyalty was a whimsical notion that had disappeared along with chivalry. Occasionally I got glimpses of both but never long enough to believe they existed. But I couldn’t allow the betrayal to go unrecognized. It would only feed Hammond’s paranoid nature.
“You think I don’t own your people? Doris. Garrison. Mrs. Andrews. Everyone can be bought for a price. They just can’t be bought by a Price. Your father made the mistake of learning that lesson the expensive way.” Hammond blew smoke in my direction and glanced toward the door Belle had exited through. “Someday, I’ll own her, too. Sooner or later, everyone needs something from me. And the delicious part is that you won’t even know when I buy her off. She’ll come home and suck your dick and play house just like—”
His rant was prematurely cut off by the hands around his throat.
My hands.
“All I have to do is squeeze,” I warned him.
“Then you’re both dead, but it won’t be quick and clean this time,” he wheezed, his cheeks reddening. His cigar dropped to the floor. “My heirs will see to that. You’ll be there to see it, too. All that bright red blood on her pretty pale skin. She’ll be alive. She’ll be begging you. And there won’t be a goddamn thing you can do.”
“How do I know you won’t order it as soon as you leave?” I demanded, wringing his wiry neck harder. Shoving my shoulder into his chest, I pinned him against the wall.
“You don’t,” he admitted with a gasp. “Guess you’ll be a gambler after all.”
I pictured it: his eyes bulging out of his head, his doughy flesh shifting from red to purple. And I could almost imagine the feeling of freedom that would accompany his final moment—a relief I’d never known.
But that freedom would be short-lived.
My hands dropped to my sides. Hammond inched away, rubbing his neck.
“I’m glad you came to your senses, boy.”
“I’m not your boy,” I snarled.
“Your father would be disappointed in how little respect you show your elders.” Hammond crushed the smoldering tip of his cigar with the toe of his oxford, leaving a black hole in the Oriental rug.
“I think he’d be more disappointed that he was dead before he could destroy every last person he claimed to love.” I turned my back on Hammond. I couldn’t afford to let him see any more. Not while I was so raw. Now while I was so out of control. I would slip again and there would be consequences.
“Your mother lived a perfectly lovely life after his death.” Hammond fastened the button of his blazer, shaking his head in disgust.
She’d been a shell of a person since that day, and we both knew why.
“Yeah, thankfully, someone took care of her.” I pulled the stopper on the Macallan I kept for clients and poured myself a drink.
“Drinking this early?”
I wanted to tell him to shove his fatherly tone up his ass. He hadn’t earned it. No one in my life earned the right to call themselves a father. I gulped it down and poured another. “I’m in business for myself. I’m calling it an early day”
“That’s where you’re wrong, son.” Hammond placed a heavy hand on my shoulder. “You’re in business for me.”
I bit back a laugh. If only he knew the truth, but then again, he’d refuse to believe it.
Hammond paused in the doorway, his hand on the knob. “I’m going to forget this ever happened. For your father’s sake. But don’t ever pull that shit again.”
I gave him a terse nod then swallowed my second Scotch. As soon as he was gone, I grabbed the bottle.
I’d had a plan. One that required patience. But more importantly: no attachments. Now all that had gone to hell. Because of her.
There were two ways to keep her out of Hammond’s sights: never let her out of mine or make her a nonissue. One was more foolproof than the other. It was also the one I wasn’t certain I could live with.
I’d have to drink until I could. What did they say about the road to hell? Who fucking cared. I was already on it.
My father was buried in a graveyard next to eighteenth century poets. Hammond had pulled one final string, obtaining the plot for him—a nod to my father’s love of books. On the few occasions that I’d ventured here, I’d wandered through the ivy-clad tombstones wondering if it assuaged his guilt. Tonight I knew it couldn’t.
A statue of justice with her blindfolded eyes and scales stood guard over his grave. Considering his love of literature, my father would certainly appreciate the irony. I stared at her unseeing eyes. She had been a popular image in university law classes. Most of my classmates had believed she actually existed. I might have once, too, but I didn’t remember being that naive.
Humphrey Price. Beloved Father and Husband. Protector of God’s Justice.
I laughed, filling the quiet cemetery with the hollow sound. It echoed across the stones. Drawing the nearly empty bottle of Scotch from my coat pocket, I dropped to the grass in front of his marker. I raised it to him.
“I suppose we finally have something to talk about. Where should we start?” I paused as if he might respond. “No ideas? Well, there’s woman troubles. You had your share of those. Although based on your marriage, you might not be qualified to offer me guidance there. We could discuss the law. Judging from the rather ostentatious display erected in your honor, you might have more insight into that topic, especially given the clientele we share.”
I took a swig out of the bottle. “Oh, hell.”
I chugged the rest and tossed the empty bottle on his plot.
“You would have loved that, but then again you loved anything with a higher proof content than your legal cases, right? I have to ask you. Did Hammond spin you gold in exchange for my soul? Is that how the story goes?” Hatred churned through my blood, slowly raising it toward the boiling point.
“I guess I’ll be seeing you soon. For now, allow me to leave you with a token of appreciation for everything you did for me in life.” Pushing myself to my feet, I stared down. He was down there, rotting, his flesh food for worms. He didn’t belong here next to men of talent and character. His place was in hell. I could only hope he burned there now. Unzipping my fly, I whipped out my dick and pissed on his name. It was the closest thing to solace that I would ever offer him.
I’d meant to go straight to Smith’s house, but Hammond’s appearance sent me in another direction. Before I’d fully comprehended what I was doing, I’d found myself in Chelsea. The address that had been sent to my mobile wasn’t visible from the street. If it had been anywhere else, I might have reconsidered exploring, but this was Chelsea. Still when I found the purple d
oor tucked carefully off a quiet side street, I paused.
I had no idea who had sent me the text message. Or why. Not that I had enemies to speak of. I sincerely doubted Pepper Lockwood would go to this much trouble to return a broken nose. No, I hadn’t come this far to turn back now. I tried the handle but it was locked. Searching for a knocker or doorbell, I came up short. I was about to give up when the door buzzed and clicked open. No one met me at the entrance. The hallway was dimly lit, but the walls had a lustrous sheen that drew my hands to them.
Velvet.
In the distance, a faint rhythm pounded. It was a bit early for a nightclub to get going, even for a Saturday, but instinct told me this was no ordinary club. I pushed myself forward, trailing my fingers along the plush wall coverings. The simple wrap dress I’d thrown on in my rush to get ready this morning wasn’t really dance floor material. Hopefully, the early bar crowd wouldn’t notice. When I rounded the corner, I knew that they would.
I clamped my mouth shut, sucking back the gasp that tried to get out, but I couldn’t keep my cheeks from heating.
The fuchsia-haired bartender scanned me up and down from across the room while I tried not to look directly at her rubber waist cincher or the pierced nipples it boosted into display. I flashed her a smile, wondering whether I should turn tail and run or play it cool. Clearly the text had been sent to the wrong mobile number. I gripped my purse tightly, preparing to make as dignified an exit as possible when a couple in the corner caught my eye. The woman was wearing a collar tethered to a leash. Memories of last night poured into my head. I had been that girl yesterday. I hoped to be her again tonight.
Maybe I wasn’t as out of place as I’d feared.
Gathering my courage and ignoring my nerves, I walked up to the bar. “Gin and tonic.”
The bartender’s eyes narrowed, but she grabbed a bottle of Nolet’s and poured the drink. Apparently this place catered to the kinky and the wealthy. I took a sip of my cocktail, my eyes glued to the couple on the couch. The woman knelt at his feet while he spoke to another man seated across from them. Both men were fully clothed, but the only thing she wore was the collar. Would I do that if it were Smith holding my leash? The question aroused me, and I considered shooting him the address in a text, but then I would have to explain how I had wound up here. And I didn’t have a good answer.
As I watched, the other man stood and approached the couple. The woman’s head fell forward to hide her tears, and her lover brushed a hand over her cheek. I touched my own, knowing exactly what that caress felt like. Then he handed the other man her leash. Her head stayed down as she crawled away with him. The two headed down a corridor, and my stomach turned over.
He had given her to someone else, and she had gone willingly, despite her sadness.
Throwing down my credit card, I called for my tab.
“It’s on the house,” the bartender said, pushing it back to me.
“I’ll pay.” I practically spat the words. I didn’t want to owe this place anything. Not when it was clear what was expected of women like me.
Like me.
Oh God, what had I gotten myself into?
But Smith would never.
She shrugged and started pouring another drink. “That’s expensive shit. I’d rather you paid, too, particularly if you’re going to waste it. But it’s not up to me.”
“Who is it up to?” I pressed, looking around me. I’d been sent here, admitted in, and now someone was paying for my drink. It was clear this was no longer a coincidence.
“It’s up to me,” a woman’s voice informed me.
I spun on my stool, shocked, even after recognizing her voice.
Georgia Kincaid stood there, lips pressed tightly together. She closed her eyes for a moment before motioning that I should follow her.
“You aren’t supposed to be here,” she hissed as we headed down the dark corridor the man had taken the woman down.
“Whatever.” I halted in my tracks, refusing to follow her any farther. “You’re telling me that you didn’t send me this text?” I waved my mobile at her.
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” she said in a cold voice. Her bony fingers closed over my upper arm, and she yanked me through a blue door. “What are you doing here?”
“I already told you. I got a text.” I was beginning to lose my patience with Georgia. I hadn’t had much to begin with. “What is this place?”
“Even you aren’t that dense.” Georgia shut the door and pressed herself against it. It was easier to see her in the better lighting, and my jaw dropped. She was wearing a black lace bustier and not much else. Leather straps corseted her trim waist and matched the cuffs she wore on her wrists.
I didn’t know if she was going to kill me or flog me.
“A sex club. Lovely. I knew I was overdressed.” I spun around in the room, hoping to see a sign marked ‘this way out.’
“Don’t get all prudish on me now. You can’t be too uptight if you’re fucking Smith.” Georgia sauntered past me and dropped onto a red velvet divan.
I ignored her and focused on what I really needed to be concerned about. “Why would someone send me here?”
“Maybe they want to spank your bony ass,” Georgia said dryly. Her arm curled under her head as she leaned back, exposing the tops of her nipples over the frilly strapless top of her corset.
“I’m going to need you to try to not be a twat for one minute,” I snapped. Few things made me uncomfortable in my skin, now I was in a place that made it crawl, with a person I despised. I wanted answers and then I wanted out. Immediately.
“And I need to think.” She glowered at me as she stood up and started pacing the room. “Let me see your mobile.”
“No way in hell.” I wasn’t about to give her access to the private line Smith had given me.
“Chill, princess. Show me the text.” She moved beside me, looking over my shoulder at the screen. Her breast brushed my upper arm and I jumped away. “Please calm down. I’m not trying to have my way with you.”
“I’m sorry. This place is a bit overwhelming.” An apology was in order, even if I loathed her. I had no reason to suspect she wasn’t trying to help me, and it was pretty obvious that she hadn’t been the one to send me here.
“Velvet,” she said, tapping the mobile to pull up the message’s detailed report.
“What?” I asked in confusion.
“This place is called Velvet,” she said matter-of-factly, then switched focus to the task at hand. “There’s nothing here to say who sent this to you. Do you always blindly go to places at the request of anonymous callers?”
I could tell exactly what she thought about that. “This is a private line. Only one person has the number.”
“Smith?” she guessed, and I nodded. “But that message wasn’t from him.”
“How was I supposed to know?” I’d meant to ask him at the office until we were interrupted by Hammond’s appearance. Then I’d forgotten.
“Because Smith would never send you here.” Georgia paused to let this sink in. She planted her hands on her hips. “You’ll have to tell him you came.”
“Why would he never send me here?” I asked in a small voice, completely bypassing her advice. Up until this moment, I’d been ready to leave here and never speak of it again. Now I was being told that I couldn’t.
“That’s for him to tell you,” she said, tacking on, “when he’s ready. But tell him yourself that you came.”
“And if I don’t?”
“He’s going to find out,” she warned me. “It’s up to you whom he hears it from. I suggest it comes from your lips. Since you’re fucking him, I’m certain he’s shown you a taste of his preferences. You’re not ready for real punishment yet.”
I tilted my chin up and stared her in the eye. “How do you know?”
“Because you were sitting down,” she said in measured syllables.
My knees buckled, and I fought to stay on my feet. I had to
look away from her. My gaze zeroed in on an innocuous abstract painting on the wall behind her. I focused on the strokes of black and white until I regained control over myself. “I’ll tell him,” I said finally. “But answer one question for me.”
Georgia crossed her arms over her chest. “I can’t promise you I will.”
“Has he been here?” I barely got the question past my dry tongue.
“Yes.” She held up her hand as my mouth opened again. “That’s all I’ll tell you, and I only told you because you already knew. It’s up to Smith what else he chooses to share with you. But remember this, you don’t know what secrets he keeps behind closed doors. Now I’m escorting you out of here.”
I didn’t put up a fight as she led me back to the side door. Georgia stepped onto the street beside me, despite her daring ensemble.
“Get rid of that phone,” she said quickly. “Tell Smith, and in the future, don’t be so fucking stupid.”
“I went to a club,” I retorted, feeling braver outside Velvet’s walls.
A grim smile twisted across her lips. “No, you didn’t. You walked into the lions’ den.”
The gates to Clarence House were always open for me. Except for when they weren’t. As dismal rain drizzled from the autumn sky, I explained for the tenth time who I was to the guard, who was obviously new.
“It will be on your computer,” I explained.
“Miss, you might be correct, but the royal family has been quite clear that they don’t wish to be disturbed.” He backed up a step as he informed me of this.
My eyes narrowed. He should be afraid of me. I had half a mind to climb the gate. By the time he figured out the phone system to call reinforcements, I would be long gone. Of course after the day I’d had, I would probably be arrested. Edward would love getting the call to bail me out.
Edward.
“I assume Edward is allowed in?” I asked him.
His eyebrows knit in confusion under his beret. “Prince Edward?”
“No, that vampire from the movies,” I snapped. “Of course, Prince Edward.”