by Scott, Raven
“That’s the thing that sucked the most these past two months, isn’t it, Illya? I mean, you’re a pain in the ass, but I only made it worse by demanding something you didn’t want to give me. That’s fucked up. After you nearly killed me on the ride home, I realized what the fuck’s the point of trying to set up everything the way I think it should be? It’s not like I’m fucking myself, you know? Things aren’t supposed to work like that.” I’d reached just under what little of my breasts were left when Theo sighed heavily, pausing to rub his face roughly. My job was shoddy, but I didn’t much care because a dress would be going over it, anyway. “I wish we both figured that shit out weeks ago. The interruptions are gonna fucking kill me.”
“To be honest . . . ” Arching slightly as pristine, white sheets rumpled my skin together, I cleared my throat of its hoarseness as a cold sweat broke out on my back. “I have too much shit for it all to be on you, Theo.”
“I know. I’m just sayin’ that if I was gonna cum in your mouth, what’s the point of forcing you to take your bandages off? That’s all.” My gaze snapped up at that, and Theo propped his elbows on his knees to glare at the ground without noticing how hot and bothered I was. Or, maybe, he did notice, but he just chose to ignore it in favor of having such a grave conversation. “I thought it wasn’t as big a deal as it was. I have scars, too, right, so, obviously, if I can handle it, so can you. That’s wrong. I’m sorry, Illya.”
“God!” Blinking viciously against the fierce sting in my eyes, my squawk rasped my throat, and I whipped around before Theo saw me ruining my makeup. Forcing a breath through my nose and past the dense lump in my throat, I craned my neck and shivered violently. The strain of his words settled heavily on my shoulders, and I ground my teeth as my face grew hot.
Theo’s rustling jeans sounded overly loud in my ears, and I tensed when he wrapped his arms around me to hold my hands. Taking the bandages in his right hand, he pressed his cheek against my crown, and shivers strafed my spine.
“Shit . . . shit . . . Theo . . . ” I was going to destroy what I’d spent the past half hour perfecting, and he grumbled deeply against my back. The quake eased some of the tension clinging to my ribs, and I sucked in a shaky breath before Theo tugged my bandage taut. He basically confessed his love for me— his regret, at the very least— and I knew that it very well may be the closest he ever got to actually saying the words.
What the fuck? What the fuck?
Sniffling hard as Theo worked on my bandages, I tilted my head back in a futile attempt to breathe. He kept his mouth shut, his hands steady, his lips thin against my crown, and I prayed that my makeup wasn’t smudged. Because then I’d have to start over, and if I had to start over, I was gonna . . .
“Oof.” The awkwardness in the room went from one to a hundred so fast it choked me, and I tensed as my head snapped to the door. Carlyle clearly knew what he’d interrupted even as he held up his hands in mock surrender, fake, plastic guilt stretching his smirk. “I’ll wait in the living room, I guess.”
My scars weren’t totally covered, yet, and I frowned when Carlyle turned out of the doorway to clamp his hand over his mouth tightly. Before he’d even disappeared beyond the frame, his entire face twisted with disgust, and all my warm, tingly feelings drained away.
“At least I don’t make you sick with disgust.” Rolling the bundle up my back and over my shoulder, Theo grunted lowly as I managed a trembling sigh. “I guess it really doesn’t matter for other people.”
41
Theo
I can’t fucking take it. Illya and I had such a good, good moment, and fucking Carlyle had to ruin it. The gun holstered against my hip burned through my jeans, and I wanted to fucking vomit as rage boiled my insides. Glaring at him even as two cars pulled through into the quad that served as a parking lot, I stuffed my fists into my jeans.
Not that it helped at all.
“I wonder what they’re like. Carlyle and Mateo are so different.” Illya’s mumble barely breathed the blood drumming in my ears, and I grunted lowly. My eyelid twitched with how fucking hard I glared at him, and I knew he could feel it. That dick! “Theo, it’s not a big deal.”
“I’m gonna fucking beat him until he shits himself.” At the least, Carlyle had the decency to look ashamed of himself in Illya’s apartment. He didn’t apologize, of course, but that didn’t matter. He fucking knew Illya wasn’t dressed, and he still chose to interrupt and see that shit. Rubbing my arm, she didn’t say anything more when the cars parked in front of us, and I hoovered up a massive breath in an attempt to calm myself.
I sincerely hoped that Carlyle would walk in on me blowing Illya’s back out so he could see the way a real man treats a woman with a little physical baggage.
The door behind us cracked open, and I twisted to lay eyes on Mateo for the first time in months. He wore a nice suit, but he looked older, more haggard, and wouldn’t meet my gaze as he slunk past. Obviously, he had a hard time wrestling with the reality of the situation, but at least he didn’t come outside in a stained shirt and reeking of alcohol.
Oh, the stories the maids told when they thought no one was listening. Normally, they came around twice a week to tidy up, but they had to make daily trips to Mateo’s apartment because he was such a fucking slob. I wasn’t sure how anyone could make a mess like that in just twenty-four hours, but apparently, he did.
But Mateo crawling out of his hole also meant that his father and older brother coming here wasn’t something to take lightly. Running his hand through his hair, he stood next to Carlyle but a good distance away, and I rolled my shoulders to get rid of the tension zinging through me.
A car door popped open, and I cleared my throat roughly of the expectation that clogged it. Truth be told, I expected a slender, tall guy with a few good wrinkles and a cigar hanging from his mouth.
Carlyle and Mateo’s father was tall, true— he was slender, sure— but the huge, bright smile that showed off his strong features belayed the menacing attitude I was positive he owned. His bald head shimmered in the sun, and his super expensive suit and shoes were wrinkle-free and polished to perfection. He even wore a funny tie with purple polka-dots on it, and I scanned him slowly through narrowed eyes.
“My boy!” Ignoring Mateo completely, the older man pulled Carlyle into a hug as his deep baritone crawled up the brick walls around us. Clapping Carlyle on the back, he held him by the shoulders at arm’s length to grin with pride. “I see you’re doing well.”
“Spain’s been good to you, Dad.” The old man nodded, and my brows furrowed when he turned his full attention to Mateo. Just like with Carlyle, they hugged, but there was nothing but concern etched into that sun-baked face when they parted.
“How are you, Mateo? You’ve had it hard, kid.” Mateo struggled not to cry in the face of his father’s worry, which, I guess, was more telling than any words. Cupping Mateo’s jaw, his dad stroked his cheeks, and I shared a curious glance with Illya. “We’ll talk about it later, okay? You’ll get through this. It’ll be hard, but I know you can overcome anything.”
“Yeah.” Only offering that hoarse reply, Mateo nodded curtly, and I almost felt like I was watching something I shouldn’t. Tearing my eyes off them, I focused instead on the person who stepped out of the SUV after him and rocked back on my heels. That must be Oran.
The dude was a textbook nerd upon first glance, with sleek glasses, no jacket, but he wore suspenders. However, tattoos sleeved up his arms and disappeared under his rolled shirt, the plain, white button-down thick enough to hide the ink. Oran shook hands with Carlyle but refused to look at Mateo, and dark brown eyes flickered around the courtyard.
“I see nothing about this place has changed. It still looks like a run-down college housing building.” Disdain dribbled thickly from Oran’s mouth, and Carlyle shot his little brother a snooty look. For a moment, they glared at each other, but Oran eventually cracked a smirk that barely tilted his lips before the tension snapped. “It’s good to
see you, Carlyle.”
“How’s life across the pond?” Oran shrugged his thin shoulders at the probe, and Carlyle huffed a bare laugh.
“Boring. I’m moving back. I can’t stand that fucking country anymore.” Keen eyes drifted my way, and Oran lifted his nose as he scanned me, his gaze pausing at the gun on my hip. “I see you’ve got a new guy. What happened to the last one?”
“He didn’t do his job, so I replaced him,” Oran grunted lowly at that, and his eyes turned to Illya before he decided she wasn’t worth his time. “Let’s head inside so we can discuss this issue we’ve got.”
“Right.” The father, whose name I didn’t know, popped up between his two elder sons, and my brows furrowed as confusion clung to my ribs. “Let’s head inside so we can eat. It’s been so long since we’ve gotten together. I wish your mother was here to see you all get along.”
“Tolerating each other is more what we’re doing, Dad.” Carlyle gestured to me, and my gaze ping-ponged between the three of them before I realized neither of them brought bodyguards, either. “This is Theo.”
“Wonderful!” The hairs on the back of my neck stood up when the old man strode the short distance to me, and I automatically pulled my right hand out of my pocket. He grabbed me with force I wasn’t expecting, and I clenched my jaw against the pain that rippled noticeably up my arm. His grin widened, this time accompanied with a malicious glint in his eye, and my pupils narrowed into fine points. “I’m George.”
“You’re a sociopath is what you are.” This whole fucking family was fucked up, which put them all in a perfect position to lord over us commoners. George dropped his act for the briefest second, a dry laugh bursting from his throat before he shook his head.
“You’ve got jokes. I like that.” He squeezed my hand hard, and my lips thinned as he pulled back to release my palm. My arm cramped visibly, but I beat down the pain as shrewd eyes blackened with age scanned me from top to bottom. “I think you’re a good fit for my son. Anyway, enough with the trivialities. Let’s head in and eat. I’m starving.”
I went and grabbed the door, and George hung back as his sons filed past me. When it was his turn, he shot me the most scathing, dead-eye glare possible, and my lip curled in a snarl in return.
So, the old man’s got secrets. Of course, he did. The act was convincing, and I wondered if his kids knew he couldn’t feel anything for them.
“Stay away from him, Illya.” Leaning down to mumble in her ear as she passed, I grabbed her forearm to squeeze insistently, and Illya nodded with a knowing look. Muted concern shimmered behind her fake, brown lenses, and I frowned darkly. “He’s way more fucked up than the others.”
“Yeah.” Releasing her soft skin, I held my own arm and flexed my fingers and thumb as my skin spasmed up toward my elbow. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Nodding hesitantly, Illya started off down the hallway, and I inhaled deeply to hold my breath. Exhaling slowly, I straightened my shoulders and stretched my stiff fingers a few more times on my way behind her. Whatever was about to happen, it wasn’t good.
It wasn’t good at all.
42
Illya
I nibbled at the edges of my plate, too busy watching the table out of my peripheral vision. The tension was so subtle, but I could cut it with a dull knife. I could taste the lies every time I opened my mouth, and— not for the first time— I wondered what the Hell I’d gotten forced into.
These men were brothers, but they fucking despised each other . . . or they were really good actors. Either way, it was almost impossible to breathe under all the testosterone in the air.
“So, what are we doing about this issue, Carlyle?” Glancing up from the edge of the table for the first time in almost half an hour, I tried not to stare too hard at Oran. He was clearly the kind of guy that liked to ride a motorcycle but only drinks expensive champagne off a pair of natural tits. He leaned back gracefully, propping his lean arm behind his head, and if I looked close enough, I could see his father in his face. “Obviously, the suspicion is enough. Something clearly happened to make these idiots think they could get away with this.”
“If they’re idiots for trying, what are we for being fooled for so long?” The sage question earned a gruff snort, and Carlyle set his silverware down with a soft tink as his father sighed. “It’s a smart plan, Oran, and you shouldn’t underestimate that just because it makes you look bad. Personally attacking someone because they got the better of you is distasteful.”
“I won’t know how long it’s been going on until I have your files, but it’s safe to say that it’s been a while. I only just noticed the discrepancies a few months ago, which is telling in itself. It doesn’t really matter why, either. Now that we know without a doubt, the question is, ‘how are we going to deal with it?’.” Carlyle spoke with authority, and he clasped his hands on the table to nod to himself. “Obviously, I’m going to kill them. The trick here is to avoid them doing it somehow while not raising suspicion. We can’t just drop them all, but we clearly can’t keep them involved in our business.”
“Obviously.” Jutting his chin out, Oran glared at his brother like Carlyle was an idiot himself. Nothing he said hadn’t already crossed all minds in the room. Frowning slightly under furrowed brows, I stabbed a piece of steamed broccoli in the charged silence. “Get to the point, Carlyle.”
“We’re not set to require all of them in one place until Christmas. This is the obvious route to go, but I’ve got a better idea.” This was the first time I’ve heard of this ‘better idea,’ and Carlyle glanced warily at me. “I understand that we’re not patient men. I want to get them together to ‘interview’ a new translator for me.”
The fine hairs on my neck and back stood up as Carlyle put me on the spot, and I pursed my lips thinly against my frown. His look was barely a second, but all attention was suddenly on me anyway. Setting down my fork, I straightened my shoulders and made a point to chew him out later.
“Her?” A sudden sense of caution swept through in a powerful wave, and I clenched my jaw hard at the disgust in Oran’s tone. “Why would you trus— ”
“Shut up, Oran.” Carlyle was the boss here, and Oran clamped his mouth shut as ordered even though he didn’t look happy about it. “Drop the almighty God act. Just because you’re pissed, you’re not the smartest person on Earth, and it doesn’t give you the right to be a dick. I brought her on not because I trust her, but because I believe she can get the job done. She’s a means to an end. When this is over, I’ll decide how much I trust her.”
“It’s surprising what you can find in the gutter, isn’t it?” Speaking up from directly across from me, George stared with a gaze that reminded me of dead fish eyes. Suppressing the shiver that burrowed between my shoulder blades, I hid my hands under the table, but I knew he’d seen the tremor that raked them. “It’s definitely a much speedier and stable plan than waiting for Christmas. With all those people around, it’d be a difficult thing to execute.”
“I don’t understand why you insisted we come to this shit-stain when you have it all figured out, Carly.” I held my breath as Carlyle became physically agitated at his brother’s slight, but I couldn’t take my eyes off George’s. Something in there seemed almost like familiarity as if he knew me, and I didn’t look away until he did when Carlyle stood up. Rounding the head of the table, he strode, confident and in charge, to Oran, and I jumped with a squeak of shock when he unceremoniously shoved his brother right out of his chair.
Carlyle stepped his heel on Oran’s cheek, pinning him down, and Oran didn’t try to fight it. Watching it was like watching animals scuffle for dominance, and Carlyle only lifted his Italian leather shoe when Oran went limp on the floor.
“Don’t insult me in my own home. I won’t warn you again, and you know what happens when I get pissed off.” Flapping his jacket to make his point, Carlyle walked around the rectangular table to stand behind my chair. My lungs burned with stale air, but I didn’t d
are inhale or even blink as he set his hands on the back rung. “I insisted you both come here because this was a conversation we needed to have in person. Whether or not you approve, I’m doing what I think is best. I won’t let five people call into question everything we’ve done. This will get out— that’s certain. What we can’t let happen is avoiding the ripple effects.”
“Very well said, Carlyle. We indeed need to set an example. The Syndicate will be gripped in upheaval if we don’t deal with this the right way.” The Syndicate? No one answered my silent question, and Oran sat up to adjust his glasses with his head hung low out of the corner of my eye. “Our tendrils spread far. There’s no telling what the bugs at the bottom would try if they were confident enough.”
George’s words rang through the dining room, and Carlyle nodded above my head before leaving my chair to take up his own. Finally, I managed a shallow breath, and he cleared his throat roughly before speaking up.
“So, although I have this planned, my question is this. I want to know what you think is the best way to deal with them? From what I’ve been able to gather just on my end, there’s about seven million in unaccounted money that’s been stolen. I want to know what you think is worth all that.”
“Shouldn’t we leave that to the experts? My only suggestion is that whatever we do, we live-stream it.” Goosebumps washed my arms at that flippant consideration, and Carlyle nodded firmly at his dad. “Of course, you already know that, Carlyle.”
“I do. Since this affects all of us, I wanted your opinions anyway.” The notion that Carlyle was planning something incredible that he didn’t want anyone to know about hit me right in the gut. This was all a distraction from . . . from something. Frowning under brows furrowed in confusion, I turned my stare back to the edge of the table and fiddled with the cloth that lapped over to brush my lap.