Taking Control (Kerr Chronicles #2)

by Jen Frederick

  “Have your fortunes fallen so far that you’re now begging the wait staff to warm your cold bed?”

  “Just following your example,” Howe sneers. “I hear those girls give stellar blow jobs. They’re so eager to take a step up the ladder. How’s Tiny’s mouth? Tighter than a vacuum?”

  I nearly bite my tongue in half to prevent myself from launching at him. “Every time you say her name, the cost of your redemption goes up. I don’t think you’ll be able to buy your way out of this one. In fact, I’d think twice about trying to buy anything in the near future. And by near, I’m thinking five, maybe ten years. How’s bankruptcy look in the polls these days? Think your father will win his nomination if he can’t balance the books at home? How long will Cecilia remain married to you when her cards are declined at Barney’s? Because every debt you have, I’m calling tomorrow.”

  Howe takes two steps forward, and I drop my arms to my side. He glances down to see my hands curling into fists and steps back.

  “I don’t know what you think you’ve done, but you’ll never be a Howe.”

  “That would be a great comeback if I cared about that,” I said dryly. “No one has wanted to be a Howe in a very long time.”

  His face tightens at this insult, but because he’s a coward, he turns on his heel and walks away.

  The curtain falls. I glance at my watch. Act II is about to start very soon.

  Swiftly I return to where I left Kaga and Michelle. Tiny has returned, and she looks amused. Perhaps because she knows why Kaga is interrogating Michelle.

  “Did you enjoy your little chase?” Kaga asks as I rejoin them.

  “It was a good start to the evening, but I’m not going to be satisfied until I’ve had the main course.”

  I glance over at Richard’s wife, who is glaring daggers at me.

  “She looks unhappy,” Tiny observes.

  “I think her husband may have just delivered bad news about their credit.”

  “Ouch.” She winces. “I don’t want to be with them tonight.”

  Michelle looks avidly between us, as if she is dying to ask what we’re talking about, but her own good manners prevent her from speaking.

  Ross returns before she can gather up her nerve. “Mr. Kerr, Ms. Corielli, perhaps you’d like to step up to the podium.”

  He waves his hand toward a small dais at the center of the atrium in front of the string quartet.

  Tiny gives me a questioning glance. I’ve shared most of what would happen tonight, but not all. And for a moment I feel a twinge of guilt. Perhaps another day and another event would be better suited for this. But I had to put this behind us once and for all. Not just for my sake, but for the future safety of our family.

  I lean over and kiss her on the cheek. “Trust me.”

  “I do.” She places her hand in mine and squeezes. Together we walk toward the dais. Howe is standing there.

  “What’s he doing there?” she whispers.

  “He’s the chair of the Frick Foundation,” Ross informs her. “He’ll be announcing the generous donation Mr. Kerr has made in honor of your mother.”

  “What?” She stops short and turns to me. “Ian, what?”

  “It was a surprise.” I give Ross a dark look—but then, it’s really my fault. “I made a modest gift to open up the private member gardens to the public.”

  “Modest!” Ross laughs but at my next glare, sobers up quickly. “Yes, my dear. The gardens have been available to members only, but Mr. Kerr came to us a few months ago asking if we would be interested in opening them up much like the museum is open, on a pay-as-you-can basis. The gift is substantial enough,” he gives a tight smile as if to say that he’ll call the donation whatever he wants, “to fund the renovations, maintenance, and staffing for several years. We will be naming them the Sophie Corielli Gardens.”

  Tiny gasps and then covers her mouth with both hands. Her eyes are wide, and I suppose behind her hands her mouth forms the same perfect circle.

  “A minute,” I tell Ross. He nods, his face alight with concern.

  “Certainly, Mr. Kerr. Take all the time you need.”

  I draw Tiny behind one of the pillars. We aren’t hidden, but it provides us a small measure of privacy. Sweeping my hands up to the bare flesh of her shoulders and down to the bracelet cuff, I try to rub some of the shock away.

  “I would have told you before, but I wanted it to be a surprise. I see now that was a poor idea.”

  “Months ago, Ian?” she says with a trembling voice.

  “Months.” I nod. “I knew from the minute I saw you that I wanted you. If I had to buy my way into your heart, I would. It’s my flaw, you know. I need you. And now, since you’ve foolishly fallen for me, I thought to make the donation to honor your mother. Consider it a wedding gift.”

  “Before my mother’s death?”

  “Even before then, but I upped the donation and made the naming a condition of the gift after she passed.”

  “I’m pretty angry with you right now,” she says. I brace myself, wondering how I’ll be able to talk or buy my way out of this. “Because I really, really want to reward you, and I know I’m going to have to wait.”

  I exhale in relief. “This’ll be over in less than thirty minutes, and then we’ll be in the car and I’ll make sure you come twice before we’ve passed Midtown.”

  She laughs at this. “I might hold you to that.”

  “Do. After this is all over, I’m going to need a challenge.” My smile fades then. “I’m sorry for tainting your night with the Howe business, though. I felt like this was our best chance, and I wanted to get it over with.”

  “Don’t apologize.” She brushes my cheek. “I want this as much as you. And I know my mother is probably cheering you on right this minute.”

  And what is there for me to do but kiss her until all her lipstick is smeared between us? Her mouth tastes like Scotch and Tiny—a sweet, heady brew. Her lips are lush, ripe fruit that beg for my teeth, and her tongue is a swift, darting thing inciting lust with every caress.

  A loud cough from Ross breaks us apart. Panting slightly, she points to my mouth. Whipping out my handkerchief, I wipe at my lips and cheek until she gives me a nod and wink of approval. Leaning forward I give her another kiss. After all, I’ve destroyed her lipstick already. There’s no point in restraint now.

  “Kill him,” she whispers, and it’s with her bloodthirsty words in mind that I join Howe at the dais.

  “Kind of you to join me,” Howe says tightly. “Hope this isn’t uncomfortable for you, old man.”

  “Not at all. I’m still feeling spry, given that I haven’t even reached my midthirties yet. Are you feeling poorly? Perhaps Ross has a chair for you.” I start to raise my hand to gesture for Fairchild.

  Howe tugs my arm down. He is a remarkably easy target. In my mind, he’s been built up as this soulless monster ravaging everyone around him, too dangerous for a child to attack. But I am not a child or even the orphaned teen I used to be.

  “I’m fine.” He scowls and then at a signal from his father, rearranges his face into a placid expression. “Good thing you got your check in early. Wasn’t sure if we would be able to continue with the ceremony. Did this come straight from the Kerr Inc. coffers? What would your shareholders say to that?”

  His voice is pitched low enough that only I can hear him.

  “Unlike you, Howe, I don’t need to dip into my shareholder funds. I have plenty of my own to draw from.”

  “That old canard? Is that what your father told you? That I borrowed some funds from a few portfolios?”

  “Not at all,” I counter smoothly. “I was thirteen when he died. It was you who admitted to your wrongdoing. Don’t you remember?”

  He pales, and I forge on.

  “He came to you with a request that you return some of the
funds he had lent you to cover up your embezzlement. You refused. You told him that he of all people should know that the code of the street was to eat or be eaten and that he shouldn’t have let you gobble him up.” I stare at Howe steadily as he turns ghostly white. The lilies lining the atrium have more color. “Want to know how I know this?” I ask quietly.

  It’s hard to say whether the movement of his head is a nod of affirmation or a negative shake, but I proceed on. “Because my father recorded it. I still have it.” I reach inside my jacket pocket. “Shall I play it for you?”

  Howe reaches for my hand. “Stop.” His breath is labored and sweat dots his brow. “What do you want? You told me that my credit is no good. I assume you’ve bought up my debt. What is it that you want? For me to leave Tiny alone? Done.”

  “What I want from you, Howe, is to admit your wrongdoing once and for all.” My words are barely above a whisper, but he hears every word. And so does everyone else in the audience. The buzz of the crowd has all but dissipated, but Howe doesn’t recognize this. He is too wrapped up in his own panic to be aware of his surroundings—including the fact that I don’t have a recorder. I brought a different piece of electronics with me today. It sits on the dais and I’ve just turned it on. “Confess your sins here and now, and I’ll make it right for you.”

  He nods, slowly and jerkily. “Then all will be returned to the way it was?”

  “Yes. All will be made right.”

  “Wh-what specific sins?” He licks his lips.

  “Why not start with my family? If we have time, you can recount any others you’ve done wrong.”

  “I did turn your father away, but I want you to know I’ve regretted it.”

  “Did you regret taking the money from him? Or allowing him to cover up your embezzlement? Or did you regret turning him away?”

  “All of it. It’s been eating at me.” He thumps his chest.

  “What about the people you stole money from? Do you regret that?” He’s so caught up in himself that he doesn’t notice anything beyond his own nose. Not the changing expressions of the crowd. Not his mother turning pasty white. Not his father trying to charge toward the platform to stop the destruction of their family. Kaga holds him back.

  “Y-yes.” When he doesn’t say anything further, I take a menacing step forward. He starts talking again. “I regret taking the money from my clients.”

  “Is that why your father’s funds are so depleted now? Why he’s had to rely on his friends for so many big donations? Do they know he’s not matching them with his own funds because he’s covering up your mistakes?”

  He shakes his head. “It’s an expensive lifestyle we lead.” He grabs for me, but I move away from him. I don’t want his filthy hands on me. He loses his balance and grabs the podium. “You know this.” He raises his voice even higher. “You know this!”

  “I’ve earned every penny I’ve spent,” I respond. “Can you say the same?”

  In an instant, his pale face turns red with anger. “Your golden goose is cooked. I made sure of that. Kerr Inc. isn’t going to be controlled by you much longer, and then how many things will you be able to buy yourself and your whore?”

  I might have swung at him if not for Tiny’s hand at my back. She’s right behind me, telling me with her touch that I should go on and not deviate from the plan.

  “What else have you done? Tell me,” I command.

  He’s too angry now to watch what he’s saying. “I’ve fucked women for their money. Is that what you want to hear? That I’ve taken advantage of old hag socialites to get their accounts and slept with daughters to ruin their fathers?” he sneers. “This dick has stuck more women in the city than a porn star in the Valley. And I’ve made more money doing it. I don’t need you,” he says, straightening and trying to gain composure. “There’s a hundred stupid women out there right now whose dickless husbands can’t get it up. You offer to eat them out, and they’re all too willing to open up their checkbooks as well as their legs. Easy pickings.”

  Complete silence is in the room now. His mother has disappeared and his father has quit fighting. He, unlike Richard, has realized that it’s all over for the Howe family. Cecilia is gone. I haven’t seen her for quite some time. I don’t know when she left.

  “Easy, is it?” I peruse the crowd. Howe is still bloviating. “You know what your problem is, Howe? You have no imagination. You aim low and achieve low.”

  “Fuck you,” he grunts. “I’m Richard Howe. I can trace my descendants back to people who rubbed shoulders with Henry Clay Frick himself. You could have aligned yourself with me. My father could have put you in a position of power. Your mother didn’t even know how to dress herself when she married Duncan Kerr. And now, blood tells, because you went and tied yourself to an illiterate bike messenger. How stupid can you be?”

  “Not so stupid that I say indiscreet things when there’s a hot mic in front of me.” I tap the microphone and the thump thump reverbs back. It’s almost as satisfying as hitting Howe in the face. Almost, but not quite.

  So I turn and punch him right in the mouth so that the flesh of his lips is pushed hard against the line of his teeth. He stumbles back off the dais. No one helps him, and he falls to his knees. I jump down beside him. The crowd is rushing toward us, scenting blood. No matter how rarified the air, everyone loves a fight.

  “I’m tired of you insulting my fiancée, who on her worst day is smarter than you’ll ever be. Unlike you, she doesn’t have to prostitute herself to make a living. Unlike you, she’s not a whore.”

  The crowd collectively inhales. Rather than concede that he’s been beaten, Richard, because he’s a dumb animal, strikes out. “Like your mother? Because she tried to sell herself to me. That’s where I got the idea that these stupid bitches could be screwed out of their money and into submission.”

  I shake my head. “You’d think you’d shut up while you could, but no.”

  I punch him again, and he goes down. This time his nose is bleeding as well as the corner of his mouth. Someone—Kaga, I think—shoves a handkerchief at me to wipe away the blood on my hands. But I don’t want to wipe it away. The sight of his blood ignites a fire inside me. All the hate and rage I’ve stored up against him is roaring, and the blood is fanning the flames. Red is all I see.

  Howe scrambles back as I stride toward him. Like a scuttling crab, he moves backward until he hits a chair and then a potted plant and then a wall of people. There’s nothing more that I want to do than pick up a chair and bash his head in until he’s not able to talk again. Not able to breathe again.

  I’m reaching for the back of a cloth-draped chair when a small hand presses against my arm. “It’s done. Don’t waste your time with that animal.” It’s Tiny, and the rage recedes slightly at her words.

  “He needs to pay,” I say through gritted teeth.

  “He has. He will. Look around you,” she urges.

  The yoke of revenge and hatred still weighs me down. With great effort, I lift my head. The crowd has gathered close, and on their faces I see shock, dismay, and even some satisfaction . . . which so easily could turn if I press too hard. His father is in the grip of Kaga. I ease back.

  “Mr. Fairchild,” I say loudly, trying to regain my composure. A handkerchief is offered again. In fact, not just one but several are being offered. This is a gesture of support, and I’d be stupid—stupid as Howe—if I didn’t take it. I see one being offered by Kitty McFarland, a scion of the community. “Thank you.” I bow my head in a courtly gesture.

  She gives me a grim smile. “You look like you need it, son.”

  “I do. Fairchild,” I repeat. “I think we’re ready for that announcement. Since Mr. Howe is indisposed, perhaps you can do the honors.”

  “Of course! If everyone would gather over here by the dais, I would love to share the generous donation that Ian Kerr has made to the Fri
ck Foundation to benefit the citizens of New York City.”

  I take Tiny’s hand and walk toward the dais. Behind me I hear a scuffle, and we both turn back. Richard is being forcibly helped to his feet by two brawny young servers. They begin to drag him out of the atrium with Kaga directing. I give Kaga a nod of appreciation and he returns it.

  Turning back, I wrap my arm around Tiny and draw her close.

  “Does it hurt?”

  “My hand?”

  She nods.

  “Yes, because I only got to punch him twice. It would hurt a lot less if I had gotten to hit him at least ten more times.”

  “I think the pain will lessen with each day. Didn’t you once tell me that?” She’s referring to her mother, and hell, maybe she’s referring to mine too.

  “And was I right?”

  “You were. But this is the only time I’ll admit it.”

  “Good enough for me.”

  We stand there then and listen to Fairchild extol the virtues of Sophie Corielli, the mother I had gained for a short time and then lost. But she left me her most prized creation, and that was a bigger gift than any monetary contribution I could ever provide. My arm tightens around Tiny’s shoulders, and she leans into me, placing a hand over my chest.

  “I love you, Ian Kerr.”

  “I love you, soon-to-be Victoria Kerr.”

  CHAPTER 25

  Our lovemaking that night is more tender than fierce, as if we are both comforting each other.

  “We’re going to make a baby tonight,” I swear as I thrust slowly inside her.

  “Is that right?” She smiles at me, a wicked thing full of naughty promise. Her arms are stretched high above her head, and she undulates slowly beneath me, enjoying the slippery friction of our bodies moving against each other.

  Her eyes are half-lidded, weighed down by desire. Through the curtain of her lashes, I see the glow of her eyes. It’s a heady mixture of love and lust, of want and need, of passion and promise. Each stroke of my steel-hard desire is met with her own driving fervor.

  “That’s right.” Bending forward, I capture a jutting nipple in my mouth and am rewarded with an arched back and a breathy moan. With one arm, I gather her more closely to me so that she is nearly suspended, pinned to the bed by my rutting cock. “I’m obsessed with you,” I confess, panting slightly. The hold of her snug walls on my cock makes it hard to think. I want to just fall on her and plunge repeatedly into her soft core until my shaft explodes in a mania of pleasure. “I can’t stop thinking about you or wanting you. Everything I do now and forever will be for the sole purpose of making sure that you are fucking satisfied in every way.”