He shrugged. “Suicide is the logical end to the traitor’s tale. They wouldn’t have to explain why no charges were brought, and yet they would neither have to brief Scotland Yard on my affiliations nor apply unexplained pressure not to pursue charges against me. If I committed suicide as a traitor, it would stop the hunt for my networks cold. Everyone else would be safe.”
Gen backpedaled. She would have scrambled backward out of the chair had the plane’s fuselage not been behind her. “No. No, they can’t do that. We don’t do that.”
He was still so serious, so intense. His silvery eyes sharpened to diamond-hard resolve. “Someone has to be the sacrifice, Gen. This is my final duty to them, one I promised long ago. I’m begging you to go on, to find someone to love, and to live your life.”
He was saying the same things as the night before. “You’ve known this all along. That’s why you gave Ruckus to me. Otherwise, you would have taken him with you.”
He shook his head. “I didn’t know until this morning. I suspected. I knew it might be an option. I still don’t know—”
“Because they were being British and not saying what they meant,” she said, the words bitter in her mouth.
Arthur continued, “—but yes, I think so. I’m still not sure. I think they’re going to ask for the ultimate sacrifice from me: to lose everything, to be branded a traitor, and to lay down my life, and I will do it. Others will live. My assets and others will continue to trust their handlers, to trust that any of them would do the same for their assets. Thus, Britain will go on.”
“The whole country can’t depend on you.” She wasn’t sure. “Can it?”
“Everything is precarious, especially now. I don’t know what will bring it all down. No one knows what could break it all.”
She told him, “Surely you’re worth more to them alive than if you were dead.”
He shook his head. “Not anymore.”
Gen clung to his hands. Her eyes burned, but she didn’t let the tears fall. “It’s not fair.”
“It’s not, but we have another day or two. I didn’t think we would have any more time at all. Let’s savor every moment.”
What Maxence Knows
ARTHUR sat in a seat on Casimir’s airplane, looking out the window as the eastern coast of the United States slid over the blue water far below. Spending his last few days away from English soil seemed like an additional insult, but he would bear that, too.
Gen was in the rear part of the airplane somewhere, freshening up.
Casimir lowered himself into the seat beside Arthur. He said, “Wulfram finally answered his phone. He says he’s in New Jersey and flying home tonight.”
Arthur chuckled. “New Jersey? What’s he doing there?”
“He didn’t say.”
“Hardly surprising.”
“Anyway, he said that he wouldn’t be able to meet us tonight, but he has been following your case. He said that he would like to meet with you tomorrow morning to discuss your finances.”
Arthur supposed he could take a few minutes to discuss that minutiae.
Actually, the money from his mother wasn’t entangled with the earldom and Spencer House. He’d been siphoning it off for years for the earldom, but surely his inheritance from his mother would be considered separate property.
A glimmer of an idea caught fire in his head.
“Yes,” Arthur said, “I need to meet with Wulfram about finances.”
Casimir said, “He said that he will have someone let us in tonight so that we can hide out there. It is the perfect place to be unseen. Like Las Vegas, in that respect.”
“But it’s Wednesday. No one should need to let us in.” Arthur turned in his seat to look over the tables surrounded by seats. “Hey, Max! What’s the Wednesday night schedule at the Devilhouse?”
“Private appointments. The nightclub is closed on Wednesdays,” Maxence called back, not looking up from his e-reader, and then he did look up and scowled at Arthur. “At least it was, I vaguely recall.”
Arthur laughed and turned back to Casimir, who was shaking his head and repressing a chuckle. Casimir asked, “Why do you do that to him?”
Arthur chuckled. “Because my biological brother is a witless fucking cocksplat, so I have to torture you two.”
Safe Haven
GEN was riding beside Arthur in the second row of another black SUV as it cruised through the city streets.
The sky was darkening in the East. On the western side of the horizon, a sunset blazed like Hell was gaping open, fountaining molten stone into the sky. The buildings cast long, purple shadows, and the glass of the SUV’s window was hot against her fingers even though it was only the first week of April.
Felt like home in Texas, sort of.
This city looked a little more Southwestern than a Texan city, though, closer to a Californian one. The buildings were newer than in Texas. Gravel and cacti filled the open spaces, scarcely distinguishable from the sidewalks. Texas had more greenery and humidity.
The air was desert-dry, parching her sinuses and lips even inside the SUV. Saguaro cacti jutted from the dusty earth in every xeriscaped patch, and empty fields released beige dust clouds into the air.
“Where are we going?” Gen asked Arthur.
“You didn’t tell her?” Maxence asked him.
“We’re here,” Arthur said.
They turned off the dim desert street into an oasis.
The SUV’s headlights cut bright swaths out of the darkness. After the harsh desert during the drive, the lush grass and trees in the park-like area looked like they must be sucking all the available water for miles around.
At the end of the driveway, a white plantation house came into view, lit by spotlights. The windows were all dark, even the lobby area up front. Lights planted in the cement on the porch lit the white columns and tall front doors.
“Are you sure we’re expected?” Gen asked Arthur.
Arthur frowned. “Caz?”
Casimir checked his phone. “Wulfram said that Jeffrey will escort us inside. We’re to meet him at the back door.”
The driver wheeled the SUV around to a huge, empty parking lot. One car was parked in a pool of light beside the back door.
Yellow sodium lights blazed on tall poles in the parking lot, and even in their jaundiced light, Gen could see that concern creased Arthur’s forehead. “Maxence?”
Maxence had been sitting in the third seat in the rear of the SUV, and he was leaning forward. “I’ve never seen it like this. Even on Mondays, when it’s is supposed to be closed, people are around, like cleaning and security staff, and people doing paperwork.”
Casimir said, “We were just out here a few months ago. Wulfram didn’t say anything about shutting it down.”
Maxence settled back in his seat while the driver parked. “This is highly unusual.”
The security guy driving relayed that information to the rest of the staff. Highly unusual was always concerning.
SUVs carrying the rest of the security guys pulled into parking spots around theirs.
Arthur stepped out of the SUV first and turned to hold Gen’s hand as she hopped down from the high vehicle.
The walls in the back of the building were built from cement and block, more industrial than the plantation-house facade on the front. A loading dock backed up to a rolling steel door. Security video cameras poked out from under the roof’s eaves.
On the back side of the building, a door opened. A man standing in the doorway motioned to them to come in. Even from three parking places away, Gen could see that his bulging arms strained the blue oxford shirt he wore, and the top of his head was rather near the top of the door frame.
“Hello!” the man called as they walked closer. “I’m Jeffrey Jackson. The boss said I should expect Casimir van Amsberg and Arthur Severn for the night.”
Casimir and Arthur raised their hands, signaling who they were.
Jeffrey surveyed the rest of them. “Mr. Grim
aldi, nice to see you again.”
Maxence’s shoulders slumped. “Nice to see you, too, Jeffrey.”
“Follow me, please.” He walked into the dark hallway and opened another, inner door with a keycard.
Maxence turned back to his security staff. “Just like usual. I’m not sure how long we’ll be staying, so take rooms at the hotel.”
Casimir gestured to his guys, too. “Go with them. I’ll check in tomorrow.”
The black-clad commandos returned to their SUVs and shone the headlights at the door, waiting.
Gen caught Arthur’s hand. In the light shining from in the inner hallway, Arthur’s slight smile didn’t look concerned at all, but she had believed him when he had said that he wasn’t a spy so many damn times, too. He was a skilled liar.
The hallway beyond that door was well-lit and nicer, like an office with clean tile under Gen’s shoes.
The guy, Mr. Jeffrey Jackson, led them through to the next corridor. When he raised his hand to show them where to walk, a golden wedding ring glinted on his dark skin.
Inside he said, “So, the boss told me that you guys are in a pickle, and you left England with nothing more than the clothes on your backs.”
Arthur laughed. “It was an abrupt exit.”
Gen bobbled her head. “We really appreciate your help.”
“Luckily,” Jeffrey said, “we’re equipped pretty well for harboring fugitives. I never really thought about it, but we have everything you need. There’s clothes, facilities, a stocked kitchen, and bedrooms for the night.”
Maxence laughed at that last part and tugged on his black shirt with the square, ecclesiastical collar.
Jeffrey grinned at him. “And rooms other than bedrooms, if you’re into that sort of thing.”
Maxence peered down the corridor, his dark curls swiveling around his head. “Anybody else around?”
“Nope. Sorry, Max.”
“That’s unusual.” He shoved his hands in his black pants’ pockets and rocked on his toes.
“Yeah, there’s a labor thing going on,” Jeffrey said.
Gen looked at Arthur, and they both raised their eyebrows at the easy conversation taking place.
Maxence’s eyebrows twitched. “Everyone seemed to like working here. Seemed like a positive environment.”
“Yeah, well, I can’t comment, but the boss was always well-liked and respected. Benefits were good. But some things changed.”
“I could dissect that statement for hours,” Maxence said.
“Yeah, and I can’t comment any more than that.”
“Then I won’t pry.”
Gen didn’t know what to make of this whole conversation, but Arthur was watching Maxence and Jeffrey banter. His blue-silver eyes sparkled with glee.
Jeffrey said, “Thanks, Max. Now, let’s get you folks set up. You eaten?”
“We ate dinner on the plane,” Casimir told him.
“Okay, good. The boss said to check on you, and he said that there’s all kinds of stuff in the restaurant kitchen if you want. Max can show you where it is. Hey, Max, there’s some of that Tuscan Tomato soup you like in there.”
Arthur turned to Maxence. “I must say, old chap, I’m impressed.”
Max looked down at his shoes like he was hoping for the ground to open up below his feet and swallow him. “Look, it’s not like that.”
Gen bit her lip. She might not know exactly what kind of a place they were at, but from their conversation, she could totally guess.
Casimir said, “And just a few months ago, you were so reticent about coming here. Now, it looks like you’ve become a regular.”
Maxence said, “I’m not ‘a regular.’ It’s not like that.”
Arthur laughed and wrapped his arms around Gen’s shoulders. He said to Maxence, “Of course, it’s not like that. But, I say, as long as we’re here, Genevieve, we might as well make ourselves comfortable.”
“Good God, I’m afraid to ask what that means,” she said.
“It means that there’s an excellent wine cellar here, clothes to change into if you’d like to freshen up, and facilities, so to speak. I call the blue room. Mr. Jackson, we’re evidently in the staff area, and I have no idea where we are. Could you lead us to the lobby? Caio, guys.”
Arthur followed Mr. Jackson, who led them farther into the building.
Gen glanced back at Casimir and Maxence, who were standing in the hallway.
Casimir was staring warily at Maxence.
Maxence asked Casimir, “Do you want to try something truly spectacular?”
Casimir hopped sideways, away from him. “Don’t look at me, dude. I’m married. And for the love of God, you’re going to be a priest!”
Maxence glanced upward as if Heaven would save him. “I meant the soup. You should try the Tuscan Tomato soup. It is phenomenal.”
At the Devilhouse
GEN and Arthur followed Jeffrey Jackson, whom Arthur told her was the head of security at wherever they were, into the winding corridors of the huge building.
With just a few turns, she wasn’t sure what direction they were heading, and she wasn’t entirely sure that the hallways crossed at square angles. Sometimes the turns felt too narrow or too wide in the white halls.
“This is the staff’s area,” Jeffrey told them as they passed doors. “Here’s the staff women’s spa, through there.” He motioned toward a dark, wooden door. “There are showers and everything you’ll need in there. Soap, shampoo, all of it. One of the drawers has a bunch of new toothbrushes. If you go through to the back, there’s a wardrobe room past it with clothes racks. Some of them might be suitable for you. I wouldn’t know. I’m a married man. Men’s is that way,” he said to Arthur. “I’ll show you guys to the blue room, which is Play Room Five, and then I have to take off. If you need anything,” he handed Arthur a card, “just call.”
Jeffrey led them past more doors that opened to other rooms.
Okay, as a lawyer, even just a pupil barrister, Gen had seen lots of things.
Criminal things.
Civil things.
Some really weird things.
One of her cases was an injury case where a guy got a doll stuck up his bunghole and was suing the woman who had shoved it there for cruelty and lewd actions. Luckily, the woman had a video of the man begging her to do it.
Another lawsuit was a breach of contract suit where a man and a woman had signed some bizarre contract they had cooked up where he gave up all his rights, including his human rights under the Geneva Convention even though that only pertains to prisoners of war, not sexual partners. He contended that the woman was not beating him hard enough, as per the contract.
On that one, Octavia had stood before the judge and jury and said, essentially, “May it please the court, there are words on the piece of paper. There are signatures on the piece of paper. Do what you will with this one. I got caught by the cab rank rule and was obligated to take the case. For the love of God, will someone please make me a QC so that I don’t have to fight dreck like this?”
While Gen had seen all that in court and more, when she peeked through the open doors along the corridor, what was in these rooms shocked her.
The first couple of rooms looked like dungeons out of the Middle Ages, complete with weird torture devices, racks, stretching things, bars with cuffs on the ends, and a glass case full of whips.
Oh, wow. Okay. As Gen had suspected, this place was a sex club, the crazy kind of sex club that was whispered about but never seen.
The next room had ropes hanging from the ceiling like vines, so many of them. It looked like a creepy jungle in there, and they were all swaying gently in the air conditioning like they were alive and undulating. Gen’s skin crawled with the thought of them slithering over her.
When she paused, Arthur looked back and quipped, “Why does it always have to be snakes?”
She cracked up. “Tell me we’re not going to a room like that.”
“Oh, no,” h
e said. “Much worse.”
“Oh, my God. I can’t imagine.”
Ahead of them, Jeffrey chuckled as he walked. “Here’s Play Room Five. Good luck, people. I’ll see you in the morning when I deliver breakfast. Text me what you want.”
Arthur handed the card to Gen. “I seem to have misplaced my phone.”
Gen snorted. Yeah, misplaced. Must be that British understatement thing again.
She glanced at the card.
Mr. Jeffrey Jackson
Head of Security
The Devilhouse
The Devilhouse?
Gen whisper-shouted, “This place is called the Devilhouse?”
Jeffrey was quick to hold up his hands. “It’s nothing Satanic. The local university mascot here is the Golden Devils, and so it’s a reference to that. And it sounds imposing or threatening.” He widened his dark eyes and waggled his fingers to denote spooky things.
Gen said to Arthur, “When I said I was devilling for Violet Devereaux at the Devilhouse—”
Arthur was biting his lip and grinning.
“—you thought,” Gen shook out her hands, “—you thought I was working someplace like here?”
“In my defense, I didn’t believe it,” Arthur said.
“You thought I was working at a BDSM club?”
Arthur laughed out loud. “I didn’t believe it! I was shocked.” He said to Jeffrey, “I was particularly shocked because she suggested that there was a Devilhouse franchise in London, and I hadn’t been informed.”
“Oh, we would have told you three about it,” Jeffrey assured him. “You always go for the easy money of repeat customers, first.”
Arthur said to him, “You can see why I was dismayed.”
Jeffrey laughed, too. “Anyway, Play Room Five is right here.”
Another door on the side of the corridor led to yet another room. A 5 was nailed to the door.
Gen steeled herself and walked inside, expecting extreme examples of perversion, perhaps something that needed to be hosed down afterward.
Hard Liquor: Runaway Billionaires: Arthur Duet #2 Page 24