It was close to five, and the streets were rammed with pedestrians heading for the underground. Roads heralded gleaming black taxis, which swerved to collect new fares, the vehicles’ solid bodies more like a tank than a streamlined car. Businessmen and women in sharp suits and carrying expensive briefcases walked amongst beggars sleeping against doorways and buskers singing out their souls for the price of a chocolate bar.
It was a sight that never failed to energize her, to revitalize her. But it was one she knew that Londoners failed to appreciate.
This was their life, after all.
Only an outsider could enjoy it and find pleasure in the frenetic energy zipping around the streets.
When they reached Rossi’s, she found a space and parked. When she rounded the car to meet up with Devon, he reached for her hand as they checked out oncoming traffic, and together, darted to the other side.
Rossi’s had a rush on. People seeking coffee and a small snack for the journey home after a long workday meant the line was crazy, but she headed into the seating area, where armchairs and low tables were a welcome respite for her.
She liked it here. Had found it on her first week in London all those years ago, and she’d watched it transform from what the Brits knew as a greasy spoon—purveyor of all things fried to the masses—to a smart and snazzy coffee shop that served the best waffles this side of the Atlantic.
Their hands tucked inside one another’s, she dragged Devon deeper into the café. Her favorite table was in the corner, and it looked out onto the road.
When she reached it, she froze, coming to a halt at the sight before her. Her favorite spot seated three, at the most. But six armchairs had been dragged together, clustered around a table, as Sean, Andrei, Kurt, and Sawyer all sat there. Looking smart and sexy, unruffled even as they dove into plates of triangle-cut sandwiches, there was a panini thrown in amid the mix here and there, and a dish of salad that was being ignored. They even had a whole Victoria sponge cake in the center, with a tray of tea amid the chaos.
Devon shot her a look as he pressed his hand to the base of her spine. The warmth acted as a shield against unnecessary hurts, which was only strengthened as he told her, “You never have to be alone now, Sascha.”
Though she’d wanted that when she’d left the house, solitude and a chance to catch her breath, seeing them here had tears burning her eyes. Devon raised their joined hands to his lips, and in a gesture that stunned her, pressed his mouth to her knuckles.
She tightened her fingers around his, and then whispered, “How did they know?”
“We said we’d meet here,” he told her easily.
“You shepherded me here,” she said, a little accusatorily.
His smile was, of course, unapologetic. “You needed us. You just didn’t need to be at the house.”
Before she could do more than bite her lip, Sawyer called out, “Lass, if you want some of this food, you’d best get here now before Kurt scoffs the lot.”
She had to stop biting her bottom lip then, because a smile instantly appeared when Kurt bitched, “You’ve eaten twice as much as me.”
Devon tugged her forward, ignoring the bickering as he bulldozed through it. “You’re safe with us, Sascha.”
She let out a shuddery breath, knowing that to be the complete and utter truth.
Sawyer eyed him as he carved out a piece of cake for himself. “You won’t sleep if you eat that.”
“I don’t sleep anyway,” he retorted, a child-like glee filling him at the sight of the huge slice of jam and cream sandwiched between two pillowy sponge cakes.
Sugar, Sawyer had decided years ago, was Devon’s enemy. It was the reason he was rude and antisocial, why he had insomnia and… Well, the list went on.
Sugar was the root of all sins to the man he considered a brother, and because Sawyer had it hard enough keeping Devon on the straight and narrow, he usually ceded to the bland saccharine-sweetened crap Sawyer handed him.
Not today, though.
Sawyer grumbled at his reply, but Sascha’s hand came to rest on his knee. She kneaded the muscles of his thigh. “We’ll get you to sleep tonight.”
That meant she’d sleep with him.
Triumph roared through him, and it startled Devon to realize that her gentle touch, her soft words, meant more to him than wading through his current workload.
The notion had his head jerking to the side in surprise. She noticed, of course, her gaze catching his, and her fingers tightening on his thigh.
He placed the plate on the table, and with his left hand, grabbed hers. When their fingers knit together, something inside him settled, and he forked up the cake, letting the first bite go to her rather than him.
Her lips curved in a soft smile as she opened her mouth, and he carefully placed the tines between her teeth. Most men wouldn’t find feeding her to be as dangerous as strolling across a minefield, but most men didn’t have Devon’s attention span.
Watching her eat had uncomfortable things happening below his waist, but he was used to that in her presence, and he ignored his burgeoning erection as he focused on not scratching her with the fork.
He was usually hard when she was about. Even recently, though she’d stopped wearing her tight pencil skirts, Sascha in yoga pants packed the same punch as the porn stars in the flicks he and Sawyer had watched as horny teenagers.
Sean cleared his throat. “Devon.”
He blinked. “Yes?”
“Control yourself.”
Sawyer snorted. “Like that was ever going to work. Since when does telling him to behave get him to behave?”
“Control myself how?” Devon scowled. “I’m not a dog.”
“Wish you were. Dogs are obedient.”
Andrei chuckled, pointed at Devon’s lap. “We’re in the window seat, Dev. Kids are around. They don’t need to see your hard on.”
“My fly is zipped,” he retorted, peering down at the admittedly large bulge as he stuck the fork upright in the cake. “It’s not like they can see anything. Plus, they shouldn’t be looking at my crotch if they don’t want to see a penis.”
Sascha coughed out a laugh and covered her mouth. “How do you do it?”
“How do I do what?” he asked, perplexed. His eyes bugged as a thought came to him. “Get an erection?” Did she not know? he thought, wildly.
She snickered then blew out a deep breath as she fingered a few crumbs on the plate in front of her. “No, silly. Make me laugh when I feel like the whole world is going to hell. Nothing is what it was before I met you guys. I’m not even Sascha anymore. I’m this Eloisa chick.”
He blinked at her somber statement, then racked his brain. “Why’s the world going to hell?” Had he missed something in the news? It wouldn’t be the first time, nor would it be the last. Still, even when he missed important bulletins, life had a habit of carrying on around him. Wasn’t like it needed his input for that to happen.
Sean sighed. “Devon, for God’s sake. Get with the program. Someone’s tried to hurt her.”
“Not hurt,” Andrei corrected grimly. “Kill her. She’s entitled to be shaky.”
Sawyer elbowed Andrei in the side. “Great going, arsehole.”
Sascha shook her head. “He’s right, Sawyer. There’s no point in prettying it up. My life now belongs in a Martina Cole novel. It’s official.”
Kurt snorted. “That’s Andrei’s life.”
Andrei frowned. “Who’s Martina Cole?”
“She writes novels about gangland London.”
The Russian growled. “I’m not in a gang.”
“No. Your grandfather just runs one of the biggest Bratva organizations in Russia,” Sawyer retorted, but his voice was low.
“That’s him. Not me. And he’s retired now.”
Like that made it better.
Sascha bit her lip. “We really need to not mention that in front of my dad. You know, the cop?”
Sean stifled a grin. “Don’t worry. We won’t
.”
We.
That one word had him settling down inside. It always had. Probably always would.
When he’d heard Henry talking to Sascha, her father explaining the truth of her past, Devon had known, instinctively, that she’d run.
Strange how he’d known that when he rarely understood people. He just knew that he’d run when he’d found his mom lying in the bathroom, her wrists sliced from the base of her hand to her forearm—so there was no mistaking that her attempt wasn’t a cry for help.
It had been no attempt at all.
He’d found her that way and had run. And run and run.
Why wouldn’t Sascha?
Her mother had been murdered. Her father, too, and she’d been shuffled off to America by a member of the staff. And now, she was back in London, where her biological father’s family had discovered her existence once more… A family who apparently wanted her dead.
“Do we think Edward knows anything about her?” Sean asked, out of the blue. Almost like his thoughts were on track with Devon’s, which was an impossibility.
If anyone could keep up with Devon, it was Sawyer, and even he was usually a few steps behind.
Devon’s brain was like the Victoria sponge cake. Layers within layers. Each one individually processing a subject that mattered.
The thickness of the layer represented how much attention he gave something.
Rather pleased at the analogy, he was determined to use it on Sascha when she tried to understand how his brain worked.
He wasn’t sure why she wanted to know, but she asked him odd questions. Queries that told him she wanted to understand him, and because no one had ever wanted to do that before, he wanted to please her in return.
“I doubt it,” Andrei said roughly. “At least, I hope not. Why would Edward know about Sascha?”
A few days after Sascha had been knocked over by a car, she and Andrei had been due to attend a gala where Andrei was the keynote speaker. Edward Jacobie, a recent client of Andrei’s as well as the founder of a tech company that had taken over the globe, a man who was also Sascha’s nephew now her ancestry was known, had been invited to introduce Andrei to the masses.
That gala had never happened thanks to a bomb blast. The capital was still reeling from the terrorist attack.
“How much time was there between you RSVP’ing the event with Sascha as your guest and her being targeted?”
Devon’s words cut through the conversation like the knife had sliced through the cake.
Sean sighed. “He has a point.”
“When doesn’t he?” Kurt grumbled.
Andrei ran a hand through his hair, disheveling the white blonde locks he kept neatly cut close to his head. “I RSVP’d the night before the accident.”
“Edward Jacobie’s security teams would be in the know of all the changes to the guest list.” Devon shrugged. “It’s their job to know these things and to run security checks.”
“But he’s a billionaire, dammit. Why would he be interested in Sascha?”
“Because his mother’s a murderer?” Kurt said dryly. “That’s a nasty family secret. People have killed to cover up smaller secrets.”
“Have you met Elizabeth Jacobie?” Devon asked Andrei, who shook his head.
“I’ve met Louisa, his sister, but only because she’s his PA. I only realized she was his sister recently.”
Devon nodded, remembering that conversation—Andrei had been displeased by the idea he hadn’t known Louisa’s real identity.
“She’s a shadow,” Sawyer said softly, stirring milk into his tea, making the silver spoon tinkle against the porcelain.
“What do you mean?” Sean asked, frowning at Sawyer.
He, Andrei, and Sawyer had visited Jacobie’s home and had discovered their first tie between Sascha and the Jacobie family—a black and white photograph of a woman who was the spitting image of their partner. A woman they’d come to learn was Sascha’s grandmother.
“Didn’t you notice when we were there? Jacobie dismissed her. She didn’t like it. Her mouth pursed at the dismissal.”
“She’s a PA. She’s supposed to be in the background,” Kurt argued, slouching back in his armchair.
Sawyer shrugged. “Maybe. But she doesn’t have to like it, does she?”
Sascha blew out a breath. “This is all very informative, but what do we do?”
Devon blinked in surprise at the odd question. “Sean’s called the police, Sascha.”
“He has?” She gawked at him. “Why didn’t you say?”
“Wasn’t it obvious?” Devon asked. “One of the family is a murderer, and the others are undoubtedly involved in the conspiracy. Why wouldn’t we involve the police?”
Sascha raised shaky hands to her forehead. Rubbing at her temple, she asked, “So, they’re in custody now?”
“Have been since this afternoon.” Kurt shot Sean and Andrei a look, but Devon knew why.
Henry had explained the situation to them first before he’d told Sascha.
“They’re probably out on bail by now,” Sascha said bitterly. “That’s even if they’ve been charged.”
Sean shook his head. “I’d have heard. Plus, they’re under investigation,” Sean corrected Kurt. “The police are investigating the murders of your parents, Sascha, and also trying to determine if anyone aside from Elizabeth Jacobie is involved.”
“Like her daughter,” Sawyer inserted gruffly.
“That means shit,” she snapped. “I’m in as much danger as I was before. With no proof, there’s no way they can arrest them.”
“Your dad gave us some,” Sean said softly.
Sascha gasped. “What?”
He shrugged. “We talked about this with him earlier. He overheard us discussing your situation, and demanded to know what was going on.”
“W-What evidence?” she asked, her bottom lip trembling.
“You don’t want to know, Sascha,” Kurt said softly, reaching over to squeeze her hand.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” she snapped, pulling her hand away. “I need to know. You’ve kept this from me. All of it. Kept me out of the loop, and if anyone should have known what the fuck was going on, it’s me!”
Her voice was raised, enough for a silence to permeate the still busy coffee shop, and for all eyes to turn their way. She positively vibrated with the tension strumming through her, and Devon gently squeezed her fingers, wanting her to know he was there for her.
When she made no other outbursts, disinterest soon followed from the café’s patrons. But, all the while, Sascha’s eyes had been caught by Sean’s. The two of them were staring at one another like they had a line of electricity connecting them, one that couldn’t be ruptured.
“Tell me,” she said softly, when the regular hush of the café returned.
“There’s a safety deposit box with files in it. Your biological father stored the information there in case you were ever in danger again.”
She rubbed her head once more. “Why has this crazy woman targeted me again? I was no threat to her.”
“Sweetheart,” Sawyer told her softly, his brogue thick. “You don’t seem to be understanding the gravity of the situation. When you were born, you became an heir to the Jacobie estate. That estate was used to fund Edward Jacobie’s corporation—that’s public knowledge. Everyone says he had a silver spoon in his mouth from birth, and they’re not wrong. But that means, whatever percentage the family plowed into his business, half is yours.”
She swallowed thickly. “B-But…”
“It’s worth billions, Sascha,” Andrei filled in gently. “There are a billion reasons why Elizabeth Jacobie would find your existence a threat.”
“But she didn’t know it was me! I have a different name! My dad said I was called Eloisa Jacobie. There couldn’t be more of a difference between that and Sascha Dubois.”
Devon tutted. “Sascha, you saw that picture the other day, sweetheart. That’s your grandmother, rem
ember?”
“You look like doppelgangers,” Kurt said softly. “A basic security check from Jacobie’s team would get your picture. Anyone in the family would see the likeness. How could they not?”
“That photo was in the entry way of the house, Sascha. Seeing her and seeing you? There’s no mistaking the familial connection. Or, at least, there’s every reason to investigate further,” he amended softly.
Sascha raised her free hand, which had fallen into her lap, and covered her eyes. “I’m a housekeeper. I never wanted to be anything else.”
“And you don’t have to be anything else either,” Devon said, tugging at their still united hands. “You just have to be ours.”
She swallowed, peeped at him. “You mean that?”
He stared at her blankly. “Of course I do.” When didn’t he mean what he said?
What was the point of words otherwise?
The tiniest smile had her lips curling out of the utter misery of moments before. “When don’t you mean what you say?” she asked, mirroring his thoughts.
Kurt softly whispered, “Do you forgive us? We were only trying to protect you.”
“Seems like people have been trying to protect me since I was baby,” she mumbled, sending them all a look. Then, her jaw worked, but she continued, “Thank you.”
The tension that had ratcheted up among them at her outburst slowly began to dissipate.
“How did my dad know he’d need to give us the location of the safety deposit box?”
“He didn’t,” Andrei said softly. “Know, that is.”
“But he must have brought the key with him.”
“He told us of the charm bracelet your mother always wore. The key was one of the charms.”
Her eyes rounded. “The key—the biggest charm. I always fiddled with it.”
Andrei murmured, “I saw you wearing it last week, and when your father mentioned it, knew where you kept it.”
“This is insane,” she breathed. The notion that this conspiracy was the epicenter of her world, was more mind blowing than she knew how to deal with.
Devon murmured, “It isn’t, Sascha.”
“How can you say that?” she cried softly.
“Insane is the opposite of sane. We’re all very sane people.”
Loved by Them: A Reverse Harem Romance (Quintessence Book 5) Page 2