I needed to know the whole scope of the situation. I knew it was incredibly difficult for Marley to talk about it, but I needed to know the extent of that d-bag’s crimes against my wife. I suspected it involved nonconsensual sex and even outright rape, and she finally admitted it to me today.
If anything, it made me love her more.
Love. The word keeps cropping up in my vocabulary. It’s strange having it seep out into the open space of my mind.
When she told me in that halting voice—so softly it was almost inaudible—what he had done, I wanted to wrap her in my arms and comfort her. But I couldn’t do that. For one thing, we were in a restaurant, albeit a private dining room. For another, I thought I didn’t deserve to touch her. After all, I treated her rather shabbily when she was in danger. Instead of recognizing that danger, I put her into even more of it by abandoning her. I’ve kicked myself black and blue over that failure.
I was filthy jealous, and I struck back at her, trying to hurt her the way she’d hurt me. I was pissed off enough about her dalliance in Europe, and that was before I claimed her for my own. But then there was that night… The night we spent together, and she looked at me with those eyes, those pools of such depth that can sparkle and flash with vibrant life, and yet can peer at me so probingly that I feel as if she can see right through my façade into all the dark, dirty places I keep hidden from the world.
When I saw that man with his hands on her, it felt like an ice pick had been slipped between my ribs. Being the petty bastard that I am, I had to return the favor. Only in reality, she didn’t sin against me and in return, I not only injured her feelings, but I also put her directly in harm’s way.
I will make it up to her no matter the cost.
Time’s up, Rico Holland. I’m coming for you, motherfucker. As soon as I get back to the office from lunch with Marley, I get on the phone with Nathan, our head of security at MediaTech.
“Yeah, boss. What can I do?”
“You know the subject I gave you to investigate a few weeks ago? We need to step it up.”
“Yeah, we’re making progress. We’ve done a complete financial forensics analysis on him, and he’s as dirty as they come. Tax evasion, money laundering, crime syndicate connections. His mentor is clean, though, as far as we can tell, and we can’t find anything linking them other than friendship and some shared financial interests, but Blackwell’s are on the up and up. We’re still digging, though.”
“Yeah, except he did earn the bulk of his money selling kinky sex toys.”
“It’s not illegal. What’s hilarious was that he started out in energy—coal primarily—and left for the more lucrative sex-toy business. Conventional wisdom would say that energy would be the bigger moneymaker.” He laughs. “He covered his tracks, though. Now his business is all about technology and media. He divested himself of the sex-toy business long ago—as well as the coal mines.”
“Anything new to add to Holland’s profile?”
“Lots of personal dirt.”
“Of that I have no doubt. Give me a taste of it.”
“Well, you know about his connection to trafficking. He’s been sued for harassment, assault and battery, that kind of thing. Oh, and in addition to his connection with foreign traffickers? He’s named in a civil lawsuit here in the US for trafficking.”
“Civil? So they’re only seeking monetary damages?”
“Criminal cases require a higher standard of proof.”
“They’re trafficking people in the US?”
“Yeah. Illegal immigrants that they help smuggle into the country and then take away their passports and put them to work in big-box stores. Overnight cleaning, that sort of thing. They sleep in these unsanitary dorm-type rooms during the day and work nights. It’s modern-day slavery. I honestly don’t understand how he gets away with it all. It would just take one good investigator…”
“Well, we’re going to put one on him. But… I want my turn with him first.”
“I don’t advise that, boss. Let law enforcement handle it. Or me.”
“When can we bring him down?”
“Give me two more weeks to do more surveillance and draw up a plan. I’ll update you every few days.”
I nod, though he can’t see me. “All right. You have your two weeks, Nathan. Not an hour more.”
“Got it.”
I disconnect the line, lost in thought. What’s the best way forward on this? We could get him sent to prison for a long time. Or I could beat him to a pulp and then ensure that one of his enemies—of which he has to have many—gets to him.
People underestimate me frequently. Because I always have security around me, they assume I can’t hold my own. They’re wrong.
Dead wrong.
And I like that. I enjoy it when people don’t expect it. It makes winning all the sweeter.
And I always win. I’m a fighter—a good one. I made it my business to learn on the street how to fight dirty, and I learned in a martial arts studio how to fight efficiently. I kickbox like a professional. I know self-defense to a degree where I can use every ounce of my opponent’s weight against him. My background didn’t cow me; it empowered me.
Someone raps on my office door, which is ajar. “Come in,” I say almost inaudibly, hoping whoever it is won’t hear and will go away. No such luck. Harry Hammer pokes his head around the door.
“You wanted to see me?”
I nod and curl my fingers for him to come in.
“So,” he says as he walks in and plops his ass down in the leather chair opposite mine, “what’s going on?”
“Your uncle? The Mafia one you were telling me about?”
Hammer’s eyelids flip open wide. “Uncle Jimmy?”
“Yes, that one. Does he still live in Chicago?”
“Just outside of the city. Why do you ask?”
I tug on my lower lip, mentally debating over whether or not I should involve Harry at all. The problem is that I need someone who’s willing to go a little left of the law. “Can you put me in touch with him?”
Harry steeples his fingers and watches them as if they’re beyond fascinating. “Can you tell me why?”
“Of course I can tell you… but is it advisable? Probably not. Plausible deniability.”
“Jeez, Creed. I don’t think you should get involved with criminals.”
I direct my best death glare right at him, and he flushes and relents. “I’ll put you in touch with him later today. Give me an hour or two to reach him first.”
“Thanks very much.”
Harry stays in his chair despite the conclusion of our conversation. He’s still fascinated by his own hands, so I’m figuring he has something more to say. Do I have to drag it out of him? “What’s on your mind, Hammer?”
“Uh, just, uh, thinking about… how’s your marriage going?” he blurts out after hemming and hawing.
He catches me off guard. “My marriage? Why do you ask?”
“Uh, I don’t know. I… well, you know…” He tilts his head like a confused puppy. “… that I know why you got married aaaand how you met your wife. I’ve been wondering how it’s coming along. I mean, it’s just an unusual situation, that’s all.”
I study him through narrowed eyes. He has a reason for asking, and I want to know what that reason is. “What precisely made you wonder?”
“I-we-I… never mind. It’s none of my business.”
I throw a therapy-stress ball at him—the first thing I could put my hand on, and he’s lucky it wasn’t the crystal paperweight—aiming for and hitting him on the side of his head.
“Hey, what the fuck?” he yells and throws the ball back to me. I catch it with my left hand.
“Tell me right now why you asked about my marriage?”
“Fine. Marley is a beautiful woman, and on the few occasions I spoke with her, she seemed really sweet. I just thought that maybe you’ve fallen for her. That’s all.”
“Why? Are you interested in her? I
s that it?”
He flushes a bright red, and I know I hit the nail on the head. “Hammer, keep your distance from her if you know what’s good for you. Let’s stay friends and business colleagues, shall we?”
Sighing, he gets up. “Of course. That wasn’t my intention—to try to take her from you.” He walks to the door with a quick step. “I’ll see you at the meeting this afternoon.”
I’m tossing the ball from my right hand to my left, feeling very sulky all of a sudden. The best I manage in response is a grunt. I’ll take him apart if he goes near Marley. I’ll take anyone apart who goes near Marley.
I’m in trouble.
41
Marley Jacobs
Beads of sweat roll down my face as I wind down my run on the treadmill. I step off, dry my face and neck with a hand towel, and pull off my noise-cancelling earphones. That’s when I hear my phone barking—literally. My dog ringtone. I think it’s funny. Plus, I love dogs. In fact, I’ve been visiting Tara a lot more since she got her pup. I’m completely and totally in love with that silly doggo. I bend over to snatch up the phone from the bench before it ships out to voicemail. Even though I don’t recognize the number, out of curiosity I answer the call anyway.
“Yes?”
“Hi, is this Marley Creed?” The voice is female and high-pitched.
“Speaking. And you are?”
“My name is Beryl Flanders. We haven’t met, but I’d like to speak to you about an important matter. Priscilla Vasquez gave me your number.”
Cilla? Why, I wonder? It’s not like her to give out my telephone number without my permission. “Okay, what’s the important matter?”
“Uh… Is there any way we could meet to discuss it? It’s something that needs to be handled discreetly.”
I think about this situation. Could it be a trap? I’ll have to check with Cilla first, and of course I’ll bring Tristan and Hugo with me. “Where and when?”
“Do you know the small organic bakery at Navy Pier?”
“The one with the funny name that I can’t remember right now?”
“Yes, that one. Donut Go Buy. Can you meet me there today, maybe around three o’clock?”
I check the time on my phone. It’s just past eleven a.m. “Yes, I can do that. But… how will I know you?”
“I’ll wear a hot pink baseball cap and big sunglasses. I’m tall and have platinum blond hair.”
“And your name again?”
“Beryl. Beryl Flanders.”
I stroll confidently into the bakery. Though I was unable to reach Cilla by phone, I found a text message from her that I somehow had missed telling me about Beryl. Cilla said one of her friends is good friends with Beryl, so I could trust her.
But I still bring Tristan and Hugo with me as I do all the time now. Trust no one. If I wasn’t naturally suspicious, Fletcher keeps reminding me to be.
As soon as I’m through the entrance, I see a shocking pink hat and its owner waving to me. I turn to Tristan.
“Why don’t you two take a table right here near the door?”
The men, both wearing dark sunglasses, nod in unison and sit down as I head over to the blonde’s table.
She rises to greet me as I approach. “Hey, Marley, it’s nice to meet you.” She extends her hand, and the first thing I notice is a scar across her wrist. It appears to be an old injury since it’s nothing but a white line now, but I’m sure it once was an ugly gash.
“Nice to meet you too, Beryl,” I say politely and sit down across from her.
“So…” She checks the time on her phone. “We’re actually waiting on someone else.”
Instantly my back goes up. “You never told me anyone else would be joining us.”
“I’m sorry. Rhea is the friend that Priscilla and I have in common.”
“Okay. Are we waiting on Rhea for you to tell me what this is all about?”
“It would be easier.” She flashes me an apologetic look. “If you don’t mind.”
I look around. “Does a waitperson come over to us, or do we go to the counter?”
“Oh, I ordered already. A tray of assorted donut holes and some lattes.”
My gaze rolls over to Tristan and Hugo. “Yeah, but I want to get my guys something.”
“Your guys?”
“My security,” I answer and gesture with my chin. She turns around to look, and when her head swivels back, she’s wearing a beaming grin.
“My, my, aren’t you the lucky one? It’s not enough that you’re married to the gorgeous Fletcher Creed, huh? You also get not one but two more hunky studs who stick close all day?”
I can’t suppress the chuckle that escapes me. “It’s a burden.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Hey, my husband’s the one who insisted.”
“He must be very confident of your love and devotion to let you spend your days with handsome young” —her eyes migrate back to my bodyguards’ table— “very ripped men.”
A week or two ago, I might’ve argued that Fletcher wasn’t confident of my love—he just didn’t care about me. But now I know he does, and it feels pretty good. “I’m just going to order them something.”
She leaps to her feet and holds out her hand, gesturing for me to stay put. “No, allow me. Please.”
When Beryl returns to the table she has a redhead in tow who I assume to be Rhea.
“Marley Creed, Rhea De Luca.”
We say hello as everybody sits down.
“All right, we’re all here. Let’s get started. Here’s the deal. Priscilla realized that you and Rhea had someone in common, a creep named Rico Holland.”
Her words bash me in the solar plexus, and my eyes fly wide open. “What?”
Rhea nods. “Yes. I think we’ve been through a similar experience, and though Beryl hasn’t had the extreme pleasure of knowing Rico, she’s had a similar type in her life. Which is why, when I heard what recently happened to you—from Priscilla—I decided that we needed to take action.”
“What kind of action?”
“The kind that teaches Holland a real fucking lesson.”
“My husband claims he’s working on it. I’m not sure what he means by that exactly—he was pretty vague.”
Her lips tighten resolutely. “We’re not relying on anyone else. You and I are the ones who suffered, right, Marley?”
I nod.
“And Beryl did too though her tormentor is out of the picture, so she wants in on our revenge. I have a perfect plan to get it. What do you say?”
My eyes ping-pong from one to the other. They look determined, which makes me feel the same way. “I’d have to hear the plan first.”
“First of all,” Rhea begins in little more than a whisper as she moves her chair closer to the table, “let me tell you what I learned about our friend Rico. I’m pretty sure he’s involved in sex trafficking.”
“Sex trafficking,” I echo. “Yeah, he threatened me with it.”
She nods grimly. “Me too. Did you know that Rico wasn’t born in the US?”
“I didn’t… but so what?”
“I overheard him speaking some Slavic language. It sounded like Russian, and he was speaking fluently with another man. I asked him about it later on that day. At first, he seemed annoyed that I’d heard him. But then he just sort of smiled and told me he was born in Belarus.”
“Belarus?”
“Yeah, I had to look it up on the map. It’s a small landlocked country bordered by Russia and the Ukraine, to name a few.”
“That’s not why I asked. Fletcher told me that one of my former clients was actually a kind of fixer, and he’s from Belarus. He also happens to be Rico’s associate.”
“Coincidence?”
I laugh. “I seriously doubt it. Do you know if Rico is his real name?”
“No, it’s not. I saw his Belarusian passport when I was going through his papers. His real name is Maxim Kozel. One night I casually asked him if Rico was his real name. He grinne
d and said no, that he took it from the name of the anti-racketeering legislation. He thought that was funny.”
“Where’d he get Holland?”
“It’s the name of his Jewish attorney. He thought the name Rico Holland would be better for an American businessman. At this point I’m eighty percent certain that he’s connected to Russian organized crime.”
“You went through his papers, you said?”
She gives a slight jerk of her head. “Right before I left him for good, he threatened me. He said if I didn’t watch it, he’d ship me out and put me into the sexual-slavery pipeline and I’d never get out. I wasn’t sure if he was serious or if he was just trying to scare me, so first chance I got, I went snooping in his home office and found some paperwork—invoices—and they seemed to be written in code. They kept referring to ‘product’ and ‘stock’ and used some kind of serial numbers. I also found multiple passports, all with the names of women—foreign-sounding names. It made me think that maybe they send American women out of the country and bring foreign women here, taking away their passports so they can’t escape. I mean, that kind of thing is what you read about all the time, but it’s hard to believe it’s actually happening… especially here.”
I clap my hand to my chest where my heartbeat is accelerating. “That is so scary.”
“I know. I thought I should lead with that so you can consider it when making your decision. This plan isn’t just to put a serial woman abuser in his place. He’s a dangerous criminal.”
“Let me hear it. Your plan,” I add.
She leans across the table and speaks in a soft voice. “Here’s what I’m thinking.”
Our donut holes and lattes arrive right at that moment. I look over to Tristan, and they’re being served as well. Beryl also glances over and waves her fingers at them with a broad smile. They both grin back—and I notice how handsome they are when relaxed. They’re always so serious that it’s hard to elicit a grin from them. Now I know the trick: donuts.
She turns back to me. “All right, bitches, let’s get serious.”
Faker: A Fake Relationship Romance Page 27