The Midnight Club

by Love, Michelle

  “I just wanted to come to Italy to travel, but then I met Maceo and that was that.”

  “Snap,.” said Ori, smiling, but inside wondered if Maceo had gotten all of his staff the way he’d hired her—by screwing them.

  Cassie was watching her carefully. “No is the answer to the question you’re not asking,” she said with a wry grin. “I had a boyfriend when I met Maceo, one that I loved very much. So, no, Maceo and I didn’t sleep together.”

  Ori was scarlet-faced. “I, um….”

  “Ori, let’s be real. Everyone knows you and Maceo are together. We’re cool with it, so relax...” Cassie was grinning at her knowingly now, and Ori had to laugh.

  Ori rolled over in bed and stretched. It had been two months since she’d returned to Italy and moved in with Maceo and it had been bliss. Utter, complete heaven, she thought now. Her body ached pleasantly from making love most of the night, and now, on this Saturday, she and Maceo had plans to do … nothing. From the whirlwind of work, it was really the first time they had spent together that was free of work commitments and Ori was really looking forward to just hanging out with him.

  They had become good friends as well as lovers, equal partners in their relationship despite Maceo’s imposing wealth. Ori never felt at a disadvantage with him, even living in his opulent apartment.

  She wondered where he’d gone now—maybe to fetch some breakfast. She got up and pulled her robe around her naked body. As she suspected, Maceo was in the kitchen, fighting with his new espresso machine and cursing loudly in Italian. He was bare-chested, just in his jeans, and she slid her arms around his waist.

  “Buongiorno, beautiful ...” He bent his head to kiss her. She kissed him back and, in reply, opened her robe and pressed her bare skin against him. He groaned, and she giggled as he lifted her onto the countertop, pushing her legs apart and unzipping his jeans. “God, woman, you make me crazy.”

  He fucked her there, hard, until she was crying out his name in ecstasy and he was shooting hot, thick cum, deep inside her. Laughing and panting for air, they collapsed to the floor together.

  “Bella, I love to fuck you, I really do,” he said, puffing for air. “But God knows how we’re going to get anything else done.”

  She wound her arms around his neck. “Today, my love, we don’t have to.”

  And so, they lazed around the apartment, making love and talking, sending out for pizza when they got hungry.

  The day went by too quickly for Ori’s liking. Maceo grinned at her sulky face. “Mio caro, tomorrow is Sunday. We can do it all over again.”

  But a phone call changed everything in a heartbeat. At first, Ori frowned at the unknown cell phone number on her caller ID, but when she answered it the blood in her veins turned to ice and her legs gave way under her.

  Maceo took the phone from her and talked to the person on the other end. By the time he ended the call, he knew that Ori’s world had just collapsed and felt helpless to know how to fix it. Not even his money could help her now.

  AJ was dead.

  They told her it was a suicide but that they had not seen any signs of it. AJ had been doing well in his new program and had even talked about getting an apartment away from the facility with a friend he’d met there. Everything had seemed good and when Ori had talked to him he had been upbeat and positive.

  Then, Friday afternoon, an orderly had found him on the concrete path outside the building. He had leaped from the roof. He was killed instantly, his brains smashed from his head by the impact.

  A numb Ori let Maceo make all the arrangements for her, and they flew to California to claim his body and arrange the funeral.

  But Tyson Janek had gotten there first, and now, with the tragic suicide of his son, he was a media darling again, all past mistakes forgiven. Ori sat through a media circus of a funeral, arranged by Tyson. It had been the exact opposite of what AJ would have wanted. Maceo kissed her gently. “Are you sure you’ll be okay if I go out? I won’t be long.”

  Ori nodded. They were in a hotel in San Francisco. Ori had not wanted to go back to Italy yet, wanting to be near AJ’s grave a little while longer. Maceo had other plans. He was going to see Tyson Janek—not that he told Ori that. Tyson Janek was going to pay for what happened to AJ, and for what he’d done to Ori.

  He walked into the restaurant where Tyson Janek was eating breakfast with a weasely-looking lackey. Maceo strode up to the table and glared at the aide. “Fuck off. Now.”

  The aide paled but looked at Tyson, who nodded. Maceo took the seat the aide vacated and stared at Janek.

  Tyson sipped his coffee slowly, seemingly unfazed in the face of Maceo’s overwhelming anger. “What do you want, Bartoli?”

  Maceo gave him a chilly smile. “Only to tell you that once Ori is ready, we will be going to the authorities about the sustained and continued abuse she suffered at your hands.”

  Tyson shrugged. “And who is going to believe her? Where’s the proof?”

  Maceo’s smile dropped, and his eyes took on a dangerous gleam. “I suppose you think the press, now that you’re playing the grieving father card, will slam her for taking advantage at this time? They’ll paint her a gold-digger? I think not. I have a feeling the press will soon be against you, Janek, and the scandal you’ve just weathered will seem like a walk in the park.”

  Tyson laughed loudly. “Really? And where are you getting this fairytale from?”

  Maceo sat back, studying him carefully. “Because this world is fucked up, and because it blames the victim rather than the perpetrator, especially if the victim is female, you probably think, hey, who’s going to believe her?”

  Tyson inclined his head, and Maceo leaned forward. “Then how do you think the press will respond to a father raping his own son, Janek? You piece of utter shit. AJ told me everything.”

  To Maceo’s satisfaction, Janek paled. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You know damn well. You raped AJ, just like you did Ori. You’re a monster and, believe me, I’m going to make sure the world knows it.”

  Maceo got up and stalked out of the restaurant. Tyson stared after him, then plucked his cell phone out of his pocket. “It’s me. He’s just left. Do it now.” Ori had just gotten dressed when Maceo called her. “I’m on my way back now, bella. I’ll see you soon.”

  Ori smiled. “Good. I missed you.” She scooped her long dark hair into a messy ponytail and grabbed her book from the nightstand, intending to read until Maceo got back.

  As she walked back into the main suite, a movement caught her eye. She turned, and he was on her. A masked figure, twice her size, threw her to the ground. Ori, her mind panicked and confused, had no time to fight back as the attacker brandished a knife.

  Oh god. No, please …

  Ori had no time to scream …

  Chapter 2

  EVENTIDE

  Paris …

  Benoit Vaux’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re getting married?”

  Marcella, his good friend and companion, laughed, throwing her dark hair back. “Mon chère, there are other reasons for me to give up the escort life, not just for another man. No, Benoit, I’m not getting married. But I am leaving the country. You know I’ve always wanted to travel, and now is the right time.” She touched his cheek. “My sweet boy, there are a million women ready to take my place in your bed. Or maybe it’s time you concentrated on finding her.”

  “Her?”

  “I think the young people call it ‘the one’.” Marcella smiled and swung her long legs over the side of the bed.

  Benoit reached for her before she could move away. “Marcella … have you ever thought that you might just be the only one for me?”

  Marcella smiled down at him. “Oh, you perfect man, I’m sorry to tell you this. There isn’t any chance I might be your ‘one’. Go and seek her. I wish you all the happiness in the world.”

  Benoit was still thinking about what she said the next day as he sat through the first mee
ting of the week. His Chief Exec, Delaine, always wanted these godawful meetings. Team building, he called it. Benoit barely listened to what was being discussed. How had his life come to this? Stuck in meetings, barely ever getting to do the things he loved—designing, building, creating. No, at this point it was all deals and accounts and bullshit.

  He edged his chair around to gaze out of the window while one of his accountants droned on. Outside his window, his city, his home, Paris, sprawled across his view. He had been to many places and many countries, but no city made his pulse race more than his birthplace. Being able to build here and giving people homes to build their families in—it had been his dream.

  He gradually tuned back into the conversation. Always about the bottom line, he thought now, listening to Delaine remonstrate with the money men. Benoit cleared his throat. It made him smile how that always made everyone in the room shut the hell up and pay attention. He leaned forward.

  “Gentlemen, I want to move forward with the development on Le Boulevard Coutances. It’s prime greenbelt land, and I’m not going to let it sit there any longer. We fought to acquire it and, God knows, the 13th Arrondissement is in need of it. So, please, no more talk of budgets or waiting until we have the full budget. Let’s begin.”

  After the meeting, he headed gratefully back to his office where his P.A., Genevieve, a striking woman in her late fifties, handed him a shot of thick, dark coffee, and his mail. “A woman from L'Institut des Préoccupations Environnementales has called six times this morning. She wants to set up a meeting.”

  “Which woman?”

  “Shiloh Hunt.” Genevieve followed him into his office, her notepad in hand. “She seems quite intent on speaking to you.”

  Benoit sighed. The French environmental lobby had become powerful over the last few years and L'Institut des Préoccupations Environnementales had influence with the government’s housing department. Major influence, he thought now.

  “Fine. Find fifteen minutes.”

  Genevieve hid a smile. “How about right now?”

  Benoit, looking at her over his spectacles, looked confused. “Huh?”

  “She’s right outside. You walked right past her.”

  Benoit got up and returned to the outer office. A young, willowy blonde looked up at him from behind huge black-framed glasses.

  “Ms. Holt?”

  She stood, and Benoit was surprised to see she was almost as tall as his six feet—maybe five-ten, even in flat pumps. Her long, ash blonde hair hung below her shoulders in soft waves, and her bright blue eyes regarded him without even a hint of friendliness. Benoit smiled, knowing he was about to get into a fight.

  “Ms. Holt, please come in.” He shot a look at Genevieve as Shiloh Holt stalked past him; Genevieve hid a smile.

  Shiloh Holt didn’t wait to be asked to sit. As Benoit walked to his desk, he heard her draw in a deep breath. “Mr. Vaux, I am here on behalf of L'Institut des Préoccupations Environnementales.”

  “I know, Ms. Holt. Please have a seat.”

  Shiloh blinked and looked down at the chair in front of her as if it hadn’t occurred to her to sit. She pulled it out and sat, rather impatiently. “Mr. Vaux….”

  “It’s Benoit, and I know where you’re from, Ms. Holt. I assume this has to do with the new development on Le Boulevard Coutances?”

  She inclined her head, slightly mollified. “It does. Mr. Vaux, as I’m sure you know, we are campaigning to stop any further development on this piece of greenbelt land. We feel strongly that we must protect the rapidly diminishing green spaces in our city.

  Benoit smiled. “Our city? Ms. Holt, if I’m not mistaken, that’s an American accent. And it’s Benoit, not Mr. Vaux.”

  “Mr. Vaux,” Shiloh said, her blue eyes flashing with annoyance. “I was born here in Paris. I hold dual nationality. My parents are French.”

  “Where did you go to get that accent?”

  Shiloh looked frustrated. “This is not what I came here to talk about.”

  “Where?”

  She sighed. “Brown. Then Harvard Law.”

  “Good.” Benoit leaned forward, his manner switching from amused to businesslike. “Ms. Holt, as you are probably aware, my company vets every piece of land we intend to acquire. One of the main tenets of our ethos is that we exhaust every possible reason not to purchase the land, be it financial, social, or environmental. The land on Le Boulevard Coutances was deemed non-vital. It also has great links into the center of the city and a thriving community being built up around it.”

  Shiloh was listening to him carefully. “Mr. Vaux, Paris has less than ten percent of green space in a city whose population grows larger every second. That community of which you speak needs parks and recreational places too. Your boutique apartments or hotels will not benefit that community; they will be priced out of the market, making it more difficult for the people who were born there to stay there.”

  “That’s true of any developed land,” Benoit said calmly. “If we considered that as a factor every time we purchased land, nothing would ever get built. We cannot take responsibility for people’s lack of finances, or their situations. This is a business, not a charity.” While he was talking, Benoit was studying the fine planes of her delicate face and the slender frame of her body. Despite her height, he still felt as if she would crumble in his arms if he touched her; she had a kind of fragility that he was drawn to.

  Shiloh was staring at him, her expression disgusted. “Which is my entire problem with men like you, Mr. Vaux. You are soulless. You exist in this other worldly plane, one where your wealth and your looks open every door. Have you ever struggled to feed yourself, Mr. Vaux?”

  Benoit sighed. The anger in her made her face flush scarlet and it was very distracting. “I think we have wandered from the point.”

  Shiloh sucked in a deep breath. “Mr. Vaux, I’m asking you to reconsider….”

  “No. I’m sorry, Ms. Holt, but this meeting is over. We have done our due diligence. The development goes ahead.”

  Shiloh looked askance. “You won’t even consider my proposal?”

  Benoit sat back in his chair. “Ms. Holt, so far, you haven’t made any proposal. You have ranted at me and called me soulless. Now, I have work to do. Genevieve will see you out.”

  Shiloh gaped at him in silence for a beat then stood and stalked out. He appreciatively watched the way she moved. A beautiful woman, he thought, but a major pain in my ass. Shame.

  He called Genevieve back in and got on with his work. Only later when he was alone did he let his mind wander back to Shiloh Holt’s blue eyes, the flush of pink in her cheeks, and the rosebud mouth. He wondered if he would see her again.

  “Penny for them.”

  Benoit looked up to see his old friend Alex standing in the doorway. Benoit’s face cracked into a wide smile.

  “Mon frère! How wonderful to see you; I had no idea you were coming to Paris.”

  “Had to get away from the crap going down at home,” Alex shrugged, his eyes sad. Benoit stood and hugged him.

  “Let’s go grab a drink, and you can catch me up.”

  Ori started to come around just as she heard Maceo calling her name. She opened her eyes and his beautiful face, frantic with fear, filled her vision.

  “Ori! Are you okay? Dio mio … mio amata.”

  She felt herself being scooped into his arms and carried to the bed. She heard him yelling instructions to someone to call for medical help. Her entire body ached and she remembered being forced to the ground, a man, his knife … had she been stabbed? Everything seemed so jumbled that she couldn’t figure out her own body. The only thing she knew for sure was who was behind the attack.

  Tyson.

  God, he’d sent someone to kill her, hadn’t he? He was making his final moves; now that AJ had died, she was the only threat left to him.

  Flashes of the attack were coming back to her as she tried to focus on Maceo’s face. He was talking to her, his arms cradling
her. Finally, her head started to clear.

  “Maceo?”

  “What happened, baby?”

  “There was someone here. He grabbed me. He had a knife.”

  She heard Maceo’s sharp intake of breath and felt his hands running over her body, trying to find any wounds. “You have some cuts and scratches, baby, but I don’t think you’ve been stabbed. Your head is bleeding.”

  “I must have fallen when he grabbed me. I hit my head.” She tried to sit up, but Maceo locked his arms around her.

  “Take it easy, bella. We’re going to get you checked out.”

  Ori sighed, but relaxed back into his arms, gazing up at his face. His green eyes were full of concern and shock. “I’m okay, I think, Maceo. I just don’t know why I’m still alive.”

  She saw him wince. “Don’t say that.”

  “It was Tyson. I know it. Or one of his men. I just don’t know why he didn’t kill me.”

  Maceo frowned. “It wasn’t Tyson himself, Ori. I know that for sure.”

  “How?”

  “Because I was just with him.”

  Ori did sit up now, her head pounding. “You were with Tyson?” There was no reproach in her voice; she trusted Maceo enough now that he would have only met with Tyson to benefit her. Maceo nodded.

  “To warn him to stay away from you. I think he got the message.”

  “He must have had us followed and called someone to attack me while you were out of the way. Except….” She trailed off, deep in thought. Absentmindedly, she pressed the heel of her hand to her head, wincing when her skin touched the open wound there. Maceo was watching her.

  “Except what, mio caro?”

  Ori nodded her head. “If it had been Tyson, I would be dead. He’s sent enough warnings; he would have taken the chance to end it, even if it meant not killing me with his own hands. That’s his ultimate goal, I know it.”