“My whole life, Paige,” he whispered. “I’ve owed to him.” Then, slowly, the knife slid between her legs, catching at the tape rolled tightly around her knees. With a quick sawing movement, he sliced enough to rip the tape open. He did the same with her ankles.
Her heart was in her throat. Her body was buzzing, electric. The headiness of his nearness, of the sound of the knife cutting and tape ripping made her giddy. When he leaned in close, so very close to wrap his arms around her and cut the tape that bound her wrists, Paige did something unexpected; she kissed his cheek.
He froze under the touch of her lips. She liked the rough feel of the stubble on his cheeks against her mouth. “Thank you,” she whispered, fervent.
“You shouldn’t thank me,” and he shoved away. As he moved, a sound came from the kitchen. It was small, and Paige wouldn’t have noticed it had Simon not immediately dropped into a crouch and reversed his grip on the knife. The overhand grip looked menacing, but it didn’t compare to the sudden seriousness and ferocity of his stance.
Paige’s hand leapt to cover her own mouth, stifling her cry of surprise. Though only moments ago he’d been in charge of killing her, she moved as quietly as she could behind Simon. He motioned to her and mouthed, “Lay down. Play dead.”
As quietly as she could she crumpled to the floor. She heard a rustle and then felt Simon’s palm press and rub across her back, her shirt suddenly warm and sticky where his hand had been. It took every ounce of willpower not to flinch away from the touch.
A light flicked on.
~ ~ ~ ~
“Get out,” Simon’s voice was cold. Deadly.
“You sure you don’t want help with the body?” A man’s voice cut through the air. It was thin and raspy. Paige was glad she’d chosen to play dead face-down; her teeth instinctively sought her lip and started to worry it, forgetting for a moment to be perfectly still.
And breathing. God, she’d never thought about how difficult breathing could be. But when you couldn’t appear to be breathing, it suddenly became the toughest action in the world. Her ribs ached with the furious need to expand, but she tightened her stomach to minimize the movement.
She felt Simon move near her. At least she hoped it was him. “No, I’ve got it. Why are you even here?”
Laughter from the strange man made her want to wince. “He wasn’t sure you’d go through with it. Glad to see he was wrong, S. You’re the best of us, easily, and I’d hate to have to be the one to take you down.” More laughter, like he’d made a funny joke instead of a threat.
Simon didn’t think it was funny. “We both know it would take all of you to take me down. Maybe not even then.”
A grunt. “Jesus, you’re cocky.”
“I’ve a right to be. Now get the fuck out and tell him I’m finished with this task.”
There was a little more rustling and then the slam of a door, but Paige was too scared to move. A hand gripped her arm and her scream pierced the air. She flipped over and slapped out until Simon’s hands gripped her wrists to hold her still.
“Paige! Paige, it’s okay, calm down.” Numb, she let herself flop back, her arms still dangling from his hold on her wrists.
She felt a tickle as something liquid trickled down her arm. It was blood. “Oh God, you’re bleeding!” Sitting up quickly, she took a look at his hand. The sleeve of his button down was soaked in blood. She yanked it up and saw a deep gash on his arm.
“Had to make it look real,” he mumbled.
Chapter Thirteen
“Let me get you a towel--” she stood, beginning to look around.
“Just go into my bathroom and bring me the brown leather kit.”
Paige rushed upstairs. The one time she’d been here before he hadn’t exactly given her a tour. She saw the guest room she’d stayed in and headed past it down the hall. Looking through doors, she finally found the master bedroom. Normally she’d have taken time to properly snoop a bit; after all, bachelors had the most fascinating bedroom to her. But her eyes just saw blood and her stomach was twisted in knots and she just needed to get to the bathroom.
Bursting through a door, she knew she’d found it. Sitting on the counter was a large, elegant, mahogany colored leather sack. Yanking it off and snatching a towel anyway, she ran back down to Simon.
He’d moved himself to a chair in the kitchen. His shirt was off, bunched into a hand that pressed it tightly to his elevated arm. She placed the kit on the counter in front of him and unzipped it.
Simon immediately went to work with a focus that made Paige quiver. Rummaging through, he pulled out thread, a needle, some cotton balls in a bag, and a small container of liquid.
“Thread the needle, will you?”
She tried to, but her fingers were shaking so much she couldn’t get the thread through the eye. As she struggled and failed at the job he’d given her, Simon had doused a cotton ball in the liquid and rubbed it over the cut, staining his skin a burnt orange. Some kind of disinfectant, she assumed.
Fat tears collected in her eyes as her fingers squashed tighter on the thread and needle, but the efforts were wasted. Soon her vision was swimming too much to see what she was doing. “I’ve almost got it,” she lied, her quavering voice sounding foreign in her ears.
“Shhh,” he cupped her cheek. “It’s okay. Let me have it.” She wouldn’t let it go, though, stubbornly trying to help, trying to do something in this crazy situation. With gentleness and care, he wrestled the needle and thread from her. To her frustration, he swiftly threaded it in one go. Somehow that was the tipping point for her, and Paige broke down, sobbing.
Her chest convulsed her cries. She knew her face was red and snot was dripping. Simon was so calm it made it worse, this complete meltdown, and she buried her face in her hands. “How are you not freaking out?” She demanded.
“You know why,” he replied. She peeked through her fingers and yep, he was beginning to stitch his own arm. His jaw was tense and she could hear him grinding his teeth a little. While Paige knew his arm probably hurt like hell, seeing evidence of the pain helped to calm her down a bit. She didn’t want to know how extensive a person’s training had to be that they’d know how to clean and sew their own wounds.
“Who was that?”
“It doesn’t really matter. Someone like me. What matters is we only have a little bit of time before they figure out my lie.”
God! How did she not realize that? “I need to call Roger.” She looked for his phone, having dropped her own when she was taken in the metro station.
He pulled the thread tight and she had to fight the urge to vomit as his skin tugged up with the fresh stitching. Simon tied it off and cut the excess thread. Then he swabbed his arm once more with the thick, colored liquid and began to clean up. “You can’t call Roger. Not yet.”
“But he’s probably worried, and he needs to know we’re in danger and--” she wanted to add that she was barely holding it together and needed to hear his voice. The hole of his absence was expanding exponentially.
“Calling him now is a great way to get us all killed. It’ll have to wait.” He threw the bloody shirt in the sink. “Let’s get out of here, first.”
~ ~ ~ ~
Being buried alive had never been a large fear of Paige’s. But as Simon rolled her body into plastic, being careful to leave it loose at the top so she could breathe, she wondered if it should be. He’d decided the best way to get out of the house was to pretend like he was finishing the job.
“I thought he was convinced when he saw me on the floor.”
“No. We’re good at our jobs because we’re thorough. He’d have been satisfied if I’d let him cut you up for easy removal.”
So pale and shaking, she let him treat her like the corpse she was supposed to be, had Simon remained loyal to Walter.
Just before he started, she’d asked the question that weighed heavily on her. “If you didn’t know he was your father, would I be alive?”
He didn’
t answer her. Just lifted the plastic and began to roll. For once, it seemed, a scandal had saved a life instead of ending it. When he finished, everything was muffled; sight and sound practically eliminated. The white wash of the plastic kept her figuratively in the dark as to what was happening next.
Ooomph! She grunted as he hauled her on to his shoulder. The thick plastic made the drape uncomfortable and awkward, but she was supposed to be a lifeless body, so those things didn’t matter. Instinct made her want to crane her neck and struggle to listen and to see what was going on. Knowing it was futile helped to keep her limp and relaxed.
So did thoughts of Roger. Shutting her eyes, Paige imagined him. She drew on the well of favorite memories. Like when he’d shown her the ring he’d had made for her. The way his face had lost some of its sternness, turning boyish in his eagerness. The smile on his face, so, so wide as he slid it onto her finger.
Simon tossed her without ceremony into the trunk of his SUV. She waited until the hood slammed down before shifting a little, trying to get comfortable. She felt hot, her skin unable to breathe in the plastic. Sweat was beginning to drip down her forehead and into her eyes, and itching a trail between her breasts. I hope this isn’t a long car ride.
The stifling heat couldn’t keep her from thinking about that first time Roger had thrown her onto the table. Now that had been hot. Knowing that the wait staff and cooks were only a doorway away. Feeling Roger’s surprising dominance, the way his actions commanded her every sensation.
Roger. He loved her. And more importantly, he gave her freedom. Freedom to work and have her own ideas. Freedom to do and say what she wanted to. Only when the bedroom doors shut closed did he take control, and even then there was a blissful freedom in surrender.
The SUV came to a sudden stop and her body rocked in its casing. The moisture from her breath was making her dizzy. It was hard to convince her body there was enough oxygen. It was harder to convince her mind that everything was going to be alright.
The hood popped open. Hands roughly maneuvered her, but she was able to tumble out, her lungs rejoicing in the fresh, cool air.
“Stay low. I don’t think we were followed, but you should continue to play dead for a while.” Simon’s hand brushed the sweat-soaked hair from her face. “Though corpses don’t usually sweat.”
“You try being wrapped in plastic,” she grumbled.
“Hush now. I’m going to do a quick scan and make sure we’re alone.”
His footsteps jogged off and she lay on the ground, at least thankful not to be wrapped up anymore. Simon was trying his best to save her. She knew that. After all, she had a good idea about the kind of man he was. If he’d wanted her dead, she’d be dead by now.
Who she wanted, though, was Roger. Safety was like love; you didn’t know what you had until it was gone. She’d thought she might’ve lost Roger over Amanda. Or worse, if he hadn’t been able to come clean to her about his desires. A relationship couldn’t survive without honesty, even if he had thought he was protecting her by shielding her. But when she’d made him understand--
He’d shared. He’d shared everything in scintillating explicitness.
Now, though, she saw how safe he made her feel. Just his calm presence. Paige recognized she’d taken it for granted. She’d thought the constant authority and decisiveness he exuded was a part of his public persona.
It wasn’t. He made her feel safe. Roger made her feel strong and secure and she’d give anything to be with him again. To have him tell her this was going to work out.
Simon came back so silently she jerked in surprise when he called out, “We’re safe.”
Sitting up and pulling her knees to her chest, Paige waited. She was so far out of her depth. How laughable, that not too long ago she thought she could solve this alone. “I thought I was so clever,” she mused.
“About what?”
“Oh, about finding you. I thought I had you and Walter all figured out. It seems so stupid now. I thought I could save Roger, but I’ve just made everything worse.”
He crouched next to her. Around them the night air was quiet. They were far out of D.C., probably in a neighboring state. She could actually see the stars, their soft light peppering the sky. Crickets chirped and occasional croaks from a toad were the only noises. Talk about out of her element; a city girl in the country.
“You haven’t made it worse,” he finally said. “Look. This situation isn’t good. We’re going to call my--my brothers. They’ll meet us here and we’ll hash out a plan. But…” He picked up a twig and tossed it. It quickly disappeared in the night and the grass. “It is nice. Being free from him, that is. I’m sure Roger feels the same way, and you’re the one who made that happen.”
She thought back to that moment in the sun, his eyes shut and his face golden. Relaxed in a way she hadn’t seen before. Yes, Paige could say for certain that Roger was relieved.
“You said we could call him?”
“Here” He pressed a phone into her hand. “This is a burner. But keep the conversation quick and then give me the phone so I can tell them how to get here.”
Her heart soared as her fingers nervously dialed the number she’d always know by heart. He wouldn’t recognize this number, so she wasn’t sure he’d pick up--
“Hello?” Even thick with worry, his voice was a balm to her.
“Roger,” she breathed into the phone.
He lost it and she had never felt happier for his over-protectiveness. “Where the fuck are you? Are you okay?”
“I’m safe. It’s so good to hear your voice.”
His voice cracked. “We were talking, and then I heard your phone drop. The line went dead. We traced the phone and it was cracked and in the metro. Please, tell me where you are.”
“I don’t know, I’m with Simon--”
He swore. A lot. More than she’d ever heard him swear. It was intimidating, but the ferocity of it was, well, appealing.
Simon took the phone from her. He had to shout to get Roger to hear him over his tirade. “Roger, you need to meet us--”
She heard more yelling. Simon looked frustrated, but while Paige had a certain admiration for the man, he deserved it. A lot. He was saving her life now, but she couldn’t forget how closely he’d considered ending it as well.
Her ears strained to listen. She didn’t care about what they were saying, she just wanted to hear his voice. Simon handed the phone back to her, finally. As soon as she put it to her ear Roger snarled, “I’m coming for you, darling.” It was a promise, a vow. Her heart fluttered.
“I know,” she whispered. “Hurry.”
~ ~ ~ ~
The tires of Dallas’s car kicked up gravel as it sped toward them. She leapt up as soon as she saw Roger sitting in the passenger seat. The car slid to a sharp stop and she ran. She ran right into Roger’s arms as he jumped out of the car. He snatched her up and savagely kissed her, their teeth crashing together and their fingers clawing at each other. There was no one else in that moment.
She breathed him in. “Oh, Roger,” she cried softly.
“My darling. My wonderful, brave, darling.” His words whispered through her hair as he tugged her ever closer. Finally, he unwound from her a little, but his hands never left her. “Are you okay?”
The answer, I’m fine, was sitting in her mouth, but it was heavy with the lie it was. She was tired. Tired of being scared and of the scandal. Her reservoir of optimism was drained. Paige shook her head and gripped his hand.
He scowled and his eyes pinned Simon. “You son of a bitch,” he thundered as he lunged. Roger was fast, and they’d seen the power of his hook when he’d punched Walter. Simon, though, was trained for this. He moved out of the way, though to Roger’s credit, the punch came close to connecting.
Dallas snuck behind Simon, and grabbed him. Roger didn’t miss a beat, pivoting and jabbing Simon on the jaw. Paige heard the snap of teeth gnashing together from the force. She was moving toward them without thinkin
g.
“Stop!” She clutched at Roger’s arms, trying to stop further hits. Simon, she saw, wasn’t trying to escape Dallas’s hold. When Roger stepped back, seething, Simon gave him a bloody smile.
“We should have gotten the brotherly fighting out of the way when we were younger.” He spat a glob of red at Roger’s feet. Her fingers dug in deeper when Roger tried to spring for another punch.
“Roger, don’t,” she pleaded.
He whirled, teeth pulled back in a snarl. “Why are you even with him?” Paige cringed at his shout, but knew his anger was borne from his alarm.
“I kidnapped her,” Simon said cheerily. Paige could punch him herself. He was trying to goad Roger and it rankled her. It certainly wasn’t helpful to their immediate situation.
“What the fuck is he even talking about?” Dallas interjected.
“Just--just calm down. And Simon,” she fixated on him. “Stop being an ass. You said we don’t have a lot of time.”
The men disengaged, though none of them lost the muscle-tense, predatory edge. It was eerie, seeing the three together. Each dangerous, she realized, in their own way. Was this what Walter meant to instill in his progeny?
As she explained, she held Roger’s hand. It tightened painfully when she recounted the kidnapping and the threat of death. Simon, she appreciated, had stopped looking like it was a joke. When she talked about the call to end her life, he even looked ashamed. Because of that, she felt tender toward him and glossed over how closely he’d considered following through on Walter’s orders. Besides, with Roger on edge, it wouldn’t help them move forward it he attacked Simon again.
When she was finished, Roger pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. “It shouldn’t be this goddamned complicated.”
“What shouldn’t? Politics?” Dallas asked with mirth.
The Corrupt Trilogy Page 20