That's where Ellen had killed herself.
Oh, that had eaten Simon up. No one had asked about it after and he hadn't said. But when she hadn't answered his texts, he'd checked the news. There it was. Grisly attempted murder. One injured party. Shooter committed suicide.
He'd suppressed the murders of the Senators. Turned them into almost joke-like anecdotes in his mind. He had to. If he'd thought about it too much, Simon had been afraid he'd discover some element of pleasure. He'd ended men's lives and his had just... kept going.
The ease of that had caused deep-seeded discomfort, so he wrapped it all tight, pushed it under, and labeled it "part of the job." And he'd managed not to have to kill anyone else, partially because he'd hinted to Walter that their agreement no longer covered that kind of devotion.
But then Ellen. Simon hadn't pulled the trigger, but he might as well have. He'd tried to get Ellen on board the old fashioned way-- seduction. But the dumb blond was so in love with Roger she couldn't be swayed. That had irritated Simon. Another woman in love with Roger. So instead, he'd looked up Roger's forays into BDSM clubs and when he'd gone to Walter, Walter had said he had something better; Jessica and Amanda.
Ellen had some dirt in her past, too. It involved a pole, some dancing, and later, some snorting white powder. How she'd managed to hide it so well to get the job as aide, Simon didn't know. It was impressive. It made it easier to manipulate her into helping him. He'd threatened to destroy Roger, her, and any chance she might have had with him at a relationship.
Apparently he'd threatened her enough she thought death was preferable to facing Simon.
So that's what he really was. Not a suave fixer for people, but a frothy-mouthed, rabid bulldog.
He called Mike. The phone rang. And rang. There was no voice mail. Simon tried the number again, his throat feeling tight, his fingers jabbing at the touch screen. Still no answer.
That fucking Agent motherfucker. He'd got what he needed, Simon guessed, from the wire at the restaurant. Leaving Simon high and dry. Hell, the Feds would probably show up at his house tomorrow. Without their help, of course, they'd just find his body. What bureaucratic assholes.
Jumping out of the car, he ran to the front door of Roger's condo building. Simon pressed on the buzzer. Roger answered immediately.
"It's Simon, let me up. It's an emergency."
The lock clicked and Simon rushed up the stairs, not having the patience for the elevator. As his feet pounded up the marble steps, he felt the tiny pistol banging into his ribs. He paused, sucking in air on the steps, his hand hovering above the gun.
One bullet.
One bullet was all it took in most cases.
Jessica, I'm going to save you. He was going to save her and then... then he was going to let her go. Things were too dangerous, too dirty and nasty for her, and that was Simon's world. He couldn't walk away from it, he didn't think. He'd be lucky if he walked away from this. But he could save her.
His hand wrapped around the grip and pulled it out.
~ ~ ~ ~
There had been panic and there had been misunderstanding, but now Roger was getting into the car with Simon.
"I still think we should let Dallas come with us," Roger grumbled.
"If Walter sees Dallas, we're fucked. He'll know. What else did he mold Dallas into, if not the perfect protector? No, it needs to just be you."
"Okay." Roger buckled in. "You've been asking a lot of us and not giving much in return."
“You don’t want what I have to give,” Simon mumbled. He pulled onto the freeway. Damn, this was going to be a long drive. Roger wanted to talk, obviously, and all Simon could think of was saving Jess.
"You know, I know what you're feeling," Roger offered.
"What?" Simon was distracted, decidedly only half-listening to his brother.
"When you took Paige. It was like this. I felt like you do. Terrified. Angry. Murderous."
Simon spared his brother a glance. "Yeah, but you don't have murder in your heart."
"I did that night," Roger sighed. "I didn't care about anything but getting her back. Not my career, not my family. Certainly not you."
This earned a chuckle from Simon. "Yeah, I guess not. We aren't exactly close."
"We used to be."
"Yeah."
It felt awkward. Both men knew why they were estranged. Both had a narrative that didn't fully mesh with the truth. Roger, though, had moved on with his life. He had Paige, he had a phenomenal career... hell, he was probably going to go down in history. Simon just had Jessica.
"So the bribery didn't work," Roger mused.
Simon soured. "Nope, didn't work. I even threw in some hooker scandal, but they weren’t buying. You like to piss off dangerous people, brother."
"You do too, it seems. We've got that in common, at least. Do I have to give back the Ferrari?"
As Simon took a curve, he contemplated. "Red?"
"Of course."
In an instant Simon's mind was filled with an image of Jessica and him careening down an empty highway. Maybe a trip out west, speeding for hundreds of miles and never seeing another car. Her auburn hair whipping out of her rolled-down window, against the red paint of the sleek car.
Sex on the hood of the engine when it'd cooled.
"Then yeah, I'll need the car back."
"No problem. It was Dallas that bought it, anyway. Said you wouldn't mind."
They both chuckled at that, then looked at each other, embarrassed in finding so much common ground.
"Thanks," Simon muttered. "For doing this. For helping me."
"It's what family does."
"Not our family."
Roger shrugged. "Take Walter out of the equation and we're not so bad. Speaking of which, I'm being asked about family for my background check. If we're already getting Walter the justice he deserves, I'd like to introduce you as family."
"No," Simon said immediately, and winced when he saw the hurt on Roger's face. "No, it isn't that I... well. If they're doing background checks, mine is nonexistent. But the Feds have enough on me and my unsavory past. I'd lose you the nomination."
"Okay. But set that aside. Let's say you could just come out as my half brother. Would you want to? Could we, I don't know... could we try to be family?"
Simon felt uncomfortable. It’d been easier to hate. Hate made things simple. "What does Dallas think?"
Roger scowled. "He thinks you're hilarious, of course. Dangerous and a loose cannon, which make him wary, but hilarious."
Not ready to answer, Simon just kept driving. They reached Walter Taylor's house in too little time, thanks to his speeding.
"Okay. You ready for this?" Simon asked as he pulled a rope from the back seat and began to bind Roger's hands.
"Nope."
"Awesome. Let's go see daddy."
Chapter Fourteen
The first thing he saw was Jessica. She was on a large leather couch in the living room, curled into herself. Her cheek was puffy and pink from where Walter had obviously struck her. Simon tasted bile and hate in his mouth, but managed to keep a poker face.
"Okay, Walt, let's do this." Simon was facing his father, one hand holding an end of the rope binding Roger's hands.
His father's face was red. So many things made it almost comical, like the burst blood vessels in Walter's nose from drinking and anger, or the vein popping out on his forehead. Simon and Dallas each had that vein. It was less prominent on them unless they were truly pissed off.
Simon's was probably popping out now.
What kept Walter from being funny was the eyes. His blue eyes held nothing but vile bitterness and contempt as he looked at his two sons. Somehow his gaze pierced them and Simon felt small and fifteen again, looking at the intimidating figure who'd dominated so much of his life.
"Why is he here?" Walter gestured to Roger, who managed to look frightened and confused. Simon hadn't been sure if they'd pull this off. Hell, he still wasn't sure, but it wou
ldn't be because his brother was a shitty actor. Guess that's something, right?
Simon reached down and pulled his knife from the ankle sheath. When he stood he waved it toward Roger. "You wanted him dead, right?"
"I don't want him dead in my house." Walter hadn't moved toward Jessica, but he had a gun in his hands. He didn't have to stand near her when he could just blow her head off from where he stood.
"Sure, yeah, but I figured you wouldn't want her dead in your house. So either you're bluffing about killing her, or you want Roger Taylor dead so that your business partners don't make your life a living hell."
"Simon, that doesn't even make sense," Walter spat. "I want you to take him out and finish the job in a proper place. I can't have my own son's death linked to me."
"You want me to take Roger Taylor out of your home, Walter, and kill him somewhere else. Because here is too inconvenient for you. You're a piece of work, asking for your son's murder and then being unable to face it yourself."
Simon was starting to sweat a little. He knew he sounded ridiculous, but God, he hoped he was wrong. He hoped this part of the plan would work. If not bullets were going to fly and Simon no longer cared if he died, but he needed to get Jessica to safety.
"You piece of shit. After everything I've done for you. I even took you back in. And you're going to call me a coward? Yes, fine. Take Roger somewhere and kill him. Do it now. I've got Weinstein and Baldur breathing down my neck. We're in deep shit, you and I, and if this doesn't happen you better fucking believe I'm taking you down with me."
Bingo. Simon could jump with joy, but he wasn't out of it yet. "Okay, we're going, but I want to watch you let her go first."
Walter cackled. "No. You know how insurance works. She stays here until you bring me proof the job is done."
"You're keeping her hostage?"
"That's how it fucking works. Have you always been this dumb? I wasted a lot of money on you."
"Well. I'll help you out this time. But after this, don't fucking call me for anymore help. Because taking my girlfriend hostage and asking me to kill my brother crosses so many lines."
Walter clicked the chamber on his gun. "What is going on? I thought you were just being petulant. But this is--"
Fuck. "Help me out here, Walter. I'm going to be a little petulant. I've been your fucking errand boy my whole life, doing your sick jobs while you lied and lied to me--"
Walter lost color quickly. "Open your shirt," he commanded to Simon. There it was. He'd been called out.
Simon closed his eyes. His last hope of getting out of there alive had just been shattered. He could only pray that Roger held up his end of the bargain. His fingers went to his button down, slowly sliding the buttons free. Walter growled as the wire was revealed. "You piece of shit--"
Walter whipped the gun toward Jessica. Simon launched his body, managing to cover hers. She was there, in his arms. He smelled her hair, the electricity that was so violent and hot between them sparked even in this moment. She clung to him, her fingernails digging into his skin, ripping frantically at him. Had he ever felt a more decadent pain? He didn't think so.
When the shot came, Simon squeezed Jessica tighter, his lips having just found hers, hungry. If he was going to die this was a damned fine way to go. The boom from the gun rang through the air and still Jessica was kissing him, desperate and fevered.
His tongue ran into her mouth even as he realized there was no pain. Instead, he heard Walter's groan and a flurry of movement behind him. He broke off his kiss.
The living room was a tornado of activity. Local police officers, weapons just lowering, were swarming into the living room. Roger was standing, stunned, with Simon's pistol still in his hand. Dallas burst in moments later and rushed to Roger.
"You stupid ass," Dallas said, closing in on Simon after he'd made sure that Roger was okay. Before Simon could stop him, Dallas yanked him up into a hug, his strong hand thudding Simon's back hard. "You did it!"
Roger came over and pressed the pistol into Simon's hand. It was clear by the way he handled it that Roger was not familiar with guns. Simon found himself grateful it was a one shot pistol. He couldn't quite believe the man had found it in himself to shoot their father.
But as he heard Miranda rights being read, Simon watched his father being cuffed while an agent applied first aid to his shoulder. Roger, probably by sheer luck, had hit Walter's shooting arm. He'd saved Simon's life.
"Just take the damned gun, Roger!" Simon tried to hand the small firearm over. "I can't hold a gun on you and protect Jessica at the same time."
"I don't know if I can shoot my father," Roger admitted. "As awful as I'm learning he is, I can't shoot him."
Simon ran a hand through his hair. "You'll need to. You have to promise me, Rog. Get her out of there and safe."
"What about you?"
"I'm probably going to end up in a body bag if the plan doesn't go through."
Roger sighed as he took the gun. "It'll go through. That's not an option."
"Just promise me," Simon pleaded. "I know it is a lot to ask, after what I did to Paige--"
"No, I promise. You saved her life and you've been watching out for ours since that night. I can do it. I'll get her safe."
Simon set the gun down. He didn't want it. He didn't want any more firearms near him or Jessica.
Jessica.
He grasped her hands, sinking beside of her. Her face was streaked with tears.
"Are you okay, love?" He murmured. She shook her head, unable to speak. Fuck, this was his fault. "Okay. Look, we're probably going to have to answer some questions--" At that she shook her head violently. He raised an eyebrow. "I don't think we can get out of it," he pushed, worried for her. Had she just been through too much? Had his fucked up family and life ruined the person he loved most?
She leaned forward and whispered into his ear. The breathy comment sent shivers down his spine for more reasons than one. "Walter told me about you and I don't think I can lie about it."
His hands slid up and cupped her face. "You don't have to lie for me. I'll get what I deserve, whatever that may be." He let go of her face suddenly, realizing with horror that if she knew about him, he was the last person she'd want touching him. "I'm sorry, Jess. I'm sorry--this is my fault. Tell them the truth. I'll get whatever I deserve and you'll be safe again."
Her brows pushed together and then she leaped into his arms, clinging to him. "Oh no, you idiot. I don't think I can lie right now but I can't bear you being taken away from me!"
"What?" His question was muffled in her hair but he let his arms wrap around her regardless, tentative and confused. "What do you mean?"
"I mean you came here, you saved me from that awful man and if you get taken away now I'll commit a murder just to stay with you!" Her lips fell on his then, silencing any further discussion. He drank her in, confused but delighted. Maybe Walter hadn't told her the entire truth. Maybe it was just the adrenaline of the moment and she'd regret it all tomorrow. It didn't really matter, though. What mattered was her body pressed tight to his, her smell surrounding him, her lips dragging him into a world of passion where only the two of them existed.
Well, until a hand gently tugged his shoulder, prying him away from her. Simon reared, planning on giving the intruder a piece of his mind. It was Agent Mike Johnson, looking wholly pleased.
"Good work, Mr. Stills," he offered. "Fucking brilliant, actually. The dinner recording was enough to get the search warrants I needed. Weinstein, Baldur, and a few of their associates are being taken in for questioning as we speak. This, though? This was the golden ticket. This is going to land Walter Taylor in Federal Prison for the rest of his life. Admitting to murder wasn't even what I was after, but it will seal a perfect case after we get the warrants we need."
And he did offer his hand for a celebratory handshake, which Simon accepted, too stunned to be a smart ass. "So the mike was still on?"
Mike nodded. "Yep, it had been hot the who
le time. Another agent caught you talking to your brother--" he nodded at Roger, "in the car. Then he--" Mike glanced at Dallas, "called me and told me your plan. I hit the road as soon as I could, called the local police, and here we are."
Something was still not connecting for Simon. "If you weren't after the murders and corruption, what were you after?"
Mike beamed. "We were already certain about the corruption. You think we don't monitor that shit? But without the proof we couldn't get the warrants we needed. I'm about to prove your father and those oil dickheads have been making their money in weapons deals. They've been selling weapons to militant groups in oil-heavy countries, trying to make things unstable enough that domestic prices go up. They make money off the guns, they make money off the oil."
Stunned, Simon reached down and grabbed Jessica's hand, needing her stability. "Okay, so... our deal. It still stands?" He was terrified the other shoe would drop.
Mike clapped him on the shoulder. "Hell yes it still stands-- you got me more than what I needed. If it wasn't for your nasty rap sheet, I'd say you should come work for us. Be an undercover agent. We could use your skills."
Oh, the delightful irony, Simon knew, was that was just what he'd been trained for. Only, Walter's money had managed to buy him out of that kind of government work. His father had taken his skills and corrupted them. Fuck... he'd just plain corrupted Simon.
More happened but it was a blur. Because Mike had shown and the deal was valid, Jessica didn't have to answer questions. It wouldn't have mattered. Simon was exonerated. He took her out to his SUV and they just sat in it, silent.
It was the first time in weeks he wasn't worried about someone's life ending because if him. It was the first time he'd ever been without the oppressive shadow of Walter hovering over his every move.
It was the first time he'd been unemployed, he realized with wry satisfaction.
The satisfaction was short-lived. Sure, he'd won the battle and saved the day -- and with his brothers' help, something he never saw coming. But now, in the heavy silence, he wondered about the cost. Jessica was safe, but he wasn't sure she'd ever be okay.
The Corrupt Trilogy Page 29