Any Way You Want It

by Maureen Smith

  Landis Kennedy stood by the fireplace shouting and waving a leather-bound book at a visibly distressed servant.

  The butler came up behind Remy. “Sir, I must ask you to leave this moment.”

  Kennedy and the red-faced servant whipped their heads toward the door. When Kennedy saw Remy standing there, his eyes bulged in shock.

  “What the hell are you—”

  Remy shot a hard glance at the servant. “Leave.”

  The woman took one look at his ominous expression and scurried across the room. She gave him a wide berth as she went out the door and closed it behind her, taking the sputtering butler with her.

  As Remy looked at Zandra’s father, a crimson haze settled over his vision. He cracked his knuckles, his lips curling back over his teeth in a snarl.

  Kennedy eyed him nervously. “Now just hold on, Remington—”

  As Remy lunged forward, Kennedy’s eyes flew wide with panic. He dropped the book and turned to run toward the terrace doors, but Remy was already upon him.

  The first blow he landed struck Kennedy’s left cheek and snapped his head back. Before the man could draw breath to cry out, Remy punched him again, smashing his fist deeper into skin and bone.

  Kennedy screamed and doubled over, clutching his broken nose.

  Remy could have snapped his sorry neck and been done with it. But he was too enraged to offer swift mercy. He wanted Kennedy to suffer, wanted him to feel the pain of every punishing blow Remy delivered.

  So he hit him with two more uppercuts that dropped Kennedy to his knees, gurgling in agony. And then he swung a roundhouse kick into the man’s stomach, driving him backward.

  As Kennedy toppled to the wood floor and lay there groaning, Remy crouched over his prone body and whipped out his KA-BAR knife. The steel blade caught the light as his hand slashed down, bringing the razor-sharp edge to Kennedy’s throat.

  “Oh, God. Oh, Jesus.” Kennedy stared up at him, his eyes so wide with terror that Remy could see the whites around his pupils. Blood gushed from his nose and a gash in his cheek, and his lips quivered piteously.

  “Please,” he whimpered. “Please don’t kill me.”

  Remy pressed the deadly blade into the man’s flesh, drawing a thin ridge of blood. With one flick of his wrist he could sever Kennedy’s carotid artery and end his miserable life.

  Tears spilled from the man’s eyes as blood soaked into the collar of his white shirt. “P-please d-don’t do this, Remington,” he stammered pleadingly. “Y-you know th-this isn’t wh-what she’d want.”

  Remy stared down at him, violence pumping hot and thick through his veins.

  Relief flickered in Kennedy’s eyes as Remy slowly removed the knife from his throat. He brought it to his mouth, closing his eyes as he licked the stained blade.

  “I’ve been craving your blood all my life, old man. It tastes even better than I always imagined.”

  Opening his eyes, he stared into Kennedy’s horror-stricken face.

  A small, feral smile curved Remy’s mouth.

  Slowly, deliberately, he ran the tip of the blade from Kennedy’s throat down to his rib cage, stopping at his pounding heart.

  When a pungent odor filled his nostrils, he glanced down and saw a dark stain spreading across the front of Kennedy’s pants. The fucking coward had pissed on himself.

  Remy smiled narrowly, looking into the man’s eyes. Shame had now joined the fear.

  “Give me one damn reason I shouldn’t gut you right now, you pathetic son of a bitch.”

  Kennedy whimpered. “I—I didn’t mean to hit her. Sh-she provoked me.”

  “Wrong answer!”

  “Please don’t do this, son—”

  “I’m not your damn son! And you’d better be glad I’m not, ’cause I’d have killed you after the first time you put a hand on my mother.”

  Kennedy gulped audibly. “Be reasonable, Remington. You’re trespassing on my property. The police are probably on their way right now. You wouldn’t get away with killing me.”

  “You’d be amazed what I can get away with,” Remy snarled, slicing the blade of his knife through two of Kennedy’s shirt buttons. When the man whimpered, Remy sneered contemptuously. “You sniveling little piece of shit. You like pounding on helpless women? You like taking out your frustrations on people who can’t fight back? That shit ends today, you hear me? Today is the last fucking day you will ever terrorize—”

  “Remy” came a quiet voice from across the room.

  He tensed, then glanced over his shoulder to see Zandra and her stepmother hovering in the doorway.

  Johanna Kennedy looked stunned and horrified, while Zandra’s expression was indiscernible behind the sunglasses she wore.

  “Let him go, Remy,” she said softly. “Please.”

  He clenched his jaw, turning back to Kennedy. The man had the relieved look of a condemned prisoner who’d narrowly escaped a one-way ticket to the execution chamber.

  Not so fucking fast.

  Viciously grabbing the man’s chin with one hand, Remy commanded, “Take a good look at your daughter.”

  Kennedy obediently looked across the room at Zandra.

  “Every time you think of her from now on,” Remy snarled, “I want you to remember her as the angel of mercy who saved your sorry hide today. But understand this. If you ever come anywhere near her again, if you even think about contacting her, I will take great pleasure in disemboweling you. That’s not an empty threat, motherfucker. That’s a promise.”

  A fresh wave of terror swam into Kennedy’s eyes.

  “Now say thank you to your daughter.”

  The man gulped hard and looked at Zandra. “Th-thank you.”

  She smiled contemptuously. “I didn’t do it for you. I did it for Remy. Because as despicable as you are, you’re not worth him losing a piece of his soul for ending your miserable life.” She looked at Remy, and though he couldn’t see her eyes, he knew they were full of the same tender compassion that had unraveled him that night in London.

  He swallowed tightly, then sheathed his knife and stretched to his feet. Skewering his urine-soaked nemesis with one last lethal glare, Remy pivoted and strode from the room.

  As he neared the doorway, Johanna stared up at him with a mixture of fear and fascination.

  He spared her a curt nod before turning his attention to Zandra.

  Without a word, she took his hand and led him down the hall, past the whispering servants and out the front door.

  Her driver stood by the Phantom, which was parked in the circular brick driveway behind Remy’s black Escalade. The man nodded a greeting to Remy, who nodded back.

  In silence he and Zandra started down the front steps. As soon as they reached the bottom, she released his hand and stepped back.

  Dread tightened his throat. “Zandra—”

  “Thank you for coming to my defense like that,” she said in a low voice. “You didn’t have to, but I appreciate it.”

  He shook his head at her. “You don’t have to thank me. You know I’d do anything for you.”

  She smiled bitterly. “Except be truthful with me, right?”

  Remy flinched, the salvo hitting him square in the chest. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, baby. I was just trying to protect you—”

  “By going behind my back to investigate my agency?”

  “I had my reasons for doing that, if you’d just let me explain—”

  She held up a hand. “This isn’t the time or place.”

  “Then I’ll follow you back to your apartment and we can talk there.”

  “I don’t think so,” Zandra said tightly. “I’m not ready to hear whatever you have to say. Honestly, I don’t even know that it would make any difference. You betrayed my trust, Remy. As far as I’m concerned, there’s never a good reason for doing that to someone you claim to love.”

  Her words couldn’t have hurt him more if she’d taken a serrated knife to his heart. He stared miserably at her, wanting to
touch her. To stroke her face, feather his fingers over her cheek and soothe her bruised skin. But he knew she’d reject his touch, and he couldn’t handle that.

  Still, he had to get through to her.

  “I wasn’t conspiring with the mayor. You may not remember this,” he rushed on as Zandra opened her mouth to interrupt him, “but Norwood’s senior advisor is my former CO. Keegan came to me a few weeks ago and warned me that the mayor was planning to investigate your agency so he’d have ammunition to use against your father. Keegan wanted to hire me for the job so I’d be able to warn you if there was any trouble.” Remy paused, his expression turning grim. “You need to know that one of your escorts failed the test.”

  Zandra visibly tensed. “Who?”

  “Brigitte.”

  “Brigitte?” she repeated blankly.

  “Yeah. Is she new?”

  “No. I don’t have a—” Suddenly the confusion cleared from Zandra’s face, and she heaved an exasperated breath. “That wasn’t one of my escorts. That was Skylar.”

  Remy frowned. “Your friend Skylar?”

  “Yes. She was impersonating one of my girls. Long story,” she added with an impatient wave of her hand. “The point is, your mole—”

  Remy winced at the biting accusation in her voice.

  “—didn’t expose anything more than the fact that Skylar has a weakness for hot guys.” She smirked. “It’s a flaw we both possess, unfortunately.”

  Guilt assailed Remy. “Zandra—”

  She pushed her sunglasses up on her nose, reinforcing the barrier between them. “We’d better leave before my father or Johanna call the police.”

  Remy scowled. “Let them. I don’t give a fuck.”

  “I do.” Her lips twisted cynically. “God knows I have enough damage control to tackle without adding an arrest to my troubles.”

  Remy felt another stab of guilt. “Zandra—”

  “Go home, Remington. There’s nothing left to say.” With that, she turned and walked to her waiting car. When Norman opened the back door for her, she hesitated.

  Remy held his breath.

  After another moment, she lowered herself into the backseat, dashing his hopes.

  “Damn it.” Clenching his jaw, he started determinedly toward the vehicle. He couldn’t just let her leave like this. “Zandra, wait, damn it—”

  Norman closed the door, then stood there protectively as if to say, If you wanna get to her, you’re gonna have to go through me.

  Remy held the older man’s stern gaze for a tense moment, then scowled and backed down. He couldn’t very well fault the man for doing his job, especially when Remy was the one who’d interviewed and hired him in the first place.

  “Take care of her, Norman,” he growled.

  “Yes, sir. You know I always do.”

  After the Phantom pulled off, Remy climbed into his truck, slammed the door and roared away from the mansion, determined to get some answers from Keegan.

  Robyn, Racquel, Lena, Morgan and Skylar converged upon Zandra’s penthouse that evening. They surrounded her with their arms wrapped around her waist, their eyes full of gentle concern and righteous anger as they fussed over her bruised cheek and hissed scathing invectives at her father.

  Since Cora was on vacation, Robyn bustled into the kitchen and whipped up a chicken casserole that soon had the whole apartment smelling like heaven. Under normal circumstances Zandra would have been the first in line to get a helping, but tonight her voracious appetite was nowhere to be found. She had to be prodded and bullied into eating the modest portion that Robyn served her, then she’d curled up on the sofa with her legs pulled up to her chest. Someone draped a warm blanket over her at some point, and a glass of red wine on the table beckoned her to sip and soothe her frayed nerves.

  Though no one turned on the television, the conversation centered around the story that had headlined the day’s local news broadcasts. The women were so outraged at the injustice Zandra had suffered, she wouldn’t have been surprised if they simultaneously broke into a chorus of Helen Reddy’s rallying anthem “I Am Woman.”

  Throughout the spirited discussion, they cast worried glances at Zandra as she sat with her head leaning back against the sofa, staring vacantly at the ceiling. They weren’t used to seeing her like this. They were used to her being a tough, feisty fighter—the first to smear on the war paint and charge into battle.

  But Zandra didn’t have much fight in her tonight. She felt like she’d been ambushed, because she’d never seen Remy’s betrayal coming.

  He knew better than anyone how much her escort agency meant to her. When she’d decided to open Elite For You Companions, he was the first person she’d told, and over the years he’d been her sounding board when things didn’t always go smoothly. Yet none of that had mattered to him when he’d decided to conduct his secret investigation.

  And that, more than being publicly humiliated or losing clients, was what devastated Zandra the most.

  “Honey, do you want to go lie down in your room?” Skylar asked, gently touching Zandra’s knee.

  She shook her head, trying to smile. “I’m fine.”

  Lena frowned sympathetically. “Sweetie, we can all see that you’re not fine.”

  Zandra made no reply. She hadn’t told them about Remy’s role in this whole nightmare. The pain of his betrayal was too raw, and she didn’t feel comfortable bashing him around his sisters.

  Especially when Robyn curved an arm around her and gently guided Zandra’s head down to her warm shoulder. “Everything’s gonna be all right,” she murmured soothingly, comforting Zandra as she’d done in those dark, disorienting days following her mother’s death. “You’ll get through this, too.”

  Zandra wished she could share Robyn’s optimism. But the truth was that even if her agency came through the scandal unscathed, her relationship with Remy would never be the same again.

  Racquel glanced around at everyone and frowned. “We need to do damage control. Where should we start?”

  Skylar’s lips tightened with anger. “I know where I’d like to start. By digging up some dirt on that smart-ass news anchor at Channel Five. She seemed to take just a little too much satisfaction in repeatedly flashing that picture of Zandra and Remy.”

  Zandra grimaced as the others grumbled in agreement.

  “She’s just doing the mayor’s bidding,” Morgan said with grim pragmatism. “He’s obviously the one who leaked the story to the press. He has the most incentive to eliminate his strongest competitors as quickly as possible. If that means going after his rival’s daughter, so be it. That’s what politicians call collateral damage.”

  “Bastard,” Skylar hissed furiously. “All of them.”

  “They can be pretty despicable,” Robyn agreed, gently stroking Zandra’s hair.

  “You won’t get any argument from me,” Morgan asserted. “But like it or not, ladies, that’s how the game is played. When Zandra’s father held his press conference to announce his candidacy, he portrayed himself as an upstanding city council member, a pillar of the community, a family man—”

  Several rude snorts peppered the room.

  “—and a devout Christian. He all but declared himself on par with the Pope. Going after Zandra’s escort agency and sullying her reputation is the perfect way to attack her father’s character and integrity, even his parenting skills.”

  “Of which he has none,” Zandra muttered caustically.

  This elicited angry murmurs of agreement.

  Morgan grimaced at Zandra. “Unfortunately, your father and his people are probably gearing up right now to throw you under the bus.”

  Zandra smiled bitterly. “It wouldn’t surprise me.”

  Racquel scowled. “That’s really fucked up. Hasn’t he done enough to her?”

  “You would think,” Robyn said with withering scorn.

  Lena frowned at Morgan. “So what you’re saying is that Zandra could be fending off attacks from the mayor and
her father?”

  Morgan nodded grimly. “I’m afraid so.”

  Robyn and Racquel sucked their teeth in disgust.

  “If those sons of bitches want a war,” Skylar snarled, her eyes glinting fiercely, “I say we give them one.”

  As the others got fired up, Zandra could feel her fighting spirit clawing back to the surface. After her mother died, she’d sworn never to be a victim to any man, for any reason. Wallowing in self-pity and despair was a surefire way to remain trampled upon.

  “In order for Zandra to get ahead of this story,” Morgan said decisively, “she has to seize control of the media narrative.”

  Lifting her head from Robyn’s shoulder, Zandra met Morgan’s gaze. “All right, Miss PR Guru. You’ve got my attention. Just how do I go about seizing control of the media narrative?”

  Morgan’s expression softened, her eyes touching on Zandra’s bruised cheek. “By finally breaking your silence and telling the world the truth.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Three days later, Zandra stared out over a sea of reporters who’d gathered for her scheduled press conference. The bright glare of their cameras made her grateful for the dark sunglasses that concealed her eyes.

  As she surveyed the large crowd, nervous apprehension fluttered deep in her stomach. There were local reporters, as well as reporters from national cable networks. Morgan had rightly predicted that this story would generate national interest. It was a slow summer news cycle, and something about Chicago politics had always captured the public’s imagination.

  But not everyone assembled was a member of the press. Zandra’s courage was bolstered by the presence of supporters that included Skylar, Lena and the Brands, who’d always been there for her.

  And then there was Remy.

  When their eyes met, Zandra’s heart twisted painfully. She hadn’t spoken to him since she’d left him standing outside her father’s house. He’d called her, but she hadn’t answered the phone. He’d emailed her, but she hadn’t opened the message.

  Looking into his dark eyes, she could see that he was as miserable and heartbroken as she was. But now was not the time to dwell on regret, to mourn what could have been.