by JL Mac
“On your mission to rescue dear old sis, did you have any success?”
Thinking, careful to choose my words so as to not implicate Hack in any capacity, I nod.
“And?” he leads.
“I believe she’s been sold—or will be.” He doesn’t say anything for a long beat and I find myself studying the night, enjoying the fresh air, and wondering if I will miss any of it when I’m dead.
“You’ll return to your room. You’ll remain there until I’m sure of who you are and what damage you’ve done.”
“You have your folder. You know exactly who I am.”
“No. No Miss Devlin, I don’t think I know who you are at all. Go,” he dismisses me with a flick of his wrist like I’m a fly who has buzzed too close to his food, tainting it.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Beast
I feel out of my depth and for a man like me—a monster, a beast—that is an extremely unnerving emotion. Once I’d loaded Ena Devlin’s limp body into my Aston Martin, I drove hating that I wasn’t sure if I had let my hold on her neck go in time. Two parts of me warred internally. The monster that I am wanted the light to permanently slip from her eyes. She had proven to be a liar and she had betrayed me, made me look and feel weak, and she’d put my men at risk simply by encroaching into our circle. She was my very own Mata Hari! The other part of me—a recently discovered and still nameless part—hated what I’d done and wanted to rush her to Doc, hoping he’d make a miracle happen. Bring her back, fix what I was afraid I had just done.
Before giving it much thought, I dialed Doc and demanded that he come prepared to my penthouse, not the crew apartment. I’d taken her to the apartment when she was blitzed out of her fucking mind. I couldn’t take her there again and risk one of the guys seeing me giving her aid instead of a bullet between her brows. Doc, being as expedient as ever, met me at my penthouse. He gave her oxygen and checked her over, relaying to me that her injury was primarily surface deep, bruising mostly, and soft tissue damage and that she’d be sore but she’d definitely live. He’d left me with instructions to give her a liquid only diet for the first few days to allow the inflammation in her throat and esophagus to lessen. He clapped me on the back as he left, a rueful smile on his face. It only deepened the sensation of weakness bubbling in my gut.
It hasn’t gone away and now I am on my way to the crew apartment to have a meeting with Orin and Murphy. They need to know what’s going on. I owe them all an explanation and a plan of action. Aggression between the Russian mutts and us hasn’t dwindled. In fact things seem to escalate by the day. The Italians are standing down as far as we can tell. Why lift a finger when your enemies are at each other’s throats doing all the work.
By the time I get to the apartment, I find Orin and Murphy already at the huge solid wood dinner table, having breakfast, thanks to Frieda, the housekeeper and cook at the apartment. She’s here four days a week to cater to the crew’s needs whether it be making scrambled eggs or making sure the trash is taken out and by trash, I mean any and all incriminating evidence.
Frieda spots me first and beams a smile my direction then scurries back to the stove to make me breakfast no doubt. Orin and Murphy extend their hands to me, shaking before getting back to their eggs and bacon. “Mornin’,” I mutter, settling into my seat. The conversation is scarce and what little is discussed is all business. Will’s death is a sour fog hanging heavy over all of us. My trouble with Miss Devlin hasn’t helped.
“Here’s the deal,” I begin. “Her name is Ena Devlin, not Abigail Tally and she’s not dead. She’s at my place.” I look between the two men. Murph stares at me with a look of shock on his face, which almost surprises me. Murph’s poker face is his default. Orin pats the beige linen napkin against his lips then returns it to his lap. “Her sister disappeared just like the missing Princessa,” I spew the title for the Italian girl like a swear word, hating the taste of it on my tongue. Especially in Orin’s presence. Murphy purses his lips, nodding his head, no particular emotion on display. Orin leans back, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Got the call last night from The Salesman. We’re in. The auction is Friday night.”
“I’ll go with you,” Murph volunteers without delay. I nod in appreciation.
“What are your plans for your house guest, Carrick?” Orin says finally, his eyes finding mine.
“I know her name and a little about her but there’s more there. I can feel it. I’ll find out everything and then—”
“You’ll what? Dispose of your new toy? Sell her? Give her away to one of the men perhaps? Order her to nurse Mikey back to health?” Orin says, chuckling at my expense. He knows me well. He knows the idea of Ena Devlin being in anyone else’s hands makes me see red. Is it that obvious to everyone or just the man I see as my father? My complicated situation with Ena Devlin doesn’t change the bottom line. I can’t keep her. It would betray my men, the same men she has compromised by slithering into our midst.
“I’ll handle Miss Devlin,” I say evenly, coolly.
“Better handle her or she will handle you, son,” Orin cautions, clapping me on the back as he stands from his place at the table. Frieda rushes over with my breakfast, plopping it down hurriedly in front of me to hug Orin, smiling and swooning for the old goat. They’ve been companions for many years but he’d never bring it up and he certainly wouldn’t remarry. After his disastrous tryst with the Italian woman, the loss of his child then the tragic end to his marriage, Orin is the very definition of jaded. He and Frieda may be two seniors spending their free time together doing whatever older men and women do but it will never go beyond that. Not only because of his past but because as history has demonstrated, High Knoll women never do fair well in this life. It would be selfish of him to bring her too far into the fold. It’s a dangerous place to be.
I make it back to my penthouse around midnight, leaving the club in the able hands of staff. Ena has been here for four days and I can smell her in the place now. I lie to myself and insist her scent floating on the air in my primary home isn’t the reason why I have been here every night instead of crashing in my room at the crew apartment. I further that lie by telling Murphy and myself I have to be here to keep an eye on her.
I toe off my Oxfords and drape my suit jacket over the banister at the base of the staircase leading to the second floor where the bedrooms are. I climb the stairs silently, curious to see if she’s in bed, curled up into a ball, breathing deep and even, sleeping with mumbled cries for her sister slipping from her full lips. It’s the same way I’ve found her every night since she found herself here. Always curled up, always asleep, always having only drank water. She refuses to drink the broth and variety of soups I’ve had Frieda prepare for her every day.
Stubborn little Knockout.
I unlock her door and push it open. She’s on her left side, facing the massive wall of windows facing the water. She hasn’t said so, but I think she enjoys the view. Of course she hasn’t said anything to me at all. I nearly killed her.
“Can I talk to you?” she asks still facing the windows. I’m shocked to hear her voice.
Relieved too.
I ignore the jeering voice inside and step further into the room.
“Please,” she says sitting up, patting the bed for me to come closer. Her voice is much better, slowly recovering from the damage my hands inflicted. I would be lying to myself if I were to claim that a little tick of relief flutters in my chest hearing her sound more like herself. I study her for a moment and wonder what’s got her feeling all chatty and inviting. I have to wonder if she’ll beg for her life and freedom. Not likely. I hope that she doesn’t because the twisted fuck that I am respects the stubborn, ballsy woman she is. She’d rather starve herself than take the food I’ve offered her.
I come to stand near the foot of the bed but make no move further. “Feeling chatty, Miss Devlin?”
“I need to at least text my mom or she’s going to call the cops.”
I say nothing to that but make a mental concession to bring her shit to her and supervise this communication. Last thing I need is more missing reports cropping up. Especially since plenty of people have spotted my little liar around me.
“What do you plan to do with me?”
“Whatever I please.”
“I’m not above suicide,” she warns, and the sincerity in her eyes makes me mentally remind myself to remove any option of suicide.
“I’ll make sure you can’t.”
“I wouldn’t be a very good house guest under those circumstances.”
“You’re right. Tragic, considering how you’ve been so agreeable thus far,” I clip feeling irritated that she has made a point. I can’t very well fucking babysit a suicidal woman whom I don’t really want to see dead.
You’re obsessed.
“I have a proposition.”
“You have nothing I want. You. Have. Zero. Leverage, Miss Devlin,” I watch her lift her chin defiantly, refusing to be hurt in any way by my words.
“Find my sister and bring her home or kill the ones responsible for her death if that’s what’s happened,” she says pausing to take a deep breath. “… and you can do what you want with me.”
“Miss Devlin,” I sneer, a wicked grin tipping my lips up. “Is it lost on you where you are? Take a good look around. I’ll do what I want with you regardless.”
“No. You won’t. Do this… ” she pauses, swallowing hard. She unfolds herself, standing. “…do this and I’ll surrender,” she promises, coming closer. “You win,” she whispers lifting her hand to my chest. “I’ll do whatever you want, be whomever you want, I’ll tell you anything—everything for as long as you want. For forever if that’s what it takes. Just… save Lan.”
“Miss Devlin,” I say tipping my chin down, bringing my lips to skim over hers. “You should probably start by eating. Then we will discuss what you do and don’t have to offer me,” I grit, plucking her hand from my chest pretending she disgusts me while simultaneously itching to wrap my arms around her, feast on her mouth, and take what I’ve been needing from her.
“I’ll beg,” she pleas, dropping to her knees. “If I disgust you now, if you aren’t attracted to me like you were before you knew my real identity, if you can’t stand the sight of me then kill me—go ahead, but please, I beg you, save Lan.” Her full bottom lip quivers and she bites into the flesh to keep it from showing. Even now, here, under these circumstances, with me above her, the woman is resilient and determined as fuck. No surprise surviving life as an orphan in Robert Bonner’s care. I watch her bruised neck work through a hard swallow. Her green eyes—green eyes I’d swear I know somehow—imploring me to be some kind of hero that I’m not.
“Eat,” I growl then leave her alone, caged in her room. Funny thing about that is for a woman who is being held captive, somehow, I feel like I’m the one in a cell with no escape.
I’m tired, but sleep won’t come. I leave my place and go across town to the little hovel Ena has been staying in. I haven’t picked a lock in a long fucking time but it’s like riding a bike. I could kick the door down but it would attract attention I’m not interested in silencing tonight. I stop by the apartment and grab my lock pick kit from a drawer in my bedroom there. Thankfully no one else is sleeping at the apartment we all use intermittently, which I’m glad for. I get to her place and gather her things, packing everything I find. I catch sight of a small area of rumbled carpet in the corner of her closet. The threads at the edges are poking out like a beacon. With my leather gloves on I use the tip of my knife to fold back the carpet there. I test the floor with my fingertips and can tell right away there is a loose floorboard. I clear out her little hiding place feeling a little impressed by the lengths she went to find her sister.
Pride, you sick fuck? You aren’t impressed. You’re proud of the woman who lied and manipulated you.
Moving to her bathroom things I snag her hairbrush and hold it up, my eyes catching on the red strands of hair tangled in the bristles. I still ache to wrap that hair around my fist a couple times and punish her with my own body.
I could have her. I could have her full submission…
The seed she planted in my head when she’d pitched her offer has been festering, already weeping infection and leaving me feeling feverish and unsure, ill and in need of a cure. Unfortunately for me the only medicine I’m interested in is her. I growl and finish sweeping the place for any traces of her existence.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ena
I wake up to find things have obviously changed. Lots and lots of fucking change. While I’m considerably less sore following my brush with death I’m not entirely certain that I won’t find myself back on death row at any time now. It’s difficult to predict what Beast does and doesn’t do. In truth, I’m not convinced that even he sometimes knows what he will do from one minute to the next. I can tell he shoots from the hip at times.
It feels like a trap but I can’t help but walk right into it. The door is gaping open and my things from the rental are neatly piled. I look first for my gun and knife and of course find that he has decided to keep those particular items from me. I take a tentative step out into the corridor and take the same path I took before. Down the hall, down the stairs. I find Beast in the kitchen piling food onto a platter. His gray eyes drift to me and though I can see he’s a little worse for the wear, he looks incredible in loose fitting athletic shorts and gym shoes, no shirt.
Holy.
Fucking.
Hell.
I swallow hard internally pleading with my throat to work. I lick my lips and watch him stack bacon, ham, scrambled eggs, and triangles of toast on the plate.
“See something you want?”
“I—yes. I’m hungry,” I admit feeling naked under his gaze.
“Yeah, Miss Devlin. Me too,” he says darkly, his eyes scanning my body from head to toe. Goose bumps spring up and my heart speeds. He gathers the platter in one hand and a jug of orange juice in another hand and heads for the outdoor dining table I’m beginning to see is his preferred place to eat.
“You took my gun. And my knife,” I accuse as we sit down.
“I did. They’re in the harbor now. No tellin’ how dirty that shit was,” he says with a critical glance my way as he stabs food with a fork and fills his plate.
“It’s clean.”
“Doesn’t matter now.”
“Right,” I concede.
“Eat,” he orders around a mouth full of food with his fork pointed at me. The stubborn streak in me wants to tell him to fuck himself but lack of food has left me weak and dizzy and precariously close to collapsing. I have one last card on the table and I need to hang in there long enough to see what move he makes next. I offered myself up. I told him I’d do or be anything he pleases, whatever he wants if he tries to get Lan home. “Eat or this negotiation is done before it even begins,” he warns remarkably casual. I grab a piece of toast and a small serving of eggs, opting to test the waters before chowing down just to be sick. My stomach has been empty for days and bacon just sounds like trouble.
“You met Arman, he’s The Salesman,” he says between bites. I nod, taking a small bite of my own toast. “His job is to arrange purchases, negotiations, transactions for people… like me,” he smiles a toothy smile that despite its evil undercurrent makes my stomach dip. “He’s gotten me an invitation to the auction where I suspect your sister will be sold, if she’s even still alive. Russians.” He shrugs like that’s a minor detail but the toast I just swallowed suddenly feels like a bowling ball. “So,” he claps his hands in front of him. “Since I’m already going to be there on other business, I will inquire about your sister and in return, Ena Devlin…”
“You.”
“Are.”
“Mine.”
“In every sense of the word. Your mind, your body, your thoughts, your past, your future, however long it may be. You will submit and you will remain in my home and at
my mercy.”
“Can I see them? My mom and sister?”
“No.” His answer is resolute.
“Never?” I croak. The blood feels as though it has all swept south to my feet.
“You are asking that I go to an auction to buy a girl—your sister—I accept that proposition but these are my terms. You can deny them and when you die you’ll do so knowing you fucked up your one shot to live and secure her life too.”
“How can I trust you? Trust that you paid for her—that she makes it home?”
“You can’t,” he declares before taking another big bite of his breakfast.
Right. “Okay. I agree,” I say knowing this is it, my only chance, my only hope. I’ll try because I have nothing else to lose. I take a deep breath, standing to thrust my hand toward him. He snags my hand and jerks me toward him. I land in his lap and his bruising grip forces my jaw forward to stare into his eyes. “Sure about that? Because Ena, you’re agreein’ to be in my bed every night as often as I choose and I won’t be nice to you. You’ve caused me a great deal of fuckin’ grief and trouble. I’m going to enjoy taking it out on you as often as humanly possible. You still willin’ to sell your soul to the devil?”
“An amendment?”
“Fire away,” he growls against my ear, tugging my ass closer to his hips.
“You find her and you buy her, bring her home safe and sound and I am your new toy. You find that she’s already gone then… then I am yours for a while. Only a while.”
“Fine,” he says with an evil smirk in place. “Say… three months?”
“Okay. Deal,” I say attempting again to shake his hand. He takes my hand, shaking it firmly then he lifts my hand to his mouth, kissing each one of my knuckles. I squirm in his lap, hating that this monster has such influence over me sexually. He tried to murder me merely days ago. His teeth sink into the inside of my wrist, marking me again. I yelp and try in vain to jerk my hand away.