by Raven Scott
“Oh, can I get some of that?” Valerie held out the bottle, and Esmarissa took a huge gulp to sigh hotly. “Good. So anyway, I really don’t care what you’re doing, but I had no part in it, Carlyle. Whatever bullshit is going on, I don’t want any part of that, either.”
“You’re not here because of that. You’re here for something else. I hope you didn’t have weekend plans.” This conversation ended, and I gestured to Illya as she watched from a few feet away. “Put them somewhere. I don’t care where. And get the dog a treat.”
32
Valerie
My eyelids fluttered open, and a gasp rasped my throat as consciousness tugged me violently from my drunken sleep. Waiting for my eyes to adjust, I stretched my legs and arms and arched my back, and a groan escaped me when my joints popped. Blinking hard, my gaze found Carlyle seated in a chair, his own focused firmly on the folder in his hands, and I sluggishly rolled onto my side.
“I didn’t drink enough last night, obviously.” There was no pounding against my forehead, no ache behind my eyes, and I gathered up the pillow as Carlyle glanced at me. Slapping the folder shut, he crossed his knees and ran his hand over his head, and the low light in the room made his eyes seem brighter.
“I had you hooked up to an IV so you wouldn’t get a hangover. You definitely drank enough last night— enough to give a normal person alcohol poisoning. If you didn’t have such a high tolerance, you’d be suffering something bad right now.” My lips stretched in a small smile, and Carlyle propped his elbow on the armrest to hold his cheek on his half-curled first. “While you were asleep, we found out who sent the bomb. They’re a wannabe gang called Baron Ninety-Nine. Do you know anything about them?”
“Not really. I know they’re violent.” My answer earned me a soft hum, and I licked my dry lips before parting them again. “Who are you really, Carlyle? When you showed up at my apartment, why did you ask about the fighting?”
“The truth is, I felt guilty about not telling you.” He took a short breath in preparation, and I held my own in anticipation, though I had a feeling nothing he said would be a shock. “I run the largest criminal organization in the world. Most of my companies are shells or fronts, and I didn’t want you to believe I was perfect. No one is perfect.”
“Okay.” Stretching out my hand, I waited for him to take it as surprise rose his brows, and a huge surge of relief sloshed in my chest. Carlyle dragged his fingertips along my palm, and I sniffed as the confused silence became tinged with discomfort. “At least you’re honest.”
“I completely understand if you want no part of it, Valerie.” I rolled onto my back to stare at the ceiling, and Carlyle drew circles on my palm and up my wrist. “It’s not something you should take lightly. I’ve had several attempts on my life, and you don’t have to live with that fear looming over your shoulder.”
“Have you personally killed someone?” Glancing over as he nodded quietly, my mind went a little blank before I opened my mouth. “Are you going to kill my mom?”
“If you want me to, yes. It’s something you should discuss with your sister. Like I said, I’ll hold onto her until you two make a decision. I’ve got people looking for her right now.” His expression tightened out of the corner of my eye, and I tilted my head listlessly. “There are some things we need to talk about. I’m not ashamed, but I did look into you and Natasha, Valerie, and what I found was not . . . easy . . . to read.”
“Yeah.” Training my gaze on a particularly large popcorn on the ceiling, I inhaled deeply, but it did nothing to fill the hollow gape in my chest. “My mom . . . when Natasha and I applied to be emancipated, we got the same judge who presided over our family matters. He asked us what really happened. It’s not uncommon to lie— after all, the known misery is better than the unknown. We told him, and he granted us emancipation before we even finished the sentence.”
“Do you feel you should continue therapy?” He was so straightforward, and I shook my head absently. “Why not?”
“It’s not something you get over, but I guess I’m as over it as I’ll ever be. I had a really long, really intense slut phase in college. It only stopped because one guy— a good guy, really sweet— had an AIDS scare and told me when he found out. I’m negative. Even when I wasn’t having sex and after moving here, I got tested. When we were ‘borrowed,’ I had to be treated for gonorrhea and chlamydia. I got referred to this really great survivor therapist. It was nice because she didn’t treat Natasha, just me.”
“I take it she helped you compartmentalize?” Shaking my head again, I sat up to run my hand through my hair, and the strands peeled from my neck and shoulders from dried sweat. Everything was so fuzzy from before I moved here, and Carlyle held my hand firmly as I struggled to organize my hazy thoughts.
“Um . . . not really, no. She basically told me that people are cruel, and they do cruel things for just the sake of it. Over the years, she helped me realize that if I let it hang over me, those people would win, and I wasn’t gonna let that happen. I never fooled myself into thinking I’d get revenge, so I settled on defeat. They’d never know it, but I’d beat them. Eventually. Besides, it wasn’t what happened to me that was so horrible.” Realization flickered in his eyes, and he rubbed my palm with his thumb. My story came to an end, and there were no flashbacks. There was nothing. No memories came floating up from the abyssal crevices of my mind, and nothing sparked in my chest.
Which, arguably, was worse, I guess.
“I never settle.” Goosebumps swept up my arm at his declaration, and I rested my cheek on my knee to watch him cock his head and frown. “Do you have any idea at all why you were targeted specifically, Valerie?”
“Your guess is probably better than mine.” The conversation came to a screeching halt when someone knocked gently on the door, and Carlyle stood up with a low grunt. Pulling the sheet to my chin, I rubbed my eyes and face as a deeper kind of exhaustion tugged at my very soul.
“Boss, Pedro is here . . . and he’s pissed.” Scooting to the foot of the bed, I threw my legs over the side, and Carlyle glanced back at me from under furrowed brows. My toes flexed against the carpet, and I pushed myself up onto unsteady legs with a slight nod. Turning back to the unfamiliar woman, he mumbled something too low for me to hear before shutting the door and turning to me fully.
“Your clothes are in those boxes.” Pointing at a pile of plain packing boxes, Carlyle walked over to me to hold both my hands by my sides. “Take a shower. Eat. I’ll be back in a little bit.”
“I’m coming with you.” His lips thinned, but Carlyle didn’t object, and he didn’t agree, either, but who cared about that? “Why is he mad?”
“I blew up a bunch of his drugs about . . . four hours ago.” Glancing at his watch, he shrugged absently, and a tickle of something caressed my lungs. “It’ll be fine. He’s an amateur.”
I couldn’t really react to that, and I stepped away from Carlyle to poke through the boxes in the corner of the room. Truthfully, I didn’t care how I looked for once. I grabbed the first pair of jeans and a t-shirt, not bothering with a bra other underwear. My sluggish movements matched my mind, and I glanced at him over my shoulder.
“Thanks for not judging me.” About what? The STDs? The sob story? The insane amount of drinking I did last night, most of which I don’t remember? Carlyle smiled reassuringly, but it came off as menacing because of the tension in him so visible on his face. When I went to take off my pajamas, my thumbs hooked on nothing, and I noticed for the first time that I was naked. Frowning under furrowed brows, I stuffed my feet into my pants and hiked them up, but my hands shook.
Wandering over to me, Carlyle gently pulled up the zipper and fastened the button, and I let him wrest the shirt from me. The plain, black t-shirt was soft as he pulled it over my head, and he gathered up my hair as I folded my arms through the holes. Cupping my cheeks in his dry, warm hands— no longer scorching hot— he ducked his head to capture my lips.
His kiss was magi
cal, soft and ginger, but rough from being chapped and constantly downturned. Slinging my arms around Carlyle’s neck, I pressed against him just to be closer, and he caressed my mouth with a slow-burning passion. There was so much anger in his gentleness, and I threaded my fingers through his hair to deepen our kiss.
There was so much anger, but there was also happiness and hope . . . and a barrage of other emotions that rushed down my throat and filled up the gaping hole in my chest. Carlyle’s kisses didn’t lie, didn’t fudge the truth, didn’t avoid the question.
That’s why he was so bad at it before. He never let anyone feel what lays below that stony exterior. Not a single soul knew except me.
“I never settle, Valerie, and this . . . I’m going to crush anyone that gets between us.” Squeezing my face very gently to punctuate his point, Carlyle’s eyes blazed full on with all the hate and rage he’d been hiding from me, and I smiled. Tears sprung to my eyes, and my heart became so full it barely beat properly. Even as his blurred features twisted in malice, I warmed, and I rested my cheek on his chest to feel the furious ripple of his muscles.
33
Valerie
“What’s Theo’s progress?” Seeing Carlyle in such complete control was beyond reassuring, beyond words themselves. He owned everything and everyone, and he made sure they knew he wasn’t someone to mess with. Trailing behind him, I couldn’t take my eyes off the determined set of his shoulders and straight set of his spine. He spoke with authority. He walked, and people scurried out of the way. His every pore exuded power.
There had been signs and hints, but the man I’d known until now was considerably tempered down.
“He’s halfway done. Also, Jerry’s on his way back to help Greg, and Hano believes he’s close.” There were no specifics, but Carlyle knew exactly what was going on even though he sat with me all night. Well, early morning into noon. He didn’t stop walking to listen, and his long strides forced his brother to work to keep up with him. “We have five hours until the Network activates, but Theo’s confident he’ll find the rest long before then.”
“Tell Hano he’s carpooling, and we’re not waiting on him.” Pushing open a pair of glass doors, Carlyle didn’t miss a beat, and I barely noticed Oran holding one open for me before slipping off back down the hall. “Pedro! My man, when I call, I expect you to jump. I’m not known for my patience.”
“I was jumping.” Pedro Gonzalez was shorter than me, distinctly Mexican features scrunching up in disgust, and he stood up from his seat to sneer noticeably. “I didn’t call back immediately be—”
Holding up a hand to silence Pedro’s really, honestly, good English, Carlyle gestured to the chair wordlessly. Slowly, the drug lord sat down, and Carlyle pulled a seat out for me before dropping himself to prop his feet on the table. This was all an act, I realized . . . well, maybe not all of it. Maybe, this was just how Carlyle wanted Pedro to see him.
“I don’t give a shit, honestly. Here’s the deal. Tonight at five p.m., I’m going to issue a bounty for every single Baron Ninety-Nine member in Dallas. I had called you last night to let you know so you could pull your people, but, you know, whatever. It doesn’t matter anymore. Obviously, you don’t appreciate the favor. I’ve instructed the Network to hunt down all of them. You and I have a deal, which I honored, but what I do not appreciate is being ignored.” Pedro was quiet, narrowed eyes firmly on Carlyle but staring him down, and I glanced between the two. “I lost faith in you when you fucked up that job in Nevada. So to regain a smidgen of trust in which to build a future relationship, I want something of yours.”
“What would that be?” Carlyle smacked the top of the table, a malicious grin puffing out his cheeks at the question, and Pedro tensed.
“Good of you to ask, my friend. See, someone made a bomb and sent it to my girl, here.” Pedro’s breath hitched, eyes widening as they flew to me, and a sense of surrealism overwhelmed me when I gazed back. This guy had tortured and killed people, whole towns. He was responsible for death every single day, but he was afraid of Carlyle. “According to my forensics team, it came from one of your bomb makers. A man by the name of Julio Montoya. He uses these incredibly distinct pink blast caps, which I’m sure you’re aware of. This puts me in a situation, see. Either you knew about him doing side work, or you didn’t know. Neither of those are good things, Pedro.”
“If you’re gonna kill me, just do it.” I was watching a scene in a movie— it was just so insanely casual, and Pedro jutted out his weak chin.
“Why would I do that? You can’t repay me if you’re dead. And make no mistake, Pedro . . . you’re going to pay quite a lot.” Carlyle was toying with Pedro, and his words from what seemed like so long ago floated up in my head to blare in my ears. There’s a beauty to being refined and keeping a cap on violence. Pedro’s got a lot more to worry about than just Carlyle. Whole governments are after him. “So, my proposal is this.”
Standing up leisurely, Carlyle walked around the medium-sized table, pulling a knife out of his jacket pocket. The difference between them was startling now that they were side by side. Carlyle wore a nice suit, nicely styled hair, and no facial hair. Pedro looked exactly like one of those guys who’d be behind Home Depot— not that there was nothing wrong with those guys, but . . .
Of course, there was a safety to dressing the part, so if Pedro wanted to blend in, that’d be the way to do it.
“You can do two of three things here, Pedro. Pay your debt to my girl. She had a bomb blow up in her face, after all. Give me all your shit stockpiled in the States. Or slit your own throat. I’ll let you pick.” Flicking open the knife, Carlyle set it in front of Pedro on the table before sauntering back to his seat. He shot me a wink, the only break in his character yet, and my lip twitched up as heat slithered up my neck.
Maybe, I sustained some head trauma or something, and that’s why I feel so . . . detached.
This had nothing to do with me, but it had everything to do with me. It was a strange feeling, like being in the center of a hurricane.
“I’ll pay.” Just as the gruff reply came, Oran opened the doors, and I frowned under furrowed brows. Everything that happened was so smooth, it was almost choreographed. Seamlessly, events just ran together, and Carlyle was at the height of it all. Handing me a portfolio folder, he adjusted his glasses before turning around and leaving, and I cast a questioning gave at Carlyle.
“Pick one— or three— or all of them. However, many you feel will make up for the fact that your apartment was destroyed.” Rolling my lips between my teeth, I popped open the laminated front, and my brows rose in surprise.
“Are these houses?” The photos on the first page were gorgeous, and I flipped through briefly as Carlyle nodded out of the corner of my eye. “Why would I need a house in Chile?”
“Why not?” That was definitely not a helpful answer, and I scrunched up my nose when Carlyle shook his head. “Take some time. It’s not like Pedro here will be busy in the coming weeks. Isn’t that right, Pedro?”
“That’s right.” Grinding the words out through his teeth, Pedro nodded curtly, and he stood up slowly to tuck his chair in. “I’ll get things moving for you as soon as I get back to Mexico.”
“See, I would trust your word, but . . . I don’t. So, I’ve already gone ahead and sent a few teams to collect. Have a safe flight back.” Pedro walked out of the small conference room, leaving me in stunned silence and satisfaction dripping from Carlyle’s every pore. Closing the portfolio, I propped my elbows on the table to hold my face and stare at him, and he wore the smuggest, most amused smirk I’d ever seen. He held his head in laced fingers, leaning back in his chair, and I waited for him to say something because I was speechless.
“I’ve been searching for a reason to put Pedro in his place. Unlike him, I prefer to have something to back up my claims. By the way . . . ” Standing up to sit on the edge of the table, Carlyle crossed his knees and reached to tap the stuffed folder. “Think carefully. Some of the
se properties are difficult to get to, like the one in Chile.”
“I don’t even know what I would do with something like this, Carlyle.”
“It doesn’t matter what you do with it. I thought about it last night . . . why should you not have your apartment because Pedro’s an incompetent idiot, but he has all these, and he never even uses most of them?” Rolling my jaw against my palms at that, I didn’t refute the point even though it was moot. “Trust me. He’ll recoup quickly. Regardless, why don’t we get lunch? I’m sure you’re hungry.”
“What about Natasha? What do I tell her?” A troubled crease marred between his brows, and Carlyle shrugged carelessly.
“Tell her whatever you want, Valerie. She’s your sister. I’m not going to get between you two. I doubt she’ll take it as well as you, but the point of all this with Pedro, it doesn’t even scratch the surface. I brought him here as some convoluted way to ease you into what comes next.” Puffing out my lips, I frowned as sourness coated my tongue, and Carlyle brushed my bottom lip with his thumb. His expression turned tender, and he smiled a little before continuing. “I won’t stop either of you from doing what you want with your lives. On paper, you’re an indie game development company that contracted my marketing firm. Right now, right here, it’s a different story.”
I only nodded before standing up, and Carlyle didn’t try to continue the conversation as he scooted off the table. I guess . . . there’s no point in keeping secrets from Natasha now. Not after twenty-five years together.
34
Valerie
“And you . . . you’re perfectly okay with that?” Natasha scrunched up her nose when I nodded, ducking her head to dig into her ice cream. Hope blossomed in my chest, and she fished for the perfect bite, the one with the brownie piece in it. “I mean . . . whatever. It’s not like I’m the one dating him. You don’t need my approval or anything. I just think you shouldn’t go all gung-ho considering you almost got blown up yesterday. You were already a romantic bitch, but that might’ve agitated yo—”