Prey (Primal #1)

31

H Ey,” I said to Petra Black when she arrived with our meals, and she seemed different. A different vibe. Less frightened. Normally, she’d gaze with those soulful eyes and fiddled nervously, blushing. Such a fucking sweetie. But this evening, she was cold and brusque and refused to look at me.

“Your meal, sir.” She was perfectly professional, but I couldn’t see the selkie I tumbled with in the crystal-clear water.

“Sir? Er…what happened to you just calling me Ronan,” I frowned, eager for her to come into my office, but she backed away in a hurry to leave.

“Mr…er, the big boss, needs his meal delivered or else it will get cold. And we can’t have that, can we?” her nostrils flared as she spoke, and her chin was held proudly, and I wondered if it was an act.

“No, we can’t,” I agreed as she wheeled the trolley away from my office door with that defiant look. “You’ll come to my office when you’re done?”

“No, thank you, sir. We have a full house downstairs,” she stated as she knocked on Mikky’s door. Words were exchanged, and she left the meal on the tray on the floor outside his door. “Very busy.”

It’s obvious that I pissed her off somehow, although I couldn’t quite pinpoint what I did to deserve the cold shoulder. I leaned my arm against the doorframe and watched her organize that trolley before she wheeled it my way again.

“I wasn’t giving you a choice,” I outlined sternly, staring down at her, blocking her way. “You’ll come into my office. Now.”

“I can’t. I have to go,” Petra hissed, as those hands tightly grasped the trolley; knuckles turned white as bullets shot from her eyes. If looks could kill…“They’re expecting me downstairs.”

“They can wait. Two minutes. That’s all I’m asking for,” keeping my tone leveled to show her who’s in charge.

Mikky’s door flew open, and he glanced our way. I retreated and allowed Petra Black to wheel that trolley to the elevator. When I heard Mikky’s door shut, I stepped back into the hallway just as the elevator door was closing, and she shot me a dirty look. I needed to get her alone, so I’d go to the kitchen later and pull her aside to find out why she was so mad at me.

The meal was marinated sirloin steak with baby vegetables, and my stomach rumbled with hunger. One thing I could say about Savile was we had the best chefs in the city, maybe the state. Paid top dollar to serve our high-paying guests.

One of my phones beeped in my top drawer. I had three phones. One for work. One for my personal life. And one for jobs. A message from an important contact was left on my job phone.

Z:It’s done.

Me: Good. Any problems?

Z: No. The cocky ones are easier to pop.

Me: I’ll organize the drop.

Mikky preferred the cash drops, and we pulled that money from a hidden account under a name that had nothing to do with the Kaiser name. I went down the hallway, tapped on Mikky’s door, and poked my head inside. He was sitting at his desk slicing his meat with the steak knife while reading something on his iPad, probably news items.

“It’s done,” I told him.

He cocked his eyebrows while chewing his piece of steak, swallowed, and replied, “Was it clean?”

We rarely contracted hits, but when we did, it had to be clean as a whistle, and there was no possible way to trace it back to us. That included Z keeping his head down, masked and unidentifiable, a shadow moving through the night, blending in with the dark.

“Looks like it, but the target has tentacles,” I reminded him, which meant there might be retaliation if they found out who was behind his death.

“The Russians,” Mikky stated dryly with a hint of repulsion on his face, or maybe the steak tasted like shit. The Kaisers weren’t fans of the Pols either, but some of our best and most loyal workers were Polish, including Z, so they managed to overlook their dislike of an entire group of people.

I shrugged indifferently. “At least one problem was solved for now.”

I retreated to my office with Petra Black on my mind as I cut my steak and read through an assignment, although my concentration was poor, knowing that Selkie was downstairs only a short walk away.

She’d gone from a shy, sweet thing to spitting venom, and all that had happened between sweetness and venom was me fucking her in the pool. Best fuck ever. Wet, cool skin, the rain fell on our parade, damping our clothes and my mood. Maybe she sensed my mood turning sour. It wasn’t because of her, though. I was trying to figure out our future interlopes without Mikky knowing. Mikky was everywhere. He had loyal eyes and ears everywhere, and no matter how much someone tried to hide something, he would find out about it. Whether it was Betty, Freddie, or one of the wait staff, someone would spill, and then what would happen to me?

Mikky would have a fucking meltdown if he found out I fucked the staff. But I didn’t want to stop fucking her, so how do I organize more of this without anyone knowing? Petra pushing me away and getting cranky was not a big enough deterrent to stop me from pursuing my selkie. She crawled under my skin the first time I saw her stripping off her clothes and frolicking in the pool in her private heaven.

I wouldn’t let her go that easily, whether she liked it or not. It was all about logistics, keeping below the radar, and devising a methodical plan we could follow rather than giving up on her.

Betty's message on my work phone indicated that a man was downstairs wanting to speak to me, and I replied that I’d be down in ten minutes. I knew who it was. Danny Lam, the PI, contacted me yesterday to speak about Lars Kaiser’s death. I didn’t have a lot to offer the investigation because I was at the club in Larsson when he was shot, but whatever I could do to help find the killer, I’ll do it.

While thinking about it, I messaged Gunner, asking if he called his mom yet. Mikky had been on his back about it, too, so a lot of pain could have been avoided if Gunner had called her to catch up and ask whether she went out the night Lars was shot. She initially said she didn’t go out, then backtracked and said she did for an hour to pick up takeout. Finding out why she lied rather than the story itself was imperative.

Gunner: No.

Me: Get on with it.

After I finished my meal, I wiped my mouth with my napkin and placed the plate on the tray to return to the kitchen rather than having Betty pick it up. This will give me the opportunity to see Petra Black, or whatever her real name is.

Danny Lam was leaning against the wall at the foot of the stairs, and I told him I’d be there in two seconds. Unfortunately, my selkie wasn’t lying when she said they had a full house. All hands were on deck, staff bustling about in the kitchen, and I could hear the ching-ching of the cash register in my head. The dining table was full of the usual suspects, dressed in tuxedos and formal gowns. Good.

“Excuse me. You’re in the way,” Petra spat behind me, and I stepped aside, catching the look of one of the cook's embarrassed looks that Petra dared speak to me that way. I’ll let her get away with it this time, but…

I stepped to the bench where she worked, running water over the dishes to put them in the commercial dishwasher. “I can’t talk to you,” she snarled under her breath so no one could hear.

“Why?” I assumed it was because she was busy, but I felt there was another reason, something I was missing.

“Go away,” she snarled quietly again, glancing to see if anyone noticed.

“Okay. Have I screwed up? Because you should let me know what that was?” I stated, keeping my voice low, but I was attracting attention anyway because of who I was.

“No,” she sighed, almost exhaustedly, then leaned in and said. “You need to stay away from me. He’s dangerous.”

“Who?” I frowned. No one was more dangerous than me.

She glanced behind her again for fear someone would hear. “Rourke.”

“Rourke?” She mentioned some guy who might get angry if he found out I fucked his girl. Not something that would ever keep me up at night. “Tell him where I am, and we’ll have a little chat.”

“A chat?” she looked horrified, eyes gaping behind glasses. “A chat .”

“Yes, a chat. You know…” I did a yapping mouth-hand puppet, but she didn’t find it funny. This high-stress environment sucked out her good nature.

“Are we done?” she flared her nostrils, turning away.

“I don’t know. Are we?” I questioned with a smirk on my face. I was starting to enjoy her grumpy side.

She growled, and I let her cool her temper as I left the busy kitchen to speak to the PI about that night three years ago. The closer I moved toward him, the darker my mood became after my little kitchen liaison with the selkie.

I shook Danny Lam’s hand and asked him to follow me upstairs to my office. Once seated, I offered him a coffee or something more potent, and he declined both.

“I’ve only got a couple of questions,” he stated, taking out his notebook and sharpened pencil, old school sleuth. “Do you remember if Mr. Lars Kaiser had any enemies or received threats?”

“No.” Indeed, he knew what type of people we were. “Not many people be stupid enough to threaten the Kaisers. Larsson and surrounding cities are our territory. We are virtually untested in Larsson and here in Gothenburg, too. If anyone were going to threaten Mr. Kaiser or his family, they’d meet a short, sharp shock.”

Danny Lam didn’t flinch at my strong language, so he knew what he was getting into. “Yeah, that’s the general feedback I’ve been getting. I spoke to three staff members in Blackjack Gentlemen’s Club, which Mrs. Kaiser manages in Larsson, who was working the night Mr. Kaiser was killed.”

“Blackjack was the beginning of the Kaiser empire,” I told him, leaving out the illegal parts. “What did the staff say?”

He continued, “A wait staff said she overheard Mr. Lars Kaiser on his cell phone and claimed he seemed ‘distressed and angry,’ and she was sure he said to the caller, “Don’t you fucking threaten me.” It’s been three years, so her memory might have changed, but you get the gist of what was happening there. The wait staff also said he slammed the phone on the table in a rage when he finished the call. Were you aware of any such phone call?”

“No,” I replied, trying to remember him being so wound up that he outwardly showed his rage in front of the staff. He was usually a closed book to everyone but his family. It seemed out of character for Lars, and I wonder if the witness had her wires crossed. “He didn’t mention it to me.”

“The wait staff believed it was the week before he was shot, and she told police about this phone call, and they said they’d check his phone. But I can’t find it in the police reports.” He exhaled and scratched a spot on his chin. “We do have a slight dilemma, unfortunately.”

“What’s that?”

“The phone. I requested access to inspect Lars Kaiser’s phone, which was held as evidence, but was told by police that it was damaged.”

I snapped in frustration, “Sure, it fucking was. That’s bullshit. You don’t believe that.”

He exhaled again. “Unfortunately, I can only go by what I’ve been told. But…yes, that is disappointing.”

My head was still stuck on the alleged angry conversation Lars was having with someone. If he were being blackmailed, he’d tell us. If not me, he’d tell Mikael. “Have you spoken to Mikael about this phone call?”

“I plan to speak to him next. Thank you for your time. And if you think of anything else, please let me know.”

Something was going on leading up to his death because he seemed distracted, not angry like the witness said, but moody, like something was on his mind. At the time, I assumed it was family stuff, maybe Sylvie nagging or Gunner playing up, because if it were work-related, he’d tell us.

Or at least, I thought he’d tell us. If the witness account was accurate and Lars was being threatened, then who by? No money was exchanged or transferred if it was a blackmail case. We know this because Mikael already checked, even the hidden accounts.

Or maybe that was the reason he was killed because he wouldn’t succumb to blackmail. There were plenty of issues that someone could blackmail or bribe him with since some of his business dealings were illegal, but who would be stupid enough to do that to one of the most feared families in Larsson?

Someone with nothing to lose.