Chapter 57
Genevieve
Swinging open the door, I nearly jump out of my skin as I unexpectedly come face-to-face with my former employee, blinking to clear what’s surely a mirage.
“Bree…” The restroom door hasn’t even closed all the way, the hinges still softly groaning as it connects with my back, and I realize I’m still in the doorway.
Planning to congratulate her, my gaze immediately dips to her stomach, expecting to find it swollen, but it’s still as flat and toned as it was when she worked for me.
“Uh, hi, Allison,” she utters, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson as she moves her hands in front of her belly, as if she can hide the fact that she’s not pregnant.
However, the status of her uterus is none of my business, and I manage a smile, if a bit forced. I open my mouth to ask her how she’s doing when the door behind me swings open and Ford appears, his hand landing on my waist possessively.
Bree’s attention shifts to the man at my side, her eyes widening when she realizes who he is.
“Bree, this is my husband, Ford.” That word is delicious on my tongue. The more I say it, the more I want to keep finding excuses to use it.
“Oh, I’d heard you’d gotten…married.”
I want to ask why the fuck she said the last word like that, like it was sour, but there’s a more pressing inquiry at the forefront of my mind. “Who are you here with?”
She gnaws on her glossy lip, shifting her weight as her eyes dart between me and Ford. Suddenly, she’s backing away, plastering a fake smile on her face as she does.
“It was nice seeing you, Allie.” Then, she’s gone.
“That was odd,” Ford comments, and I nod. “We’re going to follow her, right?”
A giggle bubbles in my throat, and I grin, slipping my hand into his as I lead him back toward the heart of the party.
The moment we enter the ballroom, I spot Bree’s sapphire dress from across the way, standing between Mark Tuften—the tech billionaire and Liam’s now-former client—and Marshall Potter.
I’m attempting to discern which of the men she’s here with since neither of them is her fiancé, when Ford interrupts. “There’s Drake. We need to leave.”
Following his line of sight, I catch Drake swiftly moving in our direction as he makes his way from the other side of the cavernous ballroom. His expression is hard, determined.
My eyebrows zip together, and I whip my head toward my husband, but just as I open my mouth to ask why, he adds, “Let’s go.”
His domineering tone sends shock waves directly to my pussy, and I clench around air, wishing it was his cock. I’m still slightly cross about not being able to play with him in the bathroom.
Before I can say anything, he’s ushering me toward the exit. If he’d done this with me only hours ago, I would’ve told him to fuck off, but I did ask him to help me. In the spirit of keeping my word, I keep my mouth shut and allow him to direct me toward the exit.
There are far fewer reporters gathered outside as we make our way to the SUV waiting for us. James nods as I slip past him and into the back seat, with Ford following me.
When the door shuts behind us, I turn toward him, an eyebrow arched. “What gives, Ford? Why did we have to leave? I still had unfinished business.”
I was far from finished dropping bombs. In fact, I had at least four more grenades left to detonate before I was planning to make a hasty departure.
Judge Atkins isn’t a big enough name for that to have been my sole explosion.
If I’d been able to speak with York or Aubrey, I might have been able to light a few more fires, but that was a bust.
At this point, I’m growing concerned that I may have to become the atomic bomb myself and burn it all—and everyone—to the ground, me included.
It’s not like I wouldn’t survive that blast. I’d have to move, of course, but I loved Amsterdam when I lived there and wouldn’t mind returning.
I have plenty of funds to live on, and I could always make more. Sex is an international business.
Suddenly, the door to the backseat opens, and Drake enters the vehicle, Ford sliding to the middle to make room.
“Did you get it?” my husband asks his friend.
Drake shakes his head, but a cheeky grin spreads across his face as the car begins to move. “I got something better.”
“Will someone please clue me in?” I interject, sick and fucking tired of being left in the dark.
Drake leans forward, shifting his attention to me, still wearing the goofy, giddy smirk.
“We’re going to help you.”
“Help me with what?”
“Take down Percy York,” Ford supplies, the hushed words sweeping over the shell of my ear and settling in my gut in a storm of disbelief and exhilaration.
“What’d you get?” Ford inquires, passing me a martini as the three of us lounge in his sitting area. He takes the seat across from me in a wing-backed chair.
“Wait,” I cut in before Drake can reply. “Why are the two of you helping me take down the attorney general?”
Blue eyes drill into me, and I take a sip of the perfectly crafted cocktail to hide the way his attention licks up the column of my neck.
“It’s like I told you; I’m on your team. Can’t you see that?”
I nod as I absorb that fact. It appears he may have been telling the truth, but believing he’s only on my side and no one else’s is a massive risk.
Rather than acknowledging that nagging doubt, I turn my attention to Drake sitting in the twin chair next to Ford. “What about you? Why would you help me?”
Drake runs a hand through his blond hair. “I’m with him,” he explains, gesturing toward Ford with his chin. “If he’s on your team, then I am, too.”
I suppose that’ll have to be good enough. “Alright. Fill me in…from the beginning.”
Drake’s lips hitch, rolling his bottle of beer between his palms. “Ford asked me if I’d sleuth for some dirt on York.
I figured I could find something we could blackmail him with.
Guys like Percy are always sticking their dicks in places they shouldn’t.
” He glances at me and cringes. “Sorry, I meant no offense.”
I titter, waving him off.
“So, I was thinking I’d discover he had a mistress or maybe that his kid sells coke, you know, the usual shit. Instead, I hit the jackpot.”
Ford and I regard him intently as he beams at us, pausing dramatically before he reveals, “He’s running a sex ring.”
Vociferous laughter bursts from my belly like a flood from a fire hydrant whose top has just been lopped off. There’s simply no way. The two men observe me as I continue to bellow and guffaw, raw amusement chewing me up. It’s comical to think Percy York could be running a sex ring.
“Where did you get that intel?”
“It’s solid. I met up with my contact at the Department of Defense tonight and he mentioned that York was the man to see about getting cheaper company.”
My laughter dies a sudden, abrupt death as it’s immediately shoved into an airtight coffin.
“It’s true that you’ve lost employees, isn’t it?” Ford chimes in.
With a tense and shaky inhale, my grip on the stem of my cocktail glass tightens until my bones nearly protrude through the skin covering my knuckles.
I take a sip of my martini, the drink having lost its flavor.
A cyclone of rage and indignation churns in my stomach until I think I might be sick, and I set the cocktail down on the side table.
Climbing to my feet, I stalk toward the window as if I could somehow seek fresh air through the glass.
“Yes,” I confirm with my back to the room.
I don’t want to admit that this theory might have legs, but it does. It explains my incarceration and Bree’s odd behavior this evening.
“If that’s all true, then he’s been in operation for months, possibly longer,” I muse aloud. A sliver of my brain reminds me that I don’t fully trust these men, not like I do Corinne and Marcus, but I need to process this news, so I take the leap of faith.
“Why do you think that?” Drake asks.
“Bree came to me months ago, telling me she wanted out and was starting a family with her fiancé. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, especially since sex isn’t always something people want to do long term, but now I suspect that she left me to work for him.”
How could I have missed this? I close my eyes, crossing my arms. My head throbs, but the ache in my chest is what hurts the most.
“So, he got elected so he could take out the competition,” Ford surmises.
They’re going to take you out. Milton Torres’s last words filter back to the forefront of my mind. At the time, I wasn’t sure who they were.
While I can’t kill every shitty pimp, Percy York needs to die, and I want to be the one to deliver his fate. I have no doubt that Percy is just another Leo wearing different skin. Bree’s discomfort tonight is proof of that. She certainly never acted that way when she worked for me.
I gulp down air, holding it for a few beats before releasing it in an effort to regulate my pulse. It requires six measured breaths before I feel a semblance of sanity creep back in as I consider how I might destroy him without my former employees getting caught in the crossfire.
With a sigh, I turn back to face the two men and announce, “I’m going to bed.”
I stride for the guest bedroom, not stopping until I’m within the confines of my bathroom, the door shut behind me. I plant palms on the counter, breathing through the urge to throw up. I should’ve anticipated something like this. How could I be so blind?
When I’ve somewhat composed myself, I proceed to wash my face, brush my teeth, and slather on my skincare, before stripping out of the crimson dress and draping it over the back of a chair in the massive closet.
Once I’m dressed in a silvery-gray silk babydoll nighty that’s trimmed with Chantilly lace, I shut the lights off and slip into bed.
The penthouse is quiet, the silence screaming louder than a sold-out rock concert. I huff as I roll over, fluffing the pillow to get comfortable, but sleep is elusive.
This war I’ve found myself engaged in is much bigger than I ever imagined, and even if I wanted to, I don’t think I can win this without help.
But it’s more than that. I don’t want to fight this alone.
I want help. I want his help, and technically, I’ve already asked for it, even if it was under a blissful version of duress.
Let me fight for you.
I’ve spent so long shutting Ford out; what would be so wrong with taking a leap?
Groaning, I flop back onto my back, staring up at the ceiling. I don’t know how long I lie there, tossing and turning, before I finally fold the sheets back and climb out of bed.