Chapter Fourteen
In which Alec discovers, unsurprisingly, that Leevil, uh, Lee Ville is a terrible liar.
Alec…
“Are you going to shoot me?”
I glanced up to see Charles in front of my desk, looking clammy and sheet white.
“What’s wrong with you? Did Martin give you a bottle of his home-brewed beer?” I asked. “He’ll be nattering on about ‘the creamy notes of caramel’ while one swallow will melt your esophagus. Your stomach will be on fire for the next eight hours or so.”
“N- no…” Charles straightened his already perfectly straight tie. “I just… I went against your recent estrangement from Mr. Taylor and anticipated you would be unhappy with me.”
“You did the right thing, keeping my disappearance away from the media and since Gordon, my former head of security was unable to find me, the correct action was to call Alastair.”
“Oh, thank god.” He collapsed in a nearby chair, boneless with relief.
“Kyle is now my new security chief. He’s US ex-Special Forces and a mountain of a man,” I said, “you’ll coordinate with him from now on.”
Alastair, who had already confiscated the most comfortable seat in my study, smiled modestly. “Problem solved. You’re quite welcome, brother.” He turned to Charles, who was mopping his sweaty brow. “I’d never let Alec kill you. No one else understands his wildly erratic schedule.”
Charles did not seem to be comforted.
“This leads us to a more serious issue,” I said. “I’ve held off on contacting Leevil - dammit, I mean Lee Ville - while we piece together exactly what he was up to. I’m sure he knows I’m free, but he’s not contacted me or made a fuss about eight dead men.”
“I remember you acquiring the land in Lancashire for the computer server facility,” Alastair said, “but bringing in Leevil on the deal is new, isn’t it?”
“Lee Ville, you dick. His business is concentrated in the States but he’s been trying to expand into Europe. He couldn’t sign onto the deal fast enough,” I said.
He pulled up an image of the man on his phone. “Cowboy boots and a bolo tie? Is he one of the Texas oil millionaires?”
“Hardly,” I snorted, “the man is from Boston, playing with his daddy’s money. Lee Ville Senior died a couple of years ago, and Leevil - Lee, I mean, has been throwing out handfuls of cash. It was an easy deal.”
I tapped my fingers on my desk. “It’s been twenty-four hours since that attempt at a rescue mission. He’s had time to find out how miserably it failed.”
Alastair rubbed his hands together. “This is a call I’d give my Bugatti to sit in on.” He frowned at my grin. “You’re not really going to make me give you my favorite car, are you?”
Shrugging, I pointed out, “You’re the one who offered. But since you did attempt to rescue me… I’ll let it slide.”
I dialed Leevil’s number and put it on speaker.
“Well, goddammit, Davies! Where the hell have you been? I’ve been ripping my hair out! ”
“Hello, Lee. I’ve been taking care of a few things. Is the construction on the server farm going as planned?”
“Fuck that! Where have you been?”
Ah. I glanced over at Alastair, who leaned forward, frowning. Was Leevil going to pretend he had nothing to do with that “rescue” now that it failed so spectacularly?
“I’ve been dumping a fuck ton of cash into this server farm and you’re off doing what? Chasing hookers in New Orleans? Fucking penguins in Antarctica?”
I could picture his reddened, furious face, and the thought of tearing his treacherous tongue out of his mouth with a satisfying spray of blood made me smile grimly. This bolo tie-wearing son of a bitch wanted me dead. I would find out why. And then, I would return the favor.
“Nothing you need to worry about,” I said. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Wait! What about-”
I ended the call. “What is he playing at?”
“He knows the mission failed,” Alastair said. “There’s no reason for him to not take credit for at least attempting to rescue you… unless that wasn’t the plan.”
“There’s only one thing that slimy prick cares about; money. I’m missing something.”
Charles stood, wearily rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m going to go over the paperwork again. There could be something they slipped into the contract, a codicil, perhaps. There must be a loose thread the attorneys missed.”
“How much sleep have you had this week, Charles?” His eyes were bloodshot and his impeccable suit looked like it had been hung on a scarecrow. “Don’t answer that, I can guess,” I said. “Have a driver take you home and get at least twelve hours of sleep before you return.”
He was so exhausted that he didn’t pretend to be anything other than grateful.
When Charles left, Alastair’s grin stretched to feral proportions.
“What?” I knew that look. He was about to annoy the shit out of me.
“How’s it going with you and that fiery environmentalist?”
“You mean, my new captive?” I asked.
Alastair rolled his eyes. “You do remember that I know you better than anyone. A woman who stands up to you? When was the last time that happened? Think about it. Is there any other time in your life that you wouldn’t have made a brutal example of someone suicidal enough to kidnap you?”
“I don’t consider being roofied, thrown in the boot of a car, and shackled in a basement as foreplay,” I snapped. “I just haven’t decided what to do to her yet.”
“If you say so, but I have a suspicion that you are far too attracted to do anything more menacing than taking her clothes off.” He stood, stretching. “Let’s follow the money trail tomorrow. It leads somewhere, Leevil might be greedy, but he’s not stupid. Do keep me apprised of your progress. I must get home to Sorcha.”
And just like that, the warmth between us disappeared.
“You shouldn’t keep her waiting,” I said coldly. “Goodnight.”
He looked at me, sadness and frustration warring in his gaze. “I’ll tell her you said hello.”
I stayed silent as he left.
The room was quiet, other than the crackle of the flames in the fireplace. I looked at the bar cart and the nearly full bottle of Macallan 60 Year aged whiskey. It would be so easy to spend the rest of the night drowning my demons in Scotch.
Leaving the room, I went in search of Fee .
“You hell beast! Down! Down!”
Magda, my sweet, silver-haired housekeeper, was standing on top of the marble island, flicking her dishtowel ineffectually at an indifferent Noreen, who was devouring the curtains on the big bay window in the kitchen.
I sighed, shaking my head. “Martin! Fee! One of you get your ass in here and take the goat outside.” Picking up the horned menace, I shook her lightly. “How did you get out of your pen, you vile little shit?”
My gardeners had put together a goat pen in my back garden, far, far back, under Martin’s anxious direction. The poor guard assigned to drive the beast from the farm endured eleven hours of bleating and kicking against the metal walls of the trailer.
I’d given the man the rest of the week off.
Noreen grinned at me, pulling her lips across those big, blocky teeth as she let out a spectacular fart, followed by a torrent of feces. Magda screamed, holding the dish towel over her nose as I dropped the goat back on the floor.
“Well, at least she lived up to your name for her.” Fee leaned against the French doors to the terrace. “Sorry, Magda, I didn’t know she’d gotten past Alec’s highly trained and deadly security force.” Snapping her fingers, “Noreen! You’re a bad girl. Outside with you.” The beast sneered at her, but trotted back out the door, leaving the tattered remains of my Japanese hand-sewn silk curtains and a steaming pile of shit behind in Magda’s formerly pristine kitchen.
“Don’t you dare touch that,” Fee warned my horrified housekeeper, “let me get Noreen locked in her pen and I’ll be back to clean it up.” I knew she’d never want a member of the working class to clean up after her, Fee still insisted on making her own bed here and tidying up her ensuite bathroom.
Her gaze returned to me. “Unless our gracious host would like to do the honors?”
I grinned savagely, many memories of clearing up bloody strands of entrails and severed body parts still vivid in my mind, even after all these years. I’d been raised by a man who was adamant that a leader never asked his men to do something he wasn’t willing to do himself.
Still… this hooved terror was here only due to Fee’s desire to torment me. “Magda, please get out the cleaning supplies for Miss Cassidy and leave them by the mess. Go take an hour and relax. She’s quite happy to clean up after her… pet.”
When Fee marched back in, she snatched the paper towels from me and removed the disgusting mess in a matter-of-fact way that showed she was not new to cleaning up after farm animals.
“Fawn?”
She looked up as she disposed of the mess in a garbage bag, tying it tightly. “What?”
“Is Fee short for Fawn?”
“What sense would that make?” She washed her hands thoroughly, then did it again.
“Fennel?”
“You think my parents named me after an herb?”
“Well, what with your father’s fancy plantings…”
She snorted inelegantly. “He like to would have, but no.” Leaning against the counter, she raised an elegant brow. “Were you looking for me, Godking?”
“Yes.” I looked at the spot where Noreen had defiled the kitchen. “We’re going to have dinner together, but I think a restaurant would be a better choice tonight. Poor Magda is likely vomiting up every meal she’s eaten for the last week. ”
“Are you asking me, or telling me?”
“Whichever has you getting changed the quickest, darling.”
Her sneer looked remarkably like Noreen’s.
“This would be a lovely space if it didn’t have all these uselessly wealthy gobshites clogging it up,” Fee said. We’d settled in a little alcove overlooking the Italian restaurant. Chatter had died when we walked through, cautiously returning to normal volume when we left the main dining area.
The cavernous space was made intimate by a series of crossbeams overhead covered in living grapevines, with flowers and strings of lights dangling down. There were long, farm-style tables interspersed with two and four-tops. Our space was private; we could see the entirety of the restaurant, but none of the diners could see us.
“This is a casual dining space,” I said, watching her scan the crowd.
“Oh yes, in Gucci jeans and handbags that cost more than most people make in a year,” she scoffed. Her jeans may not be a luxury brand, but I’d enjoyed how well they fitted her ass on our walk through the dining area.
“Rage about the injustice of it all after dinner,” I said, “the food here is spectacular, and Lorenzo will be deeply wounded if you get indigestion. He works very hard on these dishes.”
“Oh, you know him personally?” She flipped open the menu. “Of course you do.”
“Well, I did hire him.”
She looked up over the top of the menu. “Wait, this is your restaurant?”
“One of them. Try the Green Chile Prosciutto Rounds or the Gnoccheti. They’re both spectacular.”
Fee put the menu down. “Done. I’ll try both. You said one of them? How many do you own?”
“Several. Tell me, Fee, short for… Fern?” She shook her head. “Feeona? Fyonie? What sort of arcane Irish name did your parents foist on you?”
“You’ll figure it out,” she said, nodding to our server as he put down grilled bruschetta. “Eventually.”
The meal and the bottle of Chateau Lafite smoothed over some of her sharp edges, and the mean-spirited witch laughed heartily when I pulled out my mobile and gave her a description of all the places my money had been spent from my stolen credit cards she had so generously distributed to her muddy band of do-gooders.
“Fifteen hundred Euros for drinks all around, and all night at a pub in Glasgow.”
She hid her smirk behind her wine glass.
“Three hundred and seventy pounds for lobster rolls and chips for a school group in Bristol.
“Then, the twelve-thousand-pound donation to the Basking Shark Rescue.
“Something… I can’t understand this charge but it had something to do with a Sweet 16 party in Manchester to the tune of thirteen hundred pounds… Shall I continue, or are you about to aspirate that wine?”
Fee was laughing so hard that she nearly choked. “I’ve never been prouder of my people. This is a mere drop in the bucket for you, but you might have earned a smidgen of good karma.”
She smoothed her hair back, the black, glossy strands perfectly framing her face. Her laughter faded and the air between us became heavier, thicker somehow.
“How’s your Capesante?” She watched me spear a scallop and bring it to my mouth .
“Delicious,” I said. “Would you like a bite?”
She leaned forward, her lips parted slightly and eyes closed. I took a scallop off my plate, feeding it to her from my fingers.
Her mouth tightened a bit in surprise, but her tongue darted out to swipe across my fingers and I stifled my groan. “Shall we talk about the elephant in the room?”
Fee licked her lips, forcing me to adjust the seam of my pants. “The elephant…” she purred. “Would you be talking about your cock?”
“You flatter me, but I was thinking more specifically about using it. On you. When you fed me that sandwich in the basement and rubbed your hot little center against me, I was hard enough to pound nails. Then, you left. That’s low, darling. Even for you.”
Settling back in her chair, she eyed me with amusement, though I could see the heat simmering in her eyes. “Well, we were about to be ambushed and most likely shot full of holes. You see my dilemma.”
“True,” I drawled. “But tonight, none of those initial constraints are present. It’s you, and me, and nothing else. I would very much like to be inside you. I would like to eat you out like you were my last meal and bite your little nipples until they’re raw.”
Folding her arms over those lovely nipples, straining against her thin t-shirt, she looked me over, biting her lower lip. “We really shouldn’t.”
“True.”
She wore an utterly diabolical smile. “I wasn’t joking about being a screamer.”
Subtly pressing down on my cock as it strained against my zipper, I groaned. “I certainly hope you weren’t.”