Chapter 28
I n the couple of months since Leslie unmasked Darla as one of the engineers behind the Reno trafficking ring to Edgar, so much has changed.
Firstly, Edgar filed for divorce citing an extra-marital affair with Taylor Pinter—among others—as the reason. With all the incriminating evidence Kimberly and Leslie were able to dig up, the judge upheld the prenuptial agreement and dismissed Darla’s pleas and demands for alimony and community property. Taylor Pinter was summarily fired from his position of CFO at the Royal Empire Homewares Division for violating their code of conduct policy, and the board is currently preparing to sue him into the ground thanks to his misuse of company funds.
To protect Kieran from the nightmare of reliving his abuse at the hands of his mother and Pinter, Edgar hasn’t publicly outed his soon-to-be-ex-wife and ex-best friend for their roles in producing and distributing child sexual abuse material. While Pinter fled into the night leaving Darla holding the figurative bag, it doesn’t mean we’ve forgotten about him, or that they’re going to get away with it. Leslie and Kimberly, along with Greg, have been tracking down those involved in Kieran’s exploitation. They’ll never see justice from the courts, but that’s fine, because instead they have to face the mercy of a select group of individuals with a deep and abiding hatred of rapists and abusers.
Spoiler alert: there is no mercy.
There have been moments when either myself or Leslie have had to talk Edgar down from publicly exposing his disgraced wife and best friend as the pedophiles and child abusers they are. I think it’s only been due to Kieran’s potential distress and Disa’s assurances that she will make sure they’re both sufficiently “dealt with” that has him toeing the line.
The blossoming friendship between Edgar and Leslie is a joy to watch, with Leslie being an absolute rock for “their Eddie” as Edgar has navigated his way through the betrayals and divorce. It warms my cynical heart, as does the way the Armstrong Pack is finally meshing together. It’s taken some work, especially between Henley and me, but we’re all on the same page. Having us all happily settle into Kieran’s old penthouse apartment—which has been renovated to incorporate the apartment directly below it—is a large part of that. It was one of the first decisions we made as a pack, and one that was easily resolved and put into action.
The floor below Kieran’s is almost a carbon copy of his apartment, so the only things we really changed was converting the extra library and gym into two additional bedrooms with their own bathrooms, and installing two private elevators that only operate between the two floors. The office space off the breakfast nook has enough room for Steve to use when he works from home, and while the formal dining and living areas are sparsely decorated, the furniture is comfortable. Upstairs is a completely different kettle of fish.
The two spare bedrooms have been converted into another master suite, sharing an expanded bathroom with Kieran’s suite next door. A dressing room off the bathroom also connects the two, opening up into a private hallway. The old elevator vestibule, laundry room, and storage area off the lobby have been converted into an enormous nest with an attached bathroom. We’ve laughingly labeled the entire section of the apartment as “The Omega Suite,” with access available from either end of the enclosed hallway.
Even the kitchen is reduced in size. The old breakfast nook is gone, merged with the old office to create an office space for Leslie and Kimberly. The upstairs living area is a messy amalgamation of bean bags, gaming, entertainment, and sound systems, large sectionals you can disappear into, and a retractable screen that mimics a cinema screen when lowered. It’s where we all congregate to kick back and relax in private as a pack.
Upstairs is our pack’s sanctuary, and the home of our greatest treasures.
Which brings us to today.
It’s moving day.
True, everyone has been in and out of the apartment over the last couple of weeks enough times for them to have stamped their own particular scents on everything, but today is the day where we all permanently move into the apartment.
Because today is the day that Gizmo finally moves in.
Kieran is a bundle of nerves, pacing back and forth in front of the elevator doors and gnawing at his nails. Leslie’s going to gag him for that, I think with a smirk, but I don’t stop him from earning our delta’s wrath. While Leslie’s physique might be more delicate and slender than that of myself, Henley, or Steve, we all know that when it comes to our health and appearance, Leslie is the boss. Henley is our Pack Alpha, that’s not in dispute. I’m only too happy to accede to Hen’s directives and assist him in upholding them, only stepping up as the authority in his absence. But not even Henley will argue with Leslie over what they deem to be their area of expertise.
Kieran’s normally luscious scent has a bitter tang to it, and I know it’s from his anxiety. I need to kick him out of it before he starts to spiral.
“Kier. Breathe, my love. There’s no need for you to stress like you are. You know they all love you in their own way, it’s not like we haven’t all experienced a heat together, after all,” I joke, trying to prod Kieran out of his anxiety spiral.
All I get in response is my omega rolling his eyes and flipping me the bird.
“I’m not worried about any of the others, I know they’re just as excited as I am to finally be living together. I can feel it through our pack connection. It’s just…” he tapers off for a moment before giving himself a shake.
“I’m worried about Gizmo. What if he doesn’t like me? What if he hates the apartment? What if he gets stuck somewhere and injures himself? How will I be able to look Disa in the eye if I cause harm to her cat?”
Ah. Now we’re getting somewhere.
“Kier, it’ll all be okay.” I soothe, pulling my omega into my arms and brushing my palm up and down his spine. “You’ve met Gizmo, that so-called ‘little’ void followed you around like the lost puppy he ate, so there’s no worries there. As for the apartment, we’ve made it as cat-friendly as possible for him. He has cat towers and scratching posts in most of the rooms, same with beds and toys. He has food and water bowls on both floors, automatic cat doors coded to his chip for ease of access, and I swear to God that he’s the only cat I know of that has an entire adventure playground bolted to the walls.”
I pull back and gaze down at the golden eyes I’ll willingly drown in for all eternity. Well, those and one other pair of golden orbs. I’m glad to note that Kieran’s scent has evened out again, the acrid note of his anxiety dissipating into the air. I rumble low in my chest, my rough purr further easing his disquiet, and within minutes he’s soft and pliant in my arms.
Heaven. Kieran safe and happy in my embrace is pure heaven. The only way this could get better would be if?—
The ping of the elevator chimes through the apartment, and I smirk down at the suddenly flustered omega caged in my arms.
“Adam, let me go. I need to go and greet everyone, show them where their rooms are and the like.” Kieran whines, and I release him only after dropping a quick kiss on the tip of his nose. I follow swiftly on his footsteps as he hurries to the front door, which is already open, Henley leaning against the doorjamb with a knowing grin painted across his lips. Disa is tucked under his arm, cuddling into his side, but there’s no sign of the others.
“Where is everyone? Where’s Gizmo?” Kieran blurts out, and Henley laughs.
“Steve, Leslie, and Kimmy have all ventured forth to their rooms until the last of our stuff arrives. Disa and I thought we’d wait until you joined us before releasing the mini-kraken.” Henley tugs Disa’s jacket to one side, and I chuckle as a pair of sleepy yellow eyes blink from the shadowy depths, Gizmo happily cradled inside. How a cat that big can tuck himself into such a small space is a question for the ages.
“Okay, my little basement cat, time to explore your new domain. All we ask is that you be a benevolent overlord, ruling us with kindness, and limiting the number of fur balls to places that are both easy to clean and get to.” Disa chirps, before bending and gently placing the cat—whose rather large size belies our descriptor of “little”—on the hardwood floor. The four of us watch as the feline sniffs the air, cautiously making his way inside the apartment, until something in particular catches his attention. The next moment, he’s gone.
“Well, I think that went well. Let’s get you two settled in. Henley, do you remember which room is yours?” I ask as the elevator pings once more, this time containing several concierges with luggage trolleys stacked high with suitcases and bags. From the looks of them, they belong mostly to Leslie.
“I’m in the old master suite, and you’re in the room that used to be the library. Kimberly is between us, Leslie is on my other side, and Steve is just beyond Leslie.” Henley responds, only to have Leslie sing out, “Wrong!”
Kieran tugs Disa out from under Henley’s arm as the alpha straightens, the both of us turning to stare in confusion at the smug delta prancing down the hallway toward us.
“C’mon Disa, let’s go upstairs and leave these guys to it. I want your opinion on the nest, to make sure you’re happy with it.”
The two priceless jewels of the Armstrong Pack disappear around the corner, leaving Henley and me to figure out whatever last-minute changes Leslie has wrought.
“Steve, Kimmy, and I have all had a chat. Seeing how Kimmy and I are working together more often than not nowadays, we thought it might be better to swap our rooms around. Steve is now between you strong, manly alphas, forming our first line of defense in case of the zombie apocalypse. Kimmy’s moving into the room that was supposed to be mine, and I’ll move to the room originally earmarked for Steve. It’s probably better this way, with the rooms being closer to the stairs and elevator that empty out next to our office. That way, we won’t disturb you with our comings and goings at all hours, and the three of you can sit up late and chit-chat about work shit without disturbing us. And before you correct me,” Leslie silences us with a raised hand, “I know that, technically , Steve doesn’t work for you guys and that he has his own business. But I also know that you’ve got plans to amalgamate his bounty hunting into your new security enterprise. Just as I know you’ll also utilize both my contacts and Kimmy’s skills, should they be needed. Which they will. After all, isn’t that what being an Armstrong is all about? Being there for each other, no matter what?”
Leslie has us there. It’s one of the underpinning tenets we all agreed on when forming the Armstrong Pack, and I for one will be forever grateful that Henley, Steve, Leslie, and Kimberly not only accepted me as a second alpha, but actively went out of their way to assuage my concerns about being part of such a large family. Especially after being alone for so long.
The rest of the afternoon is spent moving clothing, books, and other personal items around the apartment, all while trying not to trip over or step on an inquisitive cat. By the time I slump onto the upstairs sectional later that night, I’m exhausted.
“Puppy pile in the nest, tonight? I want our first night together to be, well, together , if that’s okay with everyone?” Kieran asks, and I could kiss the man.
So, I do.
I’m elbows deep in staff scheduling, Henley tapping away at his own keyboard when a knock at the open archway pulls our attention. Kimberly stands there, her hair bundled into a messy bun on top of her head, pens sticking out at odd angles. A small smirk teases at her lips, and I shift in my seat as my trousers grow tight. Kimberly and I are still working on defining our relationship outside of Kieran’s or Disa’s heats, but I can’t forget the sensation of her lips wrapped around my cock, hands squeezing my knot as she chokes on my cum.
“I hope you boys aren’t busy this weekend,” Kimberly purrs, her satisfied expression exactly the same as Gizmo’s when he has a belly full of fresh salmon.
“Oh, and why’s that, brat?” Henley retorts, throwing a foam stress ball at her, only to have her catch it and throw it back.
“Because I think you’re both going to want to go for a bit of night sailing aboard the Prince super yacht. We’ve got a whole host of fun activities planned—dinner, dancing, a little introduction to shibari with Leslie, and then a beautiful bonfire to round out the night.”
My brow furrows in puzzlement.
“A bonfire, on board a super yacht? That seems like an invitation to disaster, Kimberly.”
The impish little gamma winks at me, her glee at my confusion evident in her expression.
“Oh, didn’t I tell you? Our hostess for the night will be Darla Prince.”
The penny drops.
“This is to provide Kieran with closure, isn’t it? In that case, count me in,” I state, excitement of a different kind rising within me at the thought of ridding this world of the evil that is Darla Prince.
“So, Edgar’s signed off on it? He’s not going to stop at completely ruining her reputation thanks to the divorce?” Henley shrugs at Kimberly’s nod, his own smile wry. “Well, if it keeps Kieran’s name clear of the gossip-mongers and will make things easier for him and Edgar to move on with their lives then I’m all for it. No marshmallows, though. I don’t think marshmallows tainted with charred flesh and diesel will taste very nice.”
Kimberly simply rolls her eyes before disappearing back into the kitchen, Henley’s and my chuckles following her out of the room.
“Well, this weekend should be an experience. Good thing Darla no longer has Edgar bankrolling her security, otherwise we’d have to figure out how to get them out of the way without incurring any collateral damage,” I muse, my chair silent on its bearings as I turn back to the staff schedule.
“Does she even have any security, now that Edgar has washed his hand of her?” Henley asks, tilting his head to one side as he considers the woman’s change in circumstance.
“Nope,” I say, popping the ‘p’, “Edgar told her she was lucky he was allowing her to leave with her nine-piece luggage set. He said, and I quote, that he ‘had to talk the family down from dumping her on the street with a single garbage bag of clothes.’ He even watched as she packed her bags to ensure she didn’t take any of the heirloom jewelry with her. He told me later, ‘it was one of the most satisfying and cathartic experiences he’s undergone,’ because she had to choose items that would not only last, but that would be worth money if she decided to sell them. Her tears as he threw out the majority of the cosmetics and perfumes she had to leave behind were just ‘icing on the cake’. Honestly,” I sigh and lean back into the soft leather of my office chair, “as cruel as some may find Edgar’s dismissal of Darla, it’s entirely justified. The woman hid her true nature from him for years, cheated on him for most of their marriage, and then what she put Kieran through on top? There’s a special level of Hell reserved just for her.”
I spend the next few minutes happily imagining all the things in store for Darla once she shuffles off this mortal coil. A foam stress ball bouncing off my forehead soon rouses me from my reverie, and I dryly chuckle at Henley’s raised eyebrow as I get back to work.
Salt-laced air caresses my cheek and ruffles through my hair as the inflatable quietly slows to bob at the rear of the Royal Queen , the hundred-and-forty-foot yacht Edgar had gifted Darla for her fiftieth birthday several years ago. While it’s still technically counted among the Prince family fleet, Darla is using it as her primary residence while she and Edgar “sort out” their marital issues. At least, that’s what she’s been telling anyone who will listen to her. Little does the harpy know that those issues will be permanently resolved tonight.
The lights of Harbor Point twinkle abeam to port, while the ones over on Belvedere Island glimmer off the starboard bow. The Royal Queen is silent and dark, partly due to the late—or should I say, early—hour, and partly due to the fact that there is rarely any crew on board overnight if Darla is at home, unless they’re anchored too far from shore.
From what we’ve learned from Disa these past few days while she’s been Wisping around on board, is that there’s no love lost between the deposed matriarch and her staff. Despite Edgar no longer bankrolling a security team for Darla, the staff on board the Royal Queen are still employed by him and he’s paying a hefty price for the privilege. Darla’s already cycled through three crews over the past two months, and it’s getting hard to find staff willing to spend more than a week in her presence. In fact, Edgar has had to offer all eight of the current crew a significant bonus if they can hold out for just a little longer. Six figures for a six-week sentence. It must stick in Darla’s craw to know that the only reason she hasn’t been fully abandoned is because of the very thing she holds in the highest regard yet now has none of to her name—filthy, dirty lucre.
Despite the original plan, only Henley and myself step on board, the others are all spending the evening back in the city. Leslie has “proof” at the ready that Henley and I are down in Los Angeles on business, as well as evidence of Disa being up in Seattle at a week-long pastry-chef course. Steve, Leslie, Kimberly, and Kieran are all taking Edgar out to dinner in an attempt to “cheer him up” because of the divorce. I’m sure they’ll provide plenty of fodder for the paparazzi and tabloids.
Kieran was enraged when Edgar asked him to miss the fiery festivities, and it was only Kimberly’s promise that she’d have Henley and me fitted with body cams with their own internal memory to record his mother’s end that calmed him down. Even so, we’ve made sure there’s nothing that can be used to identify any of us. Henley and I are both wearing padded gear to bulk out our builds in disguise—although really, the man’s a walking mountain already, so it makes him look as large as a continent—as well as nitrile gloves underneath lightweight tactical gloves. Ski masks cover our faces and hair, and we’re even wearing tinted safety goggles over our eyes. I’m carrying a rucksack with the exact same items for Disa, while Henley carries the more volatile cargo—several bottles of Polmos Spirytus Rektyfikowany , pre-soaked lengths of cotton wicks, and a packet of luxury cigarettes that are supposed to taste like chocolate.
Leslie spent several hours with me both last night and this morning, teaching me how to tie a range of knots and twists that can be done one-handed. Kieran appreciated being our living mannequin, and we rewarded him for his exemplary behavior afterward. The boy loves having his ass eaten out, and it makes an excellent incentive. I’m not sure if those skills will be required, but it’s better safe than sorry.
The rope-tying skills, that is. There isn’t enough money in the entire world to entice me to go near Darla’s ass.
A light breeze infused with the scent of vanilla ruffles through my hair, and I smirk as an opaque figure forms in front of Henley and me. Double checking that I’ve got everything I need, I step forward, placing each foot with silent care. While there’s nobody close enough to disrupt us, I still don’t want Darla to make such a racket that someone decides to come and investigate.
Henley and I follow the cloudy shape of Disa as she glides through the super-yacht, leading us below deck and to the master bedroom. All of the others are empty, stripped of anything that isn’t bolted down, and I grimly chuckle under my breath at the state of disrepair of the boat. Every time Darla so much as glances at one of these empty rooms, it’s a brutal reminder of all that she’s lost.
We finally reach Darla’s lair, and my nose wrinkles with distaste at the smell wafting through the open doorway. Stale sweat, alcohol, cheap perfume, old cigarettes, marijuana smoke, and dried sex all assault my nose, and I scan the room with contempt. Darla’s nine-piece luggage set is strewn around the room, each case open and spilling a mess of clothing over the floor. Several bottles of cheap perfume keep a single amphora company, that one bottle coming in at over seventeen hundred dollars brand new. I should know, I was with Kieran when he bought it for Darla last Christmas.
The floor is littered with empty bottles of alcohol, the variety and quality such that Darla’s clearly made good use of the liquor Edgar had stored in the ship’s wet bar. It’ll just give credence to the presence of the Polish vodka in Henley’s bag, as will the cigarettes.
However, none of this compares to the sight awaiting us in the center of the room.
The master bed is covered in crumpled and stained bedding, a disgusting mix of food, alcohol, cigarette ash, as well as bodily fluids coating several toys—and is that human shit smeared over the sheets?—drawing my gaze until it reaches the person passed out amidst it all.
Darla Prince.
And she’s stark naked.
I choke back the bile rising in my throat as Henley and I work silently together, setting the room up until we’re satisfied that it’s staged to both Leslie and Disa’s specifications. I slip from the bedroom, leaving Henley to keep an eye on Darla as I head to the galley.
Dear God, those poor fucking staff!
The galley looks like a bomb has gone off. Food is spread out over the counter tops, with dirty dishes and broken glass sitting in the bottom of the sink. The stove top is littered with charred chunks of… well, I have no clue what it once was, but it’s nothing but blackened carbon now. A pot with some kind of congealing glop rests crookedly on top of the gas burner, looking as though it was knocked over and never righted. While I have no doubt that the experts won’t know exactly how the galley was left after Darla made use of it, I’m also positive that the crew will be able to give their own suppositions as to what happened based on what looks to be past experience.
Darla, while drunk and stoned out of her mind, decided to make something to eat, but she forgot to ignite the gas. She then stumbled back to her room, food forgotten, leaving the galley to fill with the noxious fumes.
I mean, it’s not far from what we have planned for her at any rate, just with a few other details added in. Details such as Darla deciding to play around with ropes while trying to get off. Darla, drunk out of her mind, dropping her bottle of vodka on the bed and soaking the entire thing in highly flammable liquid. Darla, choking herself while smoking to elevate her high, and then passing out with a lit cigarette.
I twist the knobs to the burner on, listening for the hiss of gas before exiting the galley. My footsteps are silent as I make my way back to Henley and Disa, who is now back to her gorgeous, tangible self, every inch of her soft skin and luscious curves on display. I offer her the bag full of clothing, but she shakes her head.
“Not until we’re back on the inflatable, there’s no point. Is it done?” she murmurs softly, and I nod.
We carefully arrange Darla on the bed, ensuring that the remaining lengths of cotton wick rest on the alcohol-soaked patch next to her, before tightening the cord around her neck and fastening it to the lampshade bolted to wall beside the bed. Darla doesn’t struggle or wake, not even as she takes her last, rattling breath. Both her bladder and bowel void as her life leaves her body, and we make quick work of pouring more vodka over the bed and floor.
“Okay, the both of you should head back to the inflatable and get it ready for departure. Leave the cigarettes and matches. I’ll count to one hundred, that should give you enough time to drift a little, and then I’ll finish up here and join you. Go. Now.”
Henley passes the packet of cigarettes and folded matchbook over to Disa, and then we both hot-foot it back through the yacht and back on board the inflatable. I can hear him counting under his breath, as am I, and we make quick work of the ropes tethering us to the back of the boat. We push away, using the stowed paddles to further our distance as we count down the final seconds.
It doesn’t take long for an orange glow to flicker in the portholes, and as those flickers transform into a blazing inferno, the inflatable dips and bobs under the weight of Disa as she solidifies. Handing her the rucksack full of clothes, I start the motor and concentrate on getting us the fuck away from the Royal Queen before all hell breaks loose.
The bright flames devouring the Royal Queen flicker in the distance as Henley, Disa, and I exit the Schoonmaker Point Marina, and I wonder how long it will take for the gas to?—
BOOM!
Well, that answers that question.