Chapter Eight
CHAPTER EIGHT
Zane
I don’t give a shit about what they discovered in DC. Max looks like the cat that ate the canary, a satisfied grin on his face. They must have found something good on Clayton and Ash, but the only thing I can focus on right now is Stella.
I’ve been hoping to find answers about my parents’ deaths for the last five years, almost six, but all I can think about is pulling Stella into my arms and never letting her go.
One look at her, and I know that won’t be happening. She’s dead on her feet. I keep forgetting she’s having a difficult time adjusting to the outside world—what’s beyond the walls of Black Enterprises.
Zarah is the same. Mel asked her if she wanted to go to the airport to pick up Max and Stella. She wanted to, the yearning clear in her eyes, but in the end her fear won out and she stayed behind and waited with Quinn and Ingrid.
It broke my heart to see my sister, who used to be so bright and boisterous, cower at the idea of leaving the Crowne.
There isn’t a day that goes by I’m not reminded of what a bastard I am.
When Mel said they were flying home tonight instead of tomorrow, I almost pooled at her feet in a puddle of relief. Zarah wasn’t the only one who worried while they were gone.
She jumps into Max’s arms, and he hides his face in her hair. I wish Stella was that open with me. Uninhibited. But she hangs back and lets Quinn hug her and gratefully accepts Quinn’s offer to fix her a cup of coffee and something to eat.
I grit my teeth and check my impatience, pacing to let my built-up energy out, and I give Stella time to nibble on the leftover chicken and mashed potatoes Mel ordered for dinner that Quinn reheated in Max’s microwave.
On the couch, Zarah sits as close to Max as she can, and he fills us in on their trip, relaying a conversation he and Stella had with a woman named Patty. It sounds like they were lucky and found an agent who was willing to divulge information she shouldn’t be sharing, much less have. Kissing Zarah’s cheek, he frees himself from her tight embrace and opens his suitcase to retrieve a manila envelope. He hands it to Mel saying, “This is it.”
She wiggles the sheaf of paper out of the envelope and meets my eyes. “Zane, this is the CVR’s transcript. Do you want—”
I’m done. “I’ll look at it tomorrow. Stella.”
She glances at me, exhausted and guarded, and protectively, Quinn narrows her eyes, warning me off. We have a complicated relationship, Quinn and me. We both want what’s best for Stella, but we don’t agree on what that is. She can hate and blame me for all of this, but I only care about what Stella thinks of me.
Shadows smudge beneath her eyes and her face is pale. The trip was short but hard on her.
Maybe I should let her go to bed.
Fuck it.
I need her, and I have to convince her she needs me, too.
She rolls her chair away from the conference table and stands, and no one says anything. When I get into this kind of mood, everyone knows not to get in my way.
Barefoot, she crosses over the carpeted floor, and I grab her hand and all but drag her out of Max’s room. There’s time to talk about the next thing we need to do, and right now, I need to address the white elephant in the room. While Stella was gone, I was scared shitless.
We walk to the Honeymoon Suite, neither of us saying one word, and I’m grateful she came with me. I wouldn’t have fought her if she would have said she wanted to let Quinn tuck her into bed, or talk to Zarah, or let Mel catch her up on the progress we made while she and Max were in DC, or any of the other million reasons she could have used to avoid spending time with me.
I let the latch click. We still prop our doors open to maintain transparency, but everyone will know what Stella and I are doing and I’m not going to explain.
The room’s dark, but I don’t need to see her to know where she is. I feel her presence in every cell of my body, all the time. I know when her breath hitches, or when her heart thrums in fear or excitement. I know when she’s scared—I can smell the scent on her skin. I know when she’s aroused...I feel the heat when she flushes with desire.
I know all of this, every second, because she’s my other half. My soulmate. My north star. Wherever she is, that’s where I need to be.
Gently, I tug her to me and slant my lips over hers. I want to ravage her, consume her as quickly and as completely as fire eats dried-out wood, but I bide my time, slipping my tongue into her mouth. She whimpers, the sexy sound coming from the back of her throat, and my cock stiffens. I lick at her, tangling my fingers in her hair, reveling in her sweetness.
She was only gone over night. We’ve been separated for longer while we were both in the city, but out of the state, Stella felt further away from me than ever before and now that she’s back, I can’t get close enough.
I move my lips from her mouth, over her jaw, and nibble the soft skin of her neck. I haven’t shaved, and she giggles. I smile. I love it when she laughs, but right now, I want her moaning, screaming my name.
I’m going to be at this for a while.
Her dress has a zipper in the back, and I ease it down, revealing a strapless champagne-colored bra.
My lips continue their leisurely exploration, and I lick along the delicate skin of her cleavage. Her breasts heave under my touch, and I know the minute she’s wet—the delicate scent of her arousal permeates the room. I’m drawn to her, a chemical addiction I can’t fight.
I don’t speak, not wanting to break the spell. Now isn’t the time for words. I’ve been talking, talking, talking, and no one is listening anymore. It’s time for action now, and we’ll see a lot of it in the coming days.
I skim her sundress down her body. Most of her bruising is gone, and the road rash on her thigh healed. She’s perfect, the tan she’s gotten keeping Zarah company on the roof making her skin glisten.
My lips linger on each breast, nibbling at her pretty pink nipples through the lace.
Stella rakes her fingers through my hair, and I absorb her touch like a love-starved puppy.
Kneeling, I trail my mouth down her ribs and over her flat belly.
I reach her panties, and she sucks in a breath. I pull the satin over her slim thighs. I stop briefly where my baby would be growing had I gotten her pregnant.
Maybe one day.
I brush my lips down to the apex of her thighs and cover her cleft with my mouth. She tastes like nectar, a ripe, juicy plum, and I moan, biting into her delicate flesh. Stella’s perfect in every way.
“Zane,” she says, gasping, “I have my period.”
“I don’t care.” I pause. “Do you?” Some men think it’s a turn-off to make love to a woman during her time of the month, but it has never bothered me. While I was growing up, my mother and sister were open about that kind of thing. My mother taught me that a woman’s cycle is a gift, that bearing a man’s children was the ultimate act of love a woman could give him. I abused my power having unprotected sex with Stella in her apartment. I’d forgotten what my mother taught me.
She bites her lip. “It might get messy.”
“I don’t mind, and I’ll be careful, sweetheart. I won’t hurt you.” Zarah’s period gives her cramps. I don’t know how sensitive Stella’s body is during her time of the month, and she could be sore. I won’t add to it.
“Then I need the bathroom for a second. I’m using a tampon.”
“Okay. Hurry.” I don’t want to be away from her for another moment.
I stay on my knees near the bed and wait, and when she comes out of the bathroom, I pick up exactly where I left off.
Despite her warning, her flavor is the same, and I lap at her sweet essence. She trembles and whimpers, and nudging her thighs apart, I widen her legs. My tongue circles her opening, licking where I want to shove my cock. We have all night, and for now, I slip two fingers inside her.
“Zane,” she whispers.
“Am I hurting you?”
“No.”
“Good. Tell me if I do, and I’ll stop.” I twist my fingers and her breath shudders, but she doesn’t say anything and I continue, her muscles clenching, grasping, wanting more. “Do you remember when I took you this way in my office?” It was one of the first times I made love to her after I promoted her. Up against the wall, my face pushed into her pussy. I made her come over and over, and her cum ran down the insides of her thighs.
I didn’t know then, what kind of hell was in store for us.
“Yeah,” she murmurs.
I lick her clit and curl my fingers, searching for that exact spot, and she comes under my mouth, clutching at the bed’s mattress to keep herself from falling.
She’s so wet, her cum drips down my wrist. My cock feels like it’s going to explode, but I force myself to calm down. I kiss my way up her belly, over her breasts, and to her mouth. I want her to taste how lovely she is. I devour her lips, undo her bra, and toss it aside.
“Get into bed.”
I unbutton my shirt and drop it to the floor, take off my pants and kick them in the general direction of my shirt, and pull off my briefs and socks. I slip between the cool sheets and wrap my body around hers. She hugs me, and I press my lips to her shoulder to keep a desperate cry of relief bottled up. Any moment I expect her to push me away, declare me too much work, too much trouble.
That’s all I’ve caused her, I know that. When we met and I saw how she lived, how she worked for every ounce of happiness, I vowed I’d make her life easier.
I never fulfilled that promise.
Stella takes control and kisses my jaw and along my neck, pulling my skin between her teeth. The tiny bit of pain zips along my nerves. Maybe she’ll give me a hickey, but she doesn’t linger long enough, kissing down my chest and flicking my nipples with the tip of her tongue. She grips my erection in her hand, and her fingers are warm and strong. I push myself into her grasp.
She glides her hand up and down, and I moan. I don’t want to come like this, but I missed her so much, I’m not going to last much longer.
Her head disappears under the sheet, and I drag in a breath as her lips cover the tip of my cock. Her tongue swirls at the head, tasting the pre-cum there, and I clutch the bedspread, my hips lifting, encouraging her to take more.
She does, enveloping almost all of me inside her hot mouth.
That can’t be easy—I’m harder than I’ve been in a long time. “Careful, Stella,” I bite out, but I don’t know if it’s for her benefit or mine.
She continues to suck and fists the base of my cock, caressing my balls with her other hand.
“Not this way,” I gasp. I want to be inside her.
She licks at me again, then pushes the sheet away. Crawling up my body, she moves to be on top, but I reverse our positions. I think about grabbing a condom, but she has her period and I don’t need it. I want to feel her without anything between us—there are so few times I get to do so.
Settling between her legs, I gently push into her as she grabs my forearms, tilting her hips. She’s exquisite, and I grit my teeth, giving her a moment to adjust. I’ll always be ashamed of the way I treated her in the past, and no amount of gentleness will erase what I’ve done. But from now on, every time we make love, I’ll try.
Her muscles hug me, and the tip of my cock nudges her center. We’re as close as two people can possibly be. It will never be enough. “Is this okay?”
She hisses out a breath. “Yeah, just . . .”
I withdraw, but she grips my ass and holds me in place. “No. I like it.”
“Tell me if it’s too much.” I lower myself onto her and hold her, my face buried in the soft curve of her neck.
She kisses my bicep.
“I love you, Stella.” The words seem inadequate. I mean so much more than what the definition of love is. I want to treasure her, protect her, do everything in my power to make her happy.
She’s my whole world.
Without her, I would be no one.
“I love you too,” she whispers.
“I pray to God you always will.”
A quick succession of short, forceful thrusts is all I need to come, and I cry my pain against her skin.
“Shh, shh,” she hushes into my ear, and she holds me until the shudders and the tears stop.
I nuzzle her lips, cradling her body, trying like hell to tell her what’s in my heart with my touch. “Did I hurt you?”
“No, it was perfect.”
She scrubs her fingers over my wet whiskers, and I turn my head to press a kiss to her palm. “Let’s clean up.”
In the bathroom, I blot at the faint streaks of blood on the insides of her thighs using a warm, wet washcloth, but we’re not as messy as she feared we would be. I’m a little disappointed when she puts on my shirt and finds her panties on the floor, but I realize she put a pad in them. I guess I can’t expect her to sleep without protection.
I lay my head on a pillow and Stella offers me her lips. I eagerly accept. I cup her cheek, rubbing my thumb over her dewy skin. “I missed you. Did you have a good trip?”
We’ve always been on the same page, and she knows I’m not asking about the voice recorder or what she and Max found at the NTSB offices.
“It was a little scary,” she says, burrowing close to me.
“How, sweetheart?”
“All the people, all the noise. DC is huge. We got to the hotel, and Max went to his room right away. I could have explored, but I was too scared to go out alone.”
“You can’t rush this, Stella,” I say, hurting for her. I’m pissed Max didn’t have more common sense. If he’s going to be with my sister, he’s going to have to start using his head.
“I know. Everything feels so new and strange.”
“When you can stop being Kendra Lovelace, you’ll be able to do whatever you want. You and Quinn can go out for dinner, or you and Zarah can go shopping. I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”
I feather my fingers over her belly, and she nudges my hand under the waistband of her panties, her pad brushing the backs of my fingers. She draws her knees up and lifts her hips, inviting me to touch her.
Her clit’s engorged. She’s ready. I wet my fingers and circle her nub with slow, lazy strokes.
She kisses me and moans against my lips as she flies.
Safe in my arms, she spreads her wings.
I hope she always feels this way.
We talk for hours after we should have gone to sleep. I listen to what she has to say because I think her experiences may be instrumental in helping Zarah find her balance again, too.
Between the lines, I read what Stella doesn’t put into words. She’s scared and feels alone. I know I’m not completely to blame—it has a lot to do with her growing up in foster care, never having a stable home. I can promise her that I will be her home, but it wouldn’t matter. I didn’t come through the last time and she has no reason to believe me now.
Besides, she could want to build a life somewhere else. A little town, quiet, off the beaten path. I can picture her in a garden, weeding, butterflies dancing around her head. In my daydream, she’s pregnant, as lush and as vibrant as the flowers around her. There’s a man in the background, a shadow, a presence, and when my daydreams turn to nightmares, that man is not me.
“I’m sorry,” she suddenly says, lifting onto her arm.
I brush a kiss over her cheek. “You have nothing to be sorry about, baby.”
“You don’t want to hear about the recorder right now, I know that, but some of what we heard...your dad and Clayton were good friends.”
“The best,” I say, not sure where she’s going with this.
“Clayton kept some nasty things from your dad. Kept his evil hidden under lies and a fake personality. Zane, your dad had no idea, and I’m sorry I thought it would be, or should be, different for you and Ash.”
I roll onto my side, twist my fingers in her silky hair, and press a hard kiss to her lips. “It is different, Stella. You have every right to blame me. My mom, she wasn’t trying to tell my dad what a horrible person Clayton is. Had my mom been trying to warn my dad, explain to him that Clayton Black wasn’t the kind of person everyone thought he was...that’s different. My dad loved my mom with everything he had. They drew their last breaths as in love with each other as the day they married, and I don’t have to listen to the recording to know that. He would have believed her. That’s the difference. I claimed to love you, but when you spoke, I didn’t listen. That’s not love.”
I appreciate what she’s trying to do, but she warned me about Ash many times. I didn’t listen, instead labeled her an outsider who wouldn’t know how “our kind” lived. I should have listened because out of anyone, Stella knew.
She could see.
I wake up before she does, and letting her sleep, I kiss her forehead and roll out of bed. I shower and dress, let in the breakfast delivery, and carrying a cup of coffee and the manila envelope, I search for a quiet corner. It’s easy to find in a hotel of twenty empty floors, but I choose to go up to the roof. The sun is shining and the sugary scent of donuts from the bakery down the street wafts up to me even this high.
The CVR transcript sits in my lap, the pages ruffling in the breeze. I’m reluctant to look at them, but last night, alone and in private, giving me space and her unwavering support to break down, Stella would have told me if my mom had been working with Clayton. After all, Stella’s claim Clayton killed her to cover up his mistake was just that—a claim.
The recording confirms her theory.
I shift, sipping my coffee, and prepare for what I’m about to read. I’ve been waiting years to have this information in my hands.
The conversation between Denton and my father surprises me—he never hinted they spoke the day Dad died. The recorder didn’t pick up Denton’s side of their talk, but I don’t need him to fill in the blanks. My father had been looking into nonprofit work. Non-government organizations or shelters that aided women and children, victims of domestic violence. My dad wanted to make a difference, and he asked Clayton to be his partner in that endeavor. To my father’s disappointment, he declined.
Clayton, Willow, and Ash have always invested in nonprofit work to complement Black Enterprises. As a family, we volunteered thousands of hours as well, but with organizations already founded by others. My mother had been a huge supporter of the National Humane Society, and I regret I let the Maddoxes’ involvement with them taper off. My father loved getting his hands dirty and helped build several houses with Habitat for Humanity. He never said he felt like that wasn’t enough. He never mentioned he wanted to start something between the two families because he thought Ash and Zarah would marry.
Clayton probably had a great time laughing at my dad behind his back. Kagan Maddox looked like an absolute fool trusting Clayton Black.
My mother still thought there was some good in Clayton, or she thought too much of herself, hoping she could turn him away from his lucrative black market dealings. He made millions selling weapons—he wouldn’t have stopped for my mother.
A shadow falls over my chair, and Denton stands in front of me, blocking the sun and holding his own cup of coffee.
He’s looking better, not so haggard. He’s wearing new clothes similar to mine—khaki pants and a thin cotton button-down shirt. A watch glints on his wrist. He needs a haircut, and the last five years have put lines on his face that may never fade.
We have a lot to say to each other, and this meeting was a long time in coming, but I don’t know where to start.
He lowers himself into a chair near mine and stares uncomfortably at his shoes.
A few minutes pass and I finally say, “You didn’t tell me you spoke to Dad the day he died.”
Denton hunches his shoulders and rubs his eyes.
I’m not surprised he has trouble sleeping. I can’t sleep either, not unless Stella’s lying next to me.
“He wanted to build something for you kids. Something more than the company, something more than a business legacy. He wanted to give back, in a big way. He wanted to create something you and Zarah could nurture and pass down to your children. I kept telling him Black wasn’t the only one he could partner with. Hell, he didn’t need to have a partner at all. He was Kagan Maddox, for Christ’s sake. But he had it in his head Ash and Zarah would get married one day and that Black Enterprises and Maddox Industries would stop being competitors and unite in all ways.”
“He didn’t know Clayton’s making his money illegally.”
“No. He couldn’t figure out why Clayton didn’t want to work with him in that capacity. Clayton didn’t mind being friends with your dad. I think deep down there was mutual respect, but he liked being business rivals more.”
“Their whole friendship was a lie.” Clayton started Black Enterprises from a hole in the wall around the same time my dad founded Maddox Industries. They’d been struggling businessmen together. I often heard my dad and Clayton talk about the “good old days” before their companies employed even a single person. It hurts my dad bought into all of it. While he was building our company on something good, Clayton did anything he could to cut corners and make money the easy way.
Denton sighs and squints into King’s Crossing’s skyline. With the sun sparkling against the skyscrapers, it’s a beautiful sight. “Maybe not at the beginning. But Clayton, he always wanted more. The running joke was Kagan was the king of King’s Crossing. He had the looks, the charm...the kindness and compassion. Clayton took that in stride. He didn’t want to be king. He wanted to be God.”
“Ash’s and my friendship was the same. Nothing but a sham. I invested years in a man who hated me.”
“The Blacks’ motto is to keep their friends close and their enemies closer. You were friends growing up. Real friends. You would have to ask Ash when that line blurred.”
I sip my cooling coffee. “You never said anything to Dad about it?”
“Said anything about what? Clayton not wanting to work with Kagan wasn’t proof of anything. Clayton did, or does, have his fingers in a lot of pies. Maybe he didn’t want to add another project. It could have been as simple as that, but Kagan took it personally.”
“Did you know what my dad wanted to do? What kind of nonprofit he wanted to start?”
Denton shakes his head and rests his elbows on his thighs. “He didn’t tell me much about that. All I know is he viewed Clayton not wanting to partner with him as a slight. Kagan was thinking of you and Zarah and Ash. When Clayton turned him down, he thought Clayton wasn’t taking your futures as seriously as he was.”
“And later, after the plane crash?”
“All I had to go on was my instincts. I was trying to find something, anything, and I met Clayton several times. I almost had him convinced I wanted out of the company because you weren’t listening to me and were doing a horseshit job of running it. Stella must have known something to snoop through my email and I should have told her my suspicions, but I didn’t know if I could trust her.”
“Chase Forrester saw you and Clayton having drinks at the Alibi Lounge. We met them for dinner and he told me. That’s why Stella hacked into your email. She was looking for evidence against the Blacks because she had the same suspicions you did. She tried to tell me Ash wasn’t the man I thought he was. He threatened her, but I accused her of blowing things out of proportion and I brushed it off as Ash being Ash. She would have made a good ally.”
He scoffs. “For all the good that would have done. I didn’t know what the hell was going on, then she disappeared and you had Wagner cut me out. Clayton accused me of spying and froze most of my accounts. For five years I tried to dig up enough dirt that would convince you to believe me, lived on pennies a day using a small account Clayton didn’t find. All that changed when I heard Stella surfaced.”
He didn’t say, “When Stella came back to the States,” and I swallow hard. “Did you know Stella was trapped at Black Enterprises?”
He pauses, and I know right away I’m going to hate what he has to say. “Yes. I paid one of Ash’s interns to dig around, keep her ear to the ground. I knew the position I was putting her in, but I was desperate and couldn’t think of anything else. We met for coffee, and she told me she saw a woman who looked like Stella in a hallway delivering paperwork to Ash’s office. She showed me a picture of Stella she took on her cell. Communication dried up after that. I posed as her uncle and used a payphone to call Black’s receptionist, and she told me the intern no longer worked there. Two weeks later, her name popped up on a missing persons website. I never heard anything else.”
“There’s no way Stella knows that.”
Denton shoots me a look. “I didn’t tell her. She already feels responsible for so much, and I couldn’t add to it.”
I force myself to relax. Tension and guilt turned all my muscles to stone. “How did you find out she escaped?”
“Same as you, I imagine. Saw her on the news. The subway, when someone pushed her off the platform, then Quinn was shot outside your building. I drove around the city for hours looking for her, and I managed to pick her up the night she found her foster mother dead. She was going to let a car run her over.”
Stella told me part of the story already, but I still close my eyes, picturing her looking down the headlights of a car, the engine gunning, and she’s just standing there, waiting to end it all. She never thought about herself. Not once through it all did she ever think about protecting herself.
Smoothing the transcript paper under my hand, I say, “I appreciate what you did for Zarah.”
Denton sighs. “I should have tried something a lot sooner. I was still at the party when she fell apart, and I watched the ambulance take her away. She didn’t belong there, but Ash locked her down. He hid two women in plain sight for five years and no one did anything about it.”
“Stella’s not the only one who feels responsible for what’s been going on. I gave Ash control of Zarah’s medical care because I thought he loved her. A lot of people have lost parts of their lives because of me.”
He clears his throat. “You lost time, too, with Stella. I saw how you were together...before. In the office, at your party. You were really in love with her. I don’t know where you two would be right now if it weren’t for Ash and his father. Married. A couple of kids, maybe. You’re so much like Kagan, Zane. You and Zarah made him so proud. Your faith and trust in Ash were misplaced, but it’s not the reason any of this happened. You’re a victim like we all are. Ash stole five precious years of your time with Stella. Fight for them back.”
“Stella’s head and heart aren’t in a good place right now for me to do that.”
“Then you need to wait for her, the way she waited for you.”
I’m thankful Denton’s giving me permission to feel just as cheated as he, Zarah, and Stella are, but I can’t think of where Stella and I would be now without the Blacks.
Married, for sure.
Maybe children, maybe not. After the crash, it had been all I could do to crawl out of bed. Stella helped—she woke me up. Maybe I would have wanted to keep her to myself for a bit.
I don’t know where I’d be if my parents were still alive. Maybe I never would have met Stella. Or I would have bumped into her in the lobby of the building and I would have lost my heart just as easily as I had in my kitchen.
My mom and dad would have loved her, too.
“Do you want to come back to the office?” I ask. It’s too little too late, and his hard stare tells me I’m right. We may have cleared the air, but things will never be the same between us.
“No. I don’t know what I’ll want after this is done. If my accounts can be unfrozen, if I can have access to my money again, I don’t have to work anymore. Maddox Industries is a pleasant memory. Kagan was a good friend and I want nothing but the best for you and your sister, but things can’t be undone. You may decide to sell it or hire Wagner to run it and hand it off to Zarah one day. Time’s running out. If Stella stands by you, think about retiring. Share your life with her. Start living.”
I nod. “Clayton doesn’t have everyone on his payroll. I’ll see what I can do about your accounts. Give Mel a list of your banks and account numbers.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it. Should have asked sooner, but a man can learn pretty quickly there’s more to life than money.”
I smile. “We’ll teach Clayton and Ash that, too.”
“Looking forward to it.” Denton glances across the roof at the angel floating to us. “There she is.”
Stella approaches, her red hair sparkling. She looks beautiful, but I miss her long, blonde hair.
“I’ll let you two talk.” Denton pats Stella on her shoulder as he walks away.
She crawls into my lap and tucks her head under my chin. I wrap my arms around her, and we enjoy the simplicity of being together.
We meet for dinner that evening, and it’s one of the few times since this has started we’ve all been in the same room. I gave Ingrid the night off and invited Douglas to Max’s suite.
Ash’s fundraising gala is less than a week away. Under extreme secrecy only a dinner at the White House would require, the Blacks sent out the invitations, and there’s nothing on King’s Crossing’s social media except speculation about who Ash invited and who’s lucky enough to be a plus one.
My invitation arrived at the penthouse, expensive cream stock paper, the text written in elegant black script. It looked like a wedding invitation.
Nathalie sent back the RSVP.
Ash hasn’t been in touch since the party he and Clayton threw for Nat and me. Clayton may still be scrambling to figure out who at the NTSB told me they found the black box.
I called the FBI, and the special agent who’s been in charge of my parents’ case is flying to King’s Crossing in the morning to meet with me. I didn’t bother asking Homeland Security or the Coast Guard to join us. They weren’t involved and never have been.
Mel called an Italian restaurant a few blocks away and ordered huge platters of pasta. Garlic and oregano permeate the air, and for once, I’m hungry. Stella sits next to me and rests her hand on my thigh under the table. I curl my fingers around hers and squeeze.
Nathalie narrows her eyes at me. She misses nothing.
There’s no word from, or about, Vance Huxley, but I didn’t think there would be. He wouldn’t want it to get out he frequents with prostitutes—high-class or otherwise—and he’s been keeping his nose clean and staying close to City Hall. As the social elite show off their precious invitations, Truth or Dare prints the names of who will attend Ash’s fundraiser, and he’s been mentioned.
I’m glad he’ll be there, and I would have told Ash to invite him if he hadn’t been.
“I talked to Nathalie,” Mel says, raising her voice over our chatter.
We give her our full attention, but the manicotti I’m eating curdles in my stomach.
“She’s contacted a couple of the women she used to work with. There’s word on the street Ash’s cleaning house. Nathalie says when he decides to turn over his girls, nothing good happens to them.”
“What does he do?” Stella asks, clutching a glass of red wine to her chest.
Nathalie swallows a bite of shrimp fettuccini. “The girls who stop earning their quotas are cut loose. Some of them get too old and turn undesirable, some of them get hurt and can’t work. One job broke a woman’s jaw, and Ash didn’t let her have medical treatment. She didn’t heal properly, and she went missing. Sometimes big jobs get tired of their regulars,” she says, her gaze flicking to me and then away, “and request different girls. If that happens too many times, she’s done. Ash deals in high stakes. If his girls don’t earn their keep, they disappear, but I could never figure out where they go.”
“We need to find out what Ash is planning and intercept it,” Mel says, holding a glass of wine, too. “This goes beyond simply running an escort service.”
I tense. I don’t like where this is heading.
“Nathalie and Stella are going to Ladies and Gentlemen tomorrow night to see what they can find out.”
Slamming my hand on the table, I burst out, “No! Everyone knows Nat’s my fiancée, and Stella won’t be safe waltzing into L and G, even in a disguise. Max can sit at the club for an hour, or Quinn’s feeling better. She can go.”
The refusal of my alternate plan is hot and thick. A lot of it coming from Stella because she’s determined to be a part of this, determined to put Ash away herself. Zarah’a startled gaze flies to mine. She doesn’t want Max to leave the hotel. Yeah, I know how she feels. Quinn squeaks, thinking I want her to go alone. That’s not what I meant. Maybe it was. Fuck. I don’t know what I meant. All I know is I don’t want Stella going to Ladies and Gentleman.
Mel nods, used to my emotional outbursts. “I agree, to a point. People are used to seeing Nathalie there. If Ash sees her, she can say she wanted to say hi to her friends. Quinn and Stella can tag along, and the three of them will look like they’re out for a night on the town. Some women enjoy that lifestyle and going to a strip club looking for some fun isn’t unheard of.”
“Zane,” Stella says, rubbing my leg, my muscles rippling with the desire to jump off my chair and take her as far away from all this as possible, “it will be okay.”
I purse my lips. I knew Stella would want to help. I knew she wouldn’t be completely safe, and without her involvement, we wouldn’t be as close as we are to sending Ash and Clayton to prison...for the rest of their miserable lives. “Fine.”
It’s anything but fine.
“We’ll put a bug on Stella again, and Quinn can keep an eye on her. Nathalie knows her way around the club. They’ll get what they need, then head out.” Mel tries to reassure me, but I wave her off. There’s no use arguing with a woman, never mind four of them.
I fill them in on my impending meeting with the FBI, and afterward, we eat dessert in uncomfortable silence. Quinn, Stella, and Zarah drift into a bedroom to play a board game. Mel, our mother hen, cleans up remnants of our dinner. Max writes an article, and Douglas invites Denton and me to play cards.
Nathalie wanders off, alone, as usual.
I should bring her back to the penthouse. Every minute we spend at the hotel when we don’t need to be here puts everyone at risk. Work and his gala seem to be keeping Ash busy enough, but that doesn’t mean he’s not interested in what I’m doing.
I accept Douglas’ invitation and he deals me in, but unable to concentrate, I play a couple of hands only to fold half an hour later. Nathalie’s on the rooftop, and she’s staring over the Renegade to the hotel where we had our engagement party. She’s still wearing the ring I gave her that night. Living in a fantasy that will never turn into reality, she may never take it off.
“Ready to go?” I stand next to her, and she leans into me. She turns and presses her lips to mine, and I stifle a sigh and push her away. I’m tired of having to continually rebuff her. She keeps trying like one day she’ll change my mind.
She is gorgeous dressed in denim shorts and a blouse that slides off her shoulder, revealing bare skin. The late September breeze is warm, and her hair blows around her face. If Ash hadn’t damaged her beyond repair, if I hadn’t irrevocably hurt her, she would’ve made any man a fine partner. But I’m afraid between Ash and me, she may not have the option of a healthy relationship.
I brush my lips over her forehead. “Come on. It’s late.”
Stella and Quinn went to bed, and I push back a frustrated sigh of disappointment. I wish she would have stayed up long enough to let me tell her goodbye and kiss her goodnight, but whenever Nathalie and I have to do something as a couple, she hides. Zarah and Max joined Denton and Douglas and they’re playing poker. She’s always loved cards, and it’s nice to see her having fun. If they’re playing for money, she’ll sweep the table...if she remembers how to play.
Half rising out of his seat, Douglas offers to drive us, but I decline. He’s having a good time and there’s no need to interrupt that.
Mel lifts a sympathetic hand in goodnight, knowing I’m in a foul mood and the reason why, and Nat and I step into the hallway.
She’s silent in the car and digs her cell out of her purse. Opening her Messages app, she quickly types out a text, her screen glowing in the dark.
I frown. “Who are you talking to?”
“A couple of the girls at the club. I’m letting them know we’ll be stopping in tomorrow night and to reserve us a table. You want this to look real, don’t you? It’s not a big deal.”
“Yeah.” It’s natural for her to set up a time to meet her friends, and I try to let go of my distrust and instead, mull over what I want to talk to Special Agent Banks about.
Nat goes straight to bed, and unable to sleep, scared and restless, I work out until I can barely move.
Despite the lack of sleep, I’m sharp the next morning when Peggy escorts Special Agent Banks into my office.
He’s confident, smirking. He’ll have the old song and dance—nothing new, the case is open but the investigation is no longer ongoing.
I was immature and used to think I could summon him to King’s Crossing because of who I am. Now I know he needs to see me in person to believe I’m swallowing all his lies. In the past five years, he’s never had a reason to doubt my trust in him.
Peggy wheels in a tray, and I gesture, inviting him to help himself to a large mug of coffee. He used to drink it black, but today he adds cream. Perhaps keeping Clayton’s secrets has given him an ulcer.
He sits in front of my desk and slouches casually, lifting the mug to his lips. “What can I do for you, Mr. Maddox? I must say, this will be one of the last times I can meet you. The case is cold. After so much time, we won’t find anything new. Leads dried up years ago. The black box isn’t made to withstand saltwater for such a long period of time and is likely destroyed. I’m here as a courtesy because of who your father was, but there are other cases that need our attention. There seems to be a serial killer on the loose in southern Texas. I’m sure you understand.”
I smooth my tie and stare out the window of my father’s office. I took it over after Ash kidnapped Stella, but I’ll never feel like the office is mine. Kagan Maddox’s ghost will always own this room.
“I completely understand, but this meeting is more to update you than it is to update me.”
Banks frowns. “What do you mean?”
I settle into the seat behind my father’s massive desk and pull a copy of the CVR transcript out of a drawer. Mel scanned it into her laptop, emailed the file to everyone, and made several copies. We won’t lose proof the NTSB recovered the black box.
Smiling, showing all my teeth, I slide the thin sheaf of printer paper across the immaculate desk.
He sets his mug on the coffee tray and picks them up. Blood drains from his face as he skims the dialogue, turning his complexion a sickly grey. “I don’t understand.”
“Hmmm. I think you do.”
“What is this?” His startled gaze shoots to mine.
I raise my eyebrows. Sweat starts to bead along his forehead, and I’m petty enough to enjoy it. He lied to me for five and a half years, and today that ends.
“I believe it’s the CVR transcript from the black box of the plane my parents were on,” I say, steepling my fingers.
His lips tremble. “It’s fake. Who gave this to you?”
“Someone at the NTSB.” I pause. “I can be very persuasive.”
He’s silent for several minutes, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he tries to swallow, and I let him stew. He’s not in trouble with me. It’s Clayton Black who will not be happy to hear Banks failed to keep a secret as important as this one hidden. What are the repercussions for crossing a Black? I have no doubt Clayton can dispose of Special Agent Banks just like he did my mother. Like Ash did those other girls. Like he did Stella and my sister. All Clayton and Ash have to do is snap their fingers and people disappear like a magician’s trick.
“What do you want from me, Mr. Maddox?”
“You can start by telling me the truth and we’ll work from there.” I need this man on my side. I can’t use him if after our meeting he cleans out his bank accounts and flies to Tijuana hoping Clayton will never find him.
He sighs. “The senator—”
I scoff. “I said I want the truth. I was a na?ve kid five years ago. A lot has changed, and I won’t believe whatever lies you try to shove down my throat. If you won’t tell me what you know, maybe I should tell you what I know, and you better hope it’s not more than you.”
He drops the transcript onto my desk and runs a shaking hand through his greying hair. His face is another that bears evidence of a long five years. “When your parents’ plane went down, the NTSB investigated like they normally would. The Coast Guard searched for debris and the victims, but the pilot’s body was the only body recovered. The NTSB retrieved the black box three days after the crash. Clayton Black contacted my superior and said you could never know the truth.”
“And what truth is that?”
“That your father was supplying illegal arms to terrorist regimes in exchange for millions of dollars, and in the interest of national security, his plane was taken down.”
I grit my teeth. Exactly what Ash told Zarah and Stella. At least their lies are consistent.
“You have to understand, Black has the ear of the vice president of the United States. When he speaks, people listen. We took possession of the box, and the contents were buried. I didn’t know what it recorded until just now. It was my job to put you off by any means possible. It was not my job to know why.”
“You know the allegations about my father are false, don’t you?”
Banks rubs tiredly at his face. “At this point, Mr. Maddox, I only know what I’m told to know.”
“Then know this.” I push the screenshot Stella captured from Clayton’s email and risked her life to smuggle out of Black Enterprises.
His pallor turns an even uglier shade of grey. “This email is over five years old.”
“It is. It was sent the evening before my parents’ plane crash. My mother was mistakenly included, and the transcript supports the theory Clayton Black killed my mom and dad to hide the truth of his illegal activities. Of course,” I continue, friendliness lacing my voice, “I don’t have proof he’s still doing it, but in this instance, perhaps once a traitor, always a traitor.”
Banks clears his throat. “Then what do you want? Why am I here?”
“If you truly didn’t know what was on the voice recorder, you could possibly escape prosecution, but if you were actively helping Black keep his deals a secret, then you’re an accomplice. You’ll go to prison, and I wouldn’t be able to stop it—even if I wanted to.”
His eyes widen in alarm. He knows what happens to law enforcement officers who go to prison. “I didn’t. Black and my superior kept me in the dark.”
“You’ll have to convince a jury of that, but helping me may sway them in your favor.”
He leans forward, the thin thread of hope I’m offering him his only salvation. “What can I do?”
“Clayton Black is as dirty as they come. We have proof that to cover up his illegal deals he paid the pilot of that plane to crash and commit suicide in the process. Dig deep enough, and you’ll find the paper trail that links the pilot’s bank account to the Blacks. Investigate that deal,” I say, jabbing my finger at the email screenshot. “It’s over five years old, yes, but I’m sure you’ll find something. Then, if you’re still not satisfied with evidence of the type of people we’re dealing with, check into Ladies and Gentlemen and the business Ash conducts in his back rooms. If that still doesn’t convince you to play for a different team, investigate Quiet Meadows, a care facility here in King’s Crossing. Ashton Black admitted he purchased the sanatorium five years ago. My sister was a patient there until recently, and I have proof she was abused under their care. Others may be, too. It will be a feather in your cap to shut it down. I can put you in contact with our family doctor who’s already been asking questions.”
He thins his lips in unhappiness.
Tough shit.
“And just so I’m clear, if you think you’re going to run to your supervisor, I’ve recorded our conversation. You’ve admitted you were an active participant in helping Black conceal evidence. Help me, and I’ll help you.”
“I’ll do what I can,” Banks murmurs in defeat, knowing I’ve won.
“I’m sure you will.” I place Mel’s business card on top of the CVR transcript. “This is the contact information of private investigator I’m working with. She’ll give you what we’ve found regarding the payoff the pilot’s family received. We weren’t able to get far—we didn’t have a warrant or authorization to access bank information. You’ll get much further than we did. And besides me recording this conversation, we’re distributing copies of this email screenshot to every news channel in King’s Crossing. We will tear down Black Enterprises. With or without you. Go down with his ship or grab the life vest I’m throwing to you.”
He stands and walks out the door. I feel kind of bad for him. Maybe he didn’t know what he was doing for Clayton Black, but I suspect he did. No one defies Clayton, and Banks was taking the easy way out. I can’t forget he treated me like a kid and lied to me for years, but I just handed him several ways to vindicate himself.
He’ll have to choose between his own wellbeing and future or what Clayton Black wants.
It doesn’t matter to me.