Chapter Eighteen
He caught me by surprise, and I had no time to prepare for it. The hand on my shoulder felt like a lead weight, pressing down on my chest. My breath hitched as panic sparked inside me. I took a deep breath as subtly as possible, trying to dampen it down.
“Son,” Father”s voice cut through the hum of conversation, his grip tightening. “Tell Mr. Kozlov about your experience in Johannesburg.”
I fought back the bile rising in my throat.
“It was a strategic challenge,” I managed to say, the words feeling like shards of glass in my mouth. “But our teams are well trained, and we didn’t lose a single man on the job. At least two third of the team were local, which we always find is extremely beneficial. All our branches recruit locally, especially in Africa and Russia.”
“Indeed,” Mr. Kozlov said, his thick accent wrapping around the word like barbed wire. “Tough environments breed tough men.”
Tough or broken. I swallowed hard, nodding mechanically while father beamed with pride. Tough men didn”t flinch from their fathers. They didn”t wish they could disappear into the shadows like a wraith.
“Nate here oversaw the Johannesburg office for three months last year,” Father said. “This summer, I’ll have him in Moscow for a few months, and by then I think he’ll be ready to lead a team of his own.”
“So soon?” asked Kolzov. “What’s his kill number?”
“Twelve officially,” said my father, smiling at me, “but we’ve had a few cage fighting incidents we’ve had to deal with, haven’t we son?”
I gritted my teeth and nodded, as my father casually chatted about one of the worst periods of my life to a colleague.
“Had a bit of a temper when he was younger,” my father continued. “But he’s learned to leash the beast as we say.”
Kozlov nodded. “I’ve heard the stories of the Beast. I hope I can catch a fight while in the country.”
“That would be our pleasure,” my father said. “I’m sure we could arrange one for next week, couldn’t we, Nate?”
I nodded. “Shouldn’t be a problem. Would you excuse me?” I detached myself from father”s hold. I couldn”t withstand another second of his touch.
“Where do you think you”re going?” Father”s voice was deceptively calm, but I knew better.
“Call of nature,” I lied. The walls felt like they were closing in, the air thick with power plays and silent threats. Every moment in this house scratched at old wounds, left me raw and exposed.
“Be quick,” he said, his eyes sharp as knives. “We have much to discuss and many clients to speak to.”
“Of course.” I nodded, but barely concealed the tremor in my voice.
Walking away, I felt their gazes boring into my back, heavy with unspoken judgments. I needed space, a moment to breathe without the weight of the Syndicate suffocating me. But I knew too well that defiance was not an option. Not unless I was willing to pay the price.
I escaped to the fringes of the room, the clinking of glasses and low rumble of conversation a dull roar in my ears. I was a shadow among vultures, an interloper in my father”s den of mercenaries and monsters. I wasn’t the only one who felt out of place here.
A few moments after I had escaped my father, Bast appeared at my side.
“How are you doing, Nate?”
“Been better,” I muttered, knocking back the double brandy. I’d been here an hour and it was my fourth of the night so far.
“Carver had you doing the rounds too? My Dad’s had me talking to every high ranking Syndicate agent we’ve seen so far.”
“Think we’ve barely scratched the surface,” I said. “Father wants me leading a team once we’ve graduated, and he’s already pimping me out.”
I’d known it was coming. Bast was being set up to run the Syndicate eventually, and Tristan would inherit his father’s tech company. Me, I would serve as my father’s right hand, providing bodyguards and mercenaries to the rich and morally black, but first, I’d need to prove myself. My father served for forty years in the army, including black ops. He didn’t want me confined by rules, so I’d need to get my field experience through the company. I’d already been on several teams, gaining experience, and I hated it. The violence was sickening, and the nightmares and panic attacks were always worse for months afterwards.
My last excursion had been in Johannesburg in the summer, and it had been a fucking bloodbath. I’d killed three men, just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. What was worse, was that when I was out there, with blood on my hands, I felt good. Violence, killing, it silenced the demons in my head, and I was good at it. And that scared the hell out of me.
Bast knew what I did, what I had to do for my father, but he didn’t know about that. We were close, so close, and I trusted him with my life, but some things were too dark to see mirrored in your brother’s eyes.
I held up my empty glass, signalling to a server, and they brought me a new one in a matter of minutes. Their service was good, quick and intelligent, and we’d probably bring them in for events again.
“Did you ever wonder what life would be like, if we could choose it?” I asked quietly, once the server had left.
Bast nodded. “All the time.”
“What would you do?” I asked. “If you weren’t… you.”
Bast shrugged. “Honestly? I have no idea. There’s no point fantasising about something that can never happen. I won’t disappoint my father after he’s worked so hard to make us into something. I can’t let him down. But what about you? Can’t you step back, walk away?”
I snorted. “No one walks away from Carver,” I said. “He”d have me hunted down in an instant.”
“They’d struggle to take you down,” grinned Bast.
The corner of my mouth twitched. “Even I might find it tricky to fight off a team of twelve men. Even I need to sleep a few hours a night.”
Except this week. I’d got too used to having Paige in my bed. Even when she’d been with Bast, she’d sneak away when he was asleep, into my room. I hadn’t let myself use her again. I was too afraid of losing control, of hurting her. But I’d started to climb into bed around midnight, lying awake until I felt her slide in next to me, her tiny body curling around mine, her fingers twirling around the hair on my chest. She smelt of orchids, and musk, and sex, and often I’d lie there with the biggest fucking hard on for an hour before finally drifting off to sleep. But when she was with me, the nightmares didn’t arrive, and I could sleep for hours. Without her, my nights were dark again, haunted by the past, and I could see for myself the dark rings under my eyes.
“She’s here,” said Bast quietly, as though reading my mind.
Something in his tone made me look up. And there she was, her hair catching the light as she moved through the crowd. She looked stunning.
The sight of her nearly knocked the breath out of me. Dressed in a sparkling midnight blue dress, its silhouette hugging her curves before flaring gently to the ground and baring her neck and shoulders, she was an unexpected relief in the middle of this madness. Water in the desert. The sudden fluttering in my stomach was disconcerting; I’d never reacted to a woman like this before.
Tristan caught sight of us, and guided her through the crowd. I noticed the eyes of the men slide sideways as she passed, and rage sparked inside me. She was ours.
“About time you showed up,” Bast said, reaching out and grabbing a couple of glasses of champagne from the nearest passing server.
“Traffic,” she replied, her eyes not meeting mine.
I caught the flush on her cheeks, the way her gaze darted away. It told me everything I didn”t want to know. Tristan”s smug grin twisted my gut, lit a fuse of jealousy that burned hot and fierce.
She looked up at me, her eyes travelling over my body in a way that made my skin heat.
“You look so good, Nate. I wouldn’t have recognised you.”
“So do you. I’m glad you came,” I muttered. I was no good at this small talk shit. We never talked. In bed at night, even at the gym when I put her through her paces, my cock hard as hell as I watched her push herself harder each time. I wanted her so badly, but I could never say the words, and I could never take that risk.
But the nights before she came to me, they were torture. Bast’s room was across from mine, and although I could have stayed downstairs, or gone to the gym, I found myself waiting for them each night, wanting to catch just that small piece of her. I’d listen to them together, closing my eyes and imagining her moans were for me as I fisted my cock, imagining what they were doing, or remembering that night in my bed. She’d been incredible, taking more than I thought she would, but I craved more, and that amount of darkness would extinguish her tiny flame.
“Son, there you are.” His voice sliced through my heated thoughts like ice, and I forced a passive look onto my face as my father pushed through the crowd towards us. He stopped, looking Paige up and down like she was some car he was thinking of buying. I felt sick, remembering his latest girl. She’d been around Paige’s age.
“This must be Persephone,” he said, holding his hand out to Paige. She nodded, taking his hand. He brought her fingers to his lips, and I shuddered at the sight of his mouth on her skin.
“Beautiful,” he said, his eyes fixed on her breasts. “Just beautiful. I hope my son is taking full advantage.”
I gritted my teeth and Paige flushed bright red. Father laughed.
“Oh, you are a sweet one. No wonder they wanted you.” he released her hand, only to slide it around her waist, pulling her close to him. “I’m only joking, Persephone. Just some light humour to brighten my mood. Business events can be such a drag.”
I saw Paige withdraw inwardly, her body going rigid as she tried to maintain composure. The smile she flashed was plastic and forced, but it seemed to satisfy the old man.
“I”m glad you approve,” she said. Her grip tightened on the stem of her champagne glass.
“Oh, I approve,” he said, leering down at her, his thumb rubbing slowly over her hip.
A nerve pulsed to life in my jaw. His crude implications, the underlying ownership he implied… it was unbearable. The room began swirling around me, the noise of laughter and clinking glasses threatened to flood my senses. Paige was mine. Ours. I needed him to stop touching her. The protective fury that surged through me was primal, undeniable.
“Enough,” I growled.
“Something wrong, son?” Father”s eyebrow arched innocently, but the look in his eyes was cold. I knew that look, and despite the fact I now towered a good six inches above him, it still affected me. My stomach churned, old fears awakening under that gaze. My chest tightened and my fingertips itched. I felt the spike of adrenaline, the hyper awareness of every sound and sensation, and despite the fact I wanted to tell him to back off, I couldn’t. I needed to get out of there before the panic consumed me.
“No, nothing. Brandy went to my head. I just need some air,” I lied, turning away and heading for the far doorway. My pulse racing and my heartbeat drumming in my ears, I shoved through the crowd, faces blurring into nothingness.
“Excuse me,” I mumbled.
I reached the stairs, and took them two at a time, until finally turning down a hallway away from the crowd below. My breath came in short gasps, each one a battle. The walls seemed to press in, wallpaper patterns swirling into taunting demons as I stumbled down the hallway. Laughter from the ballroom echoed, a mocking soundtrack to my torment. I needed to find somewhere quickly.
I pushed open the closest door, stumbling inside, and closing it behind me. I stood alone in the darkness, gasping for breath. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, the panic intensified. This was his room.
The air was thick with the scent of aged cologne and leather, the same that clung to him like a second skin. Dark oak furniture loomed, oppressive and grand. The grand four poster bed stood in the centre of the room, mocking me.
“God,” I muttered, my chest aching as I fought to breathe. I hadn’t been in here in eight years, and the memories swept over me like an assault, flashing through my mind like a relentless torrent of pain. I dropped to my knees, my legs too unsteady to hold me.
“Please.”
Memories clawed at my mind. His shadow looming over me, the weight, the betrayal. The pain. So much pain. My fists clenched as the memories swirled, my knuckles white as they dug into the plush carpet. I fought against the pull of my past, sucked down the remaining air in ragged breaths. My eyes clenched shut, fingers worming into the carpet threads.
“No more,” I choked out. My heart hammered in my chest, and through the turmoil in my mind, I wondered dimly if I was having a heart attack. Everything hurt, my chest most of all, and the shadows of my past surrounded me, cutting me off from sanity. The hand on my shoulder, as he guided me away from my own bed to this one, the slide of his belt against the fabric of his trousers.
The sharp sound of my own desperate sobs, the hot tears that had fallen unchecked down my face. The coldness of his touch on my skin. My tiny body trembling, shaking with fear. I was paralyzed, my mind trapped in the torment. His cruel laugh echoed in my ears, the sound mixing with the rushing blood in my veins.
My fists thudded into the carpet, fists unfurling and clenching as I tried to claw back control. It was a battle I didn”t think I could win.
The memories wouldn”t stop.
I could feel them like a physical force pushing me down, breaking me apart. The shame and humiliation were overwhelming, too much for me to bear. I shifted back, pressing my back against the wall, curled my knees up and wrapped my arms around them, making myself small, like I had back then. If I was small he might not find me. I started rocking back and forth, tears streaming down my face as I lost myself in the tempest inside my mind.