60. James
JAMES
The moment I got off the phone with Robert, Theo turned to me with a gob-smacked smile. “You’re gonna win Will back by proving he’s innocent, aren’t you? This is so romantic.”
“Don’t leave the car. You hear me? Tony’s already proven he’s willing to kill to save his own ass, and I don’t want you getting in the middle of this.”
“Then shouldn’t you have, like, a gun or something?”
“Derek’s up there, and Tony doesn’t even know I’m coming. I’ll be fine.”
I crossed the street and entered the building. Derek had already told the concierge to expect me, so there was little fanfare as he checked my ID, punched in the code for the penthouse elevator, and sent me on my way. As the elevator climbed, I made sure my phone was recording in my pocket.
The security gate was already open, so when the elevator doors parted, I stepped directly into the spacious loft-style penthouse.
Derek was clearly one of those closeted gays who try extra hard to appear masculine, so it was no wonder his place resembled a basketball gymnasium, with polished wood floors, exposed brick walls, and massive iron-clad windows.
Even the furnishings were hyper-masculine—a brown leather couch, an austere wine-colored rug.
“You made good time. I should’ve scheduled my ride for three, instead of three-thirty.”
I froze at the sound of Tony’s voice and turned to find him sitting on a barstool at the kitchen island, a small silver handgun pointed at my head.
My heart pounded, and my vision tunneled until all I could see was that metallic glint. I considered diving back into the elevator, but the doors were already closed, so I did the only thing I could—I slowly raised my hands.
“Let’s go upstairs,” he said, gesturing with the gun. “Derek’s waiting.”
I walked up the spiral staircase to the lofted bedroom, not knowing what to expect, Derek’s corpse or his smug smirk.
I stepped into the large bedroom and felt a glimmer of hope. Derek was neither dead nor a willing accomplice. He was, however, handcuffed to the bed.
“Let me go, Tony. You don’t want to do this.” He struggled against the cuffs, which clanged loudly against the metal bed frame.
“Sorry,” Tony said, ignoring Derek. “He only had the one pair, so I’m afraid you’re going to have to share.”
I glared at the fucking idiot. He probably told Tony everything, thinking I was making it up. At least he was still alive.
My heart pounded against my rib cage, and there was a metallic taste at the back of my throat, but I told myself Tony didn’t want to kill us. He just wanted us out of the way long enough to flee the country. Why else would he have waited around for me?
Tony had me uncuff one of Derek’s hands and replace it with my own, so we were both chained to the bed, the cuffs threaded through the metal bars.
We lay side by side, my right hand and Derek’s left cuffed to the headboard.
At least we each had one free hand. Maybe Tony would come close enough for me to snag the gun.
“You do realize people know I’m here, right?” I said, with far more confidence than I felt. “Do you really wanna add kidnapping to your list of crimes?”
Tony lifted the gun and pointed it at my face. “What about homicide?”
Derek yanked on the cuffs and smashed my hand into the bars. “Ow,” I said. “Knock it off.”
“Yes, Derek, relax. I’m not going to shoot you. Not if I don’t have to. Now give me your phone.”
“You already have my phone,” Derek said.
“Yeah, and I left mine in the car,” I said.
Tony rolled his eyes. “I can see it in your pants. Now give it to me.”
Fine, he could have my fucking phone. Cuffing us to bed was probably all the confession I needed anyway.
“Unlock it and slide it toward me,” he said once I’d fished my phone from my pocket.
I did as requested, and it took Tony less than two seconds to figure out I’d been recording everything. “Well, let’s just shut this off, shall we? And delete.”
He started messing with my phone, typing furiously. “What are you doing?” I asked.
“Texting.”
“Who are you texting?”
Tony smirked and set the phone down on a narrow table by the door, next to another phone, presumably Derek’s.
“Who did you just text?” I asked again.
I’d told Robert and Esther where I was going, but what if Tony had just texted them back, saying I’d changed my mind, or that I’d gotten here and Tony was already gone? Fuck. That left Theo as our only hope, and I really didn’t want him anywhere near Tony. Please, Theo, just stay in the car.
Tony pulled his own phone from his pocket and frowned. “You got another message from your mother,” he said. “She wants to know if you’re free for dinner. I’ll just let her know you took a last-minute trip to New York so she doesn’t worry.”
It was only when he put his own phone away and reached for Derek’s that I realized what was going on.
Tony had tapped Derek’s phone. Maybe even with the same spyware I’d put on his phone.
Es was right, wasn’t she? Tony must’ve figured out we were surveilling him.
Fuck, I probably gave him the idea to tap Derek’s phone.
Which meant Derek wasn’t the one who’d tipped him off I was coming. I was.
“You meant it for me, didn’t you?” Derek said. “Did you slip something into my drink?”
Instead of answering, Tony grabbed the larger of his two suitcases and wheeled it down the stairs, thudding on every step.
Was Derek right? Had he been the real target, not Will? I hadn’t considered that. “Why would Tony wanna drug you?” I whispered. I should’ve known Will would never fall for a complete asshole. Derek was a victim here, too.
“To kill me, obviously.” Derek shifted on the bed, yanking my hand into the frame again.
“Quit moving so much.” I yanked back to give him a taste of his own medicine.
But that gave me an idea. If Derek could fit his arm through the bars, there might be enough slack for me to reach the bedside lamp.
Maybe I could throw it at the window and get someone’s attention.
Then I remembered we were in the fucking penthouse.
“Ow, you fucking asshole. This is all your fault,” Derek seethed.
“No, this is all your fault.” Derek may not have been in on Tony’s plan, but he was far from innocent. “Did you know, while you were off being a sore loser, your pervert manager was taking pictures of Will passed out in your bed?” Just saying the words made my blood roil.
“What?”
“Yeah, now answer the fucking question. Why would Tony try to roofie you?”
He stared up at the ceiling, jaw working, and I almost thought he was going to answer when Tony started climbing the stairs again.
“Aww, look, you’re bonding.” Tony yanked up the handle of his carry-on and wheeled it out of the room.
With a defeated sigh, Derek rolled on his side, facing me, and when he spoke, there was a thread of insecurity in his voice I’d never heard before.
“Tony said I had to choose: my career or Will. He said he’d quit if I didn’t keep my dick in my pants, because no one would hire me after that anyway, so I fired him. ”
A crushing weight settled on my chest, not from Derek’s confession, but from something Will had said: “My father’s paying you for a job, and you chose the job over me, right?”
No, that was bullshit. If Derek had truly chosen Will over his career, then why had he said all those nasty things to him? Why had he just left him there, passed out and unprotected?
“I should’ve known Tony was lying,” Derek said, his sour breath in my ear. “He said I needed to do it to protect Will. He said I had to tell everyone he’d already left my room. I didn’t know he was . . . I thought . . . Fuck!”
I ignored Derek and tried to make sense of it all.
If Tony was mad at Derek for firing him, he might’ve tried to drug him for any number of reasons.
There was the obvious one, of course, and I wouldn’t put it past Tony.
But maybe he’d planned something marginally less vile, like snapping compromising pictures to hold over Derek’s head.
Then what? He found Will instead and switched targets?
What if he took more than pictures? What if he—
“Guess what I found downstairs?” Tony re-entered with a roll of silver duct tape and bit off a long strip.
Shit.