Chapter Six
Mason
See to it that I’m not interrupted.”
The door clicks shut, and I sink behind the desk. A moment later, I reach for the glass decanter on the bar cart. After pouring myself a generous amount, I frown into the glass and picture London’s face. I take a long sip of the drink, and I don’t stop until I feel it settle.
I down the drink, pour another one and wait for the familiar unfurling of warmth. It somehow just makes me feel worse, and I still have no idea what to do about London.
Maybe consider keeping her under lock and key until this mess is over. It’ll take her a while to forgive you, but at least she’ll be alive and out of the way.
Except I know it won’t be that simple.
We’re outmanned and outmaneuvered.
I don’t have anyone to spare to make sure London stays put, and with Carlisle on Oliver duty, there are even fewer people I trust.
London has already wormed her way into my assassin’s good graces, and I can’t risk another car accident.
There are too many eyes on the empire, too many hungry gazes clawing at the shadows and waiting for the first sign of weakness.
I refuse to give my enemies more fodder for the cannon; they have too much already.
The last thing I need is for them to sniff any kind of dissent within our ranks.
It’s bad enough that they’ve convinced Oliver to betray me; I can’t handle the thought that they’ve gotten to London, too.
London wouldn’t betray you like that. Not after what they’ve done to her. Whatever she’s trying to do, she’s doing it for good, albeit reckless, reasons.
I growl and pour myself a third glass.
The tightness in my chest finally eases, and some of the tension in my shoulders releases, but I still have no idea what to do.
How do I make London see that she’s doing more harm than good?
How do I get her to abandon her ridiculous quest without having her hate me in the process?
On my fourth drink, I stand up and walk over to the door.
When I wrench it open, the sound of pulsing music reaches me.
I grip the glass tighter and venture down the hallway, my footsteps light and soundless.
I reach the end of the hallway, lean against the nearest wall, and watch the main floor.
My eyes sweep over the half-crowded booths and the scantily clad women traipsing about them, but it doesn’t give me the usual joy.
We haven’t been able to get a lot of our clients back.
Although it’s been weeks since news broke of the little gunfight our enemies put on, I’ve spent most of it providing expensive drinks, shaking hands, and greasing enough gears to get us back on track. I’ve even met with some of our more esteemed clients, but many of them were too spooked.
I can’t say I blame them, not when one of our selling points was privacy.
Now that it’s shot to hell, we’re relying on old-fashioned word of mouth to get us back on our feet.
And I still need to figure out a way to make Michael and Lance pay.
I want them to bleed and whimper and hurt.
I want to stand over them and deliver the deathly blow.
It’s the only thing that’ll satisfy the monster within, especially since I’ve kept my inner beast on a tight leash the past few months. I dread London coming face to face with the darkness that resides inside, and I know it’s only a matter of time before the monster rears its ugly head.
He’s a necessary evil I can’t give up if I want to stay ahead of my enemies.
It’s not like London has the moral high ground right now, especially since you caught her sneaking around.
I know London won’t view it the same way, and she’s not wrong.
What I do in the name of the empire isn’t the same as her parading around in a skimpy outfit to gather information. It’s not even close.
I don’t realize I’m scowling until a waitress inches away.
In a few strides, I cross over to the bar and signal to Miss Deveroux, who is standing on the far side of the bar with her kohl-rimmed eyes fixed on the client in front of her.
She looks over at me, and a long moment passes before she offers the client a smile.
Then she’s standing in front of me with her brows furrowed.
She sets the whiskey bottle down in front of me and quietly withdraws.
Even she can tell I’m not in the mood for chitchat.
There’s a low thrum in my ears when I finish my fourth drink and reach out to pour another one.
Something moves in the corner, and I turn to it.
A redhead in fishnets, black shorts, and a top that barely keeps her chest in place slides over the stools.
She stops when she’s next to me and leans forward, offering me an ample view of her cleavage.
Slowly, she places a hand on my arm and strokes the bare flesh. “It’s been a while.”
“I don’t have anything for the next few hours,” she continues, batting her lashes as her lips spread into a slow smile. “You look like you could use a little fun.”
I lean back and study her. “What makes you think I want it with you?”
The woman—Amber—smiles wider. “We’ve had our fun. Word on the street is I lasted longer than some of the other girls.”
I frown and set down my glass. “That’s not the kind of thing you should be discussing.”
But I have bigger things to worry about than what the rumor mill says about my sex life.
Amber pouts, and her finger trails farther up. “You’re right. There should be less talking and more fun.”
I pick my glass up and take another sip, and my eyes move over her face.
Amber and I had fun for a few weeks, and while the prospect of spending the next few hours taking my sweet, torturous time with her was once appealing, it does nothing for me now.
She’s not London.
She will never be, and no other woman here holds a candle to her.
Fuck me.
London has power over me, and I don’t even care.
All I want is to crawl back to her and bury my face in her hair.
“Find someone else,” I tell Amber. “I’m not in the mood.”
Amber shifts closer, as if she’s about to sit on my lap. “I bet I can change your mind if you give me enough time.”
I narrow my eyes at her and set my glass down, slowly and deliberately. “It would be a shame if you had to find an alternate form of employment, especially with all that money you owe.”
Amber’s expression shifts and falls. “I’m just trying to show you a good time. God knows you look like you need it.”
“Mind your damn business,” I snap. “And get back to work. I didn’t hire you to sit on your fucking ass and waste your time.”
Amber mumbles something and tosses her hair over her shoulders.
I feel her eyes on me as she saunters off, but I ignore her and pour another drink.
There’s a warm, buttery feeling in my veins.
I’m studying the drink and imagining going back to London when I spot a familiar head of hair.
With a frown, I turn to it, and I see her standing across the room in knee-length boots and her signature leather jacket.
Her lips lift into a half-smile when our eyes meet.
Frowning, I grab a bottle and make a beeline for her, nearly barreling into a group of women leading handcuffed and blindfolded men around.
As I reach her, she turns and disappears into the hallway.
In silence, I follow her until we reach my office.
She pushes the door open and waits for me to brush past her.
Inside, I set the glass on my desk and turn around to face her. “I’m surprised they sent you.”
Jennifer Harrison shuts the door behind her. “I asked to be included.”
I raise an eyebrow and sit down. “I thought you said you didn’t want to do any dirty work?”
Jennifer laughs. “It’s a chance to broker an alliance with one of the most powerful families in the city. Like hell I was going to be sidelined for this.”
“Power suits you,” I say. “You’re not as scrawny as I remember.”
Jennifer rolls her eyes and unzips her jacket, revealing the skin-tight sweater underneath. “We last saw each other seven years ago. A lot has changed since then.”
I reach behind me for a glass and pour her a generous amount. “Where’s your lesser half?”
“Jeremiah is… around.”
I snort as I watch her reach for the glass and sniff it. “Lost your twin already? That doesn’t bode well for the alliance.”
Jennifer sits in the chair opposite my desk and holds the glass with both hands. “Word on the street is you’re desperate and can’t afford to be picky. The Everetts and Fitzpatricks are issuing all sorts of threats to anyone who comes within ten feet of you.”
I cross my legs and place them on the desk. “A Payne is never desperate. This is only a temporary hiccup.”
Jennifer lifts the glass to her lips and studies me. “We both know that if that were true, you wouldn’t be coming to us.”
I shrug. “Times have changed.”
Jennifer sips her drink, and her posture relaxes. She leans back against the leather armchair, and her bright, hazel eyes move over me slowly, as if she’s looking for something. Then she crosses her ankles and takes a few more sips. She clears her throat and sets the glass back down.
“Some things don’t change that much.”
I swirl my drink around the glass and say nothing.
As much as I hate to admit it, she’s right.
The Harrisons are notorious for being difficult to work with and easy to anger.
It’s one of the reasons why they only have a smattering of alliances among some of the lesser families, but now that I’ve extended the hand of friendship, it’s time for them to play with the big dogs.
I hate having to scrape from the bottom of the barrel, but I don’t have a lot of other offers.
Or any.
Word about the attempt on my life has spread, and the image I’ve spent years cultivating as someone indestructible and untouchable has been shaken.
Many of our old alliances remain, but not a single family has stepped forward to help spearhead the crusade against the Fitzpatricks and Everetts. Not directly, at least.
Without more boots on the ground, we have no hope of surviving, much less winning.