10. Chapter Nine
Chapter Nine
Kairo
Five fuckers in five-thousand-dollar suits try to make a move on me, to force me out of the business I was given. The easy, old money venture that I deserve to run. “Under no fucking circumstances will that happen.” They shift in their seats as I tighten my grip on the edge of the table, white knuckles and a jumping pulse the only clues to what I’m feeling.
Slade is next on their hit list. They want his head, but I want him here, and I get what I want. Silence. Uneasy glances.
They’re all afraid of me, so they keep their mouths shut and watch me with their beady little eyes. One clears his throat and tries again. “Slade did target that CEO, Kairo, it’s caused us a headache to clean up.”
“Oh? Where’s your proof? I happen to know you have none, so how about you save your false concern and put your energy into finding us more raw materials for cheaper. How about that, William, huh?”
His mouth opens and shuts like a dying fish before he clears his throat again and looks away.
“We feel your attention is divided, Kairo. This situation has the potential to negatively impact the company.” Another tries. This was tiresome. I didn’t give a fuck about the company, only that it keeps bringing me enough money to do whatever the hell I wanted. “We are moving to remove your friends from the board. It’s you or them.”
I watch them like insects. Flick my eyes from one cowardly face to the next. They believe the act, that I care, that I’m interested in anything other than walking out of here and back to where I belong. I laugh, low, threatening. “Touch my title or theirs, and I’ll crush your fucking skulls with it.”
They take the hint. Two nod as though placating a child. Another scribbles nonsense on his expensive notebook. Suits make men feel powerful, but they’re weak and fragile. I grip the table until I hear a creak.
“Understood.” The board member closest to me speaks again, voice shaking more than his hand, which rattles the pen he thinks I don’t notice. “We, uh, do need to discuss what Slade was doing in Africa, however, to put out a news release. The latest reports on him...”
I cut him off, smacking my hand down on the table with a loud thud. One of them jumps in his seat and a feral snarl curls at the ends of my lips. “The latest reports on him were falsified.” By me. “I will not discuss this further.”
The fucking meeting drags like nails on a chalkboard. I rise, slowly, my movement freezing them into their sleek leather chairs. My suit is darker than blood and more expensive than their net worth. I straighten it with deliberate care and adjust my collar, watching them watch me.
They scribble last-minute notes and pass uncertain glances as I survey the table one last time. They know I hold their careers in my palm. They have no idea I can snuff out more than that. Or maybe they do and that’s why they stay silent.
I walk out before anyone can dismiss me. My phone buzzes with Knox’s name, lighting up like an incessant fly in my pocket. I dismiss the calls with a flick of my wrist, face placid, each step measured. Restraint instead of calm. Stupid fuck was supposed to be here today. To be my right hand man, but he dropped the ball.
Sure, I saved his job today, but I was going to crush his windpipe if he didn’t have a good reason why he wasn’t here.
I reach the hallway, the door swinging shut behind me like a seal on their fate. My steps echo down the polished marble, each one louder than any of the cowards in there dared to speak against me.
Time to go home and see what my girl was doing.
The bathroom fills with steam, but it doesn’t cloud my vision. Water pounds my skin, washing away the grime of corporate desperation. It was all a fucking joke. The top 1% making decisions for the 99 who didn’t have the money to sit at long tables and talk about dumb shit everyday. And they worship us, thank us, for destroying the planet, for destroying the world, families, morals, all so their lives are a fraction of an inch easier.
Pathetic.
I make quick work of the shower, turning my focus to more important things. An apartment across the city. A girl with trembling hands. She is all I fucking see. When I settle at the monitors, it’s like being cleansed all over again. I hear her voice. “Just need to clear my head. One drink, that’s it.” And there’s my opportunity to make my move.
Harbor.
My wardrobe is a mix of suits, casual and informal business. As much as I want to dress down tonight, something tells me I should pick informal business. I smile at the thought of her seeing me this way. Sharp. Elegant. Not in a suit but in dark jeans, a collared shirt, sleeves rolled once, casual and perfect. Just like she will be.
Multiple screens flicker to life, a dozen glowing promises, each one more thrilling than the last. Her apartment building. Her street. Her door. Her bedroom.
I don’t bother sitting, just lean over the controls with greedy eyes, breath matching the tempo of her moving from room to room. The strain of keeping away from her builds in my chest, delicious pressure that makes me grin. If I didn’t know she’d be mine by now, I’d think it was a heart attack.
My eyes track her every movement. Lights up. Coat on. Close-up on those trembling fingers applying lipstick.
The color is blood, is sex, is fucking surrender.
I crank the audio, and her voice pours into me. It’s better than I expected.
"Fuck, I can’t believe the shit that is my life right now. I need a Goddamn break. I need to get the fuck away from here."
She pauses, leaning against her front door. Perfect hesitation. She is fragile and ferocious all at once, a creature on the edge of instinct and fear, exactly as I want her to be. My fist is in my mouth to keep from shouting with satisfaction.
Opportunity is what I’ve been waiting for. Timing is a weapon I’ve spent my life perfecting. I know precisely how long I have, and I intend to use every second. Now that she’s realized her place isn’t safe, it’s time for me to invite her into my world. More accurately, Noah’s world, but I’d give up city life if it meant spending an eternity hunting her down and fucking her like she’ll break apart moaning my name.
My real name.
I check my appearance in the mirror, cataloging details like an inventory list.
Shirt: dark, collared, appropriate for a date, ‘casual-cool’.
Jeans: casual black, just enough distress to look authentic.
Shoes: boots, because I know what she likes.
Jacket: leather, soft and worn and enticing.
Watch: expensive, but not obvious.
Her.
I know what she likes because I am the one who teaches her to like it.
There is a hunger in my eyes that I don’t bother hiding as I give myself the once over. A lightness to my step as I lock the door and head out to claim her.
I take my bike because it’s faster and I don’t want to wait any longer.
Neon paints her like she belongs to it. Red. Blue. Dark hair with red tint, restless eyes, but mine all the same. I wait until she sits alone at the corner table, then push through the door with careful timing. If I did this any more perfectly, the universe would implode.
She sees me, smiles with those wicked lips, the ones that I want wrapped around my cock. My steps are slow as I approach her table. Her surprise is feigned, like mine. "You seem to always know where I am," she says, laugh nervous and wanting. Two whiskeys. One chance. I am a goddamn genius.
Her fingers drum the table, a sound so fragile and rhythmic it makes my chest hurt. I love that she’s trying to be brave. Her eyes dart to the exit, but she doesn’t leave. Maybe she’s more aware of what she wants than I think
“What are the odds?” I say, settling in next to her.
A cornered mouse would look like this, if the rodent was also an angel. “I, uh, didn’t know you came here often,” she says, letting me take her glass.
She plays with her hair, twisting it around her finger, her lip sucked into her mouth as I stay silent, just smiling. Watching her, watching me. It unsettles her and I love it.
The whiskeys arrive, and finally she decides to try again. “So… are you stalking me or something?”
I reach for her drink and press it into her hand, closing her fingers around the glass with deliberate slowness. “Does it matter?”
It does and it doesn’t, and we both know why. She’s still feeling that thrill dance up her spine at how close I am to her. How I make her feel.
She bites her lip. The hesitation is a script she has to follow before she can do what she really wants. “I guess it doesn’t,” she says.
I clink my glass to hers. “To coincidences.”
The silence returns, heavier and closer now, and I can almost hear her thinking. Almost hear her surrender, but then she drains her drink and so do I. I tap the table as the waitress walks by and she nods. I’ll keep them coming all night, get her relaxed enough to agree to the next part of my plan.
“I’m so close to finishing,” she blurts, red rising on her neck. “The new book, I mean. The one I told you about last time.”
Her hand flies to her mouth, and I fight the urge to grab it. This is too fucking easy. She wants to tell me everything, but she’s fighting the urge to open up, but I want her to do it on her own. Unassisted by me. I want her to want this, to want me, to need me. I wait, patient as the devil.
“You must think I’m crazy.” The words tumble out like she’s bleeding them. “But ever since we met, it’s been... You’re not like anyone I know.”
I lean in, close enough to breathe her in. “Maybe I should be insulted.”
She shakes her head, urgent and shy all at once. I’d tear the world apart to keep her that way forever. “No, I mean, it’s good. It’s like I don’t know if you’re real. Maybe you’re just the guy in my book and I’m hallucinating this entire conversation.” A giggle escapes her, alongside a hiccup. Her haste to grab the whiskey as it’s delivered almost knocks it over, but she rights it.
I’m getting to her. I’m under her skin, in her veins. This slow move, the slow unravelling of her mind, the noises she makes as she blushes and tries to reign in her impulses. It’s all her. She thinks I’m the one causing this, but I’m simply reacting to the deep seated desire that flows through her. That’s likely pooled between her legs as we speak.
She drinks, gulps the whiskey like it’s a fucking life preserver. She’s unsteady, a little wild, so fucking perfect.
“My head is full of you. Or, maybe, uh, not you you, but the… the vibe, I guess? I don’t know. Like your whole like quiet, sexy, bad boy type of thing you got going on,” she says, the blush on her chest spreading over her cheeks. She doesn’t want to be telling me this, but the liquor has loosened her tongue.. The admission is whispered and choked, the only lie being that it’s supposed to be an inside thought.
I can barely hold myself back, but this is the build, the start of the rest of our lives together, and she’s taking every step, following where I lead. I pretend to be as startled as she wants me to be, and let the surprise write itself on my face.
She loves it. It makes her think she’s the one seducing me.
The talk comes faster now. She’s free-falling and pulling me with her. “I shouldn’t be telling a stranger this,” she says, but we both know it’s bullshit. Harbor is trying to convince herself like she doesn’t know it’s me that’s been inside her. She knows, even if unconsciously. How could you not? I can still feel her on my skin. The way her hand is running up and down her arm, her nipples almost piercing through her shirt…
She knows.
It’s everything I need to hear. I push the conversation toward places she wants to go. Places I’ve already mapped out and explored with my imagination and patience.
“Mhmm.” I murmur, “Doesn’t sound like I’m a stranger.”
“I’ve had these… like dreams,” she says, hands moving like flustered birds, cheeks flaming as she runs out of steam. “About us. I think. I don’t know how to explain. I barely know you, but I feel like I do. About what we talked about. About...”
“Being hunted,” I finish for her, throwing her the line she wants, not the one she expects. “Being caught.”
It stuns her, and I take the moment in greedy handfuls. I push the next round of drinks toward her and wait for the inevitable.
“Maybe you should be writing this book,” she laughs, shakily. “Maybe you already are.”
It’s an accusation and an invitation. She’s ready. The hook is set, and I reel it in.
“It must be fate, then.” I offer a grin. Careful, perfect. The smile I know she’s seen in dreams. “How else do you explain this chance encounter?”
Her eyes are on fire. Her hands move in spastic little bursts. “Yeah, yeah, it must be…”
“Technically, it could be coincidence ,” I say, filling the word with a hundred meanings. “But what if it’s not?”
I know she’s trying to solve the puzzle I’ve created, but she doesn’t know I’m the one who built it. That there is no fucking solution but this.
“Maybe,” I suggest, each word heavy and loaded, “you need a new environment. Someplace where you can think. I have a cabin. A quiet place in the woods where you can think, clear your head. You know, smell the flowers, watch the birds. The stars are to die for.”
She doesn’t know whether to grab the offer or let it hang. She tries to play the hesitation game again, but she’s already made up her mind. She’s going to say yes.
The invitation hangs between us, bigger than the bar, bigger than the city. My mouth twitches with victory as a million thoughts flash on her face before her lips harden.
“Fuck it,” she says, eyes wider than I’ve ever seen. “Life can’t get much worse. What are you going to do to me that hasn’t already been done? Kill me?” She laughs like it’s a joke and I chuckle.
No, my beautiful girl, I won’t kill you.
But I am going to destroy you.
I raise my glass in a toast to the smartest, riskiest, most beautiful creature in the world.
“Friday it is.” I say, jotting down her details as she gives them to me, as if I don’t already have an entire room dedicated just to her.