Chapter 9
Ever since I left the orphanage, everything I did was to get one step closer to finding her. Yet everything remains the same. It’s always about her. So how can I explain the traitorous blaze from deep within that’s been present ever since laying eyes on Isla?
It shouldn’t be there, not when my whole purpose is another woman.
She barely ate anything today, barely even agreed to let me patch up her wound. Finally, after some bribery with sweets, she agreed. I could have let one of the guys do it. It didn’t have to be me, but I wasn’t about to let anyone else touch her.
“You’ll call your father tomorrow and set up a meeting with Ezra.”
She keeps her legs crossed in the passenger seat beside me with her arms interwoven, the split in her black dress revealing the ink on her thigh and disappearing beneath the fabric, up toward her hip.
“Judge Gordon will not meet with a gangster.”
I keep my eyes forward, focused on the road ahead, so I won’t catch myself staring at her beauty.
“Yes, he will. Just make the call.”
“I should have said no,” she whispers. “I should have handed the file back to you and told you to get fucked.”
“You still can, but I won’t be going anywhere.”
I feel the burn from her gaze on the side of my face as I continue to drive.
I’ve been working with Ezra for years now, only I’ve been the one he calls when he wants something done without it being noticed by anyone else.
My jobs are spotless and polished. So when it came to protecting Judge Gordon’s daughter, I knew he’d call me.
I was his errand boy once, when he first met me.
I didn’t have anything to my name at the age of eighteen, freshly out of juvie.
The children’s court ruled I was acting in defence on behalf of a helpless girl and freed me early.
Since then, I’ve worked hard, put my past behind me, and developed a liberal company, donating to charities.
I attend functions and pretend like I’m a stand-up part of society, blending perfectly with the dirty criminals I work with.
It doesn’t matter how much good you’ve done to offset one bad deed. It’ll always be there, so why bother trying to erase it? Instead, I use my newfound riches to exploit it, giving those a chance to rise without tainting their innocence.
“Where are we going?” she asks, watching the buildings pass out the window.
“To deliver that cease and desist to the owner of the London Harbinger.”
She scoffs, nodding. “I guess you’re deeply involved with whatever happens in the Casella Kingdom, then?”
I don’t answer her as I pull up at one of the large, not-so-humble mansions in Kensington Gardens. The wealthy don’t hide it here with their expensive cars, flashy, perfectly manicured gardens, and multi-storey homes.
“Benedict Archibald, the owner of the newspaper, the London Harbinger, and this obnoxious historical building.”
She leans forward, taking in the enormous house from the windshield, and looks back at me.
“I had Jamie send over a copy,” I say, placing the yellow envelope on the middle console.
She stares at it, then at me, working something out behind those eyes.
“I’ll be right beside you.”
She sighs, taking the envelope and opening it to read its contents. “How do you have an invitation to events like this?”
I smile. “The Bounteous Pledge was formed by philanthropists who are just covering for the shitty things they do in life. I’m just another one of them.”
“What is it supposed to be?” Her red lips move, and I’m about to curse myself for thinking about them in a way I shouldn’t.
“A promise from the wealthiest people all around the world to address important concerns.”
“Trust the rich to turn something that’s meant to be hopeful into something dark and sinister.”
Her words echo a truth I’ve known since stepping into this world, and as we exit the car to make our way up the grand entry, I think about her and wonder who she’s become.
Would she know me if we met?
Would she take the time to?
Is she here in London?
Is she even alive?
The grandeur of our surroundings is nothing short of astounding for Isla. I can see the expression on her face. I know she comes from money, but I don’t think she knows just how much wealth there is in this country.
“Oh my god,” she murmurs as we step inside, the striking void in the middle of the mansion stealing my gaze as well as hers. The room bustles with mingling people, all of whom are dressed entirely in their money, from designer gowns to old money jewellery.
“Malik,” she whispers, turning to me, and I feel the blood leave my head as it travels straight to my cock at the sound of my name on her lips.
Say it again, I almost say out loud.
“I don’t belong here. We need to leave, please,” she presses, taking a step back.
I catch the small of her back with my hand and hold her beside me. She doesn’t flinch at my touch, not even in the slightest. In fact, it’s like she leans into it. “This needs to be done tonight. All you have to do is hand him the envelope.”
She remains silent, and I can’t tell what she’s thinking as her eyes dart from me to the swarm of people in the middle of the room.
“I can’t breathe.” Her voice is faint, like she can’t manage to get the words out, her chest rising and falling faster than usual beneath the loose material of her dress.
“Isla?” I turn to her with concern when a waiter interrupts me.
“Sir, would you like a glass of wine, champagne, or perhaps a beer to start your evening?” The tray in his hand is steady when I turn to him to decline. Just as I do, I catch sight of Isla fleeing toward the side of the mansion and out into the garden area.
Cursing beneath my breath, I follow her into the space, the dark greenery illuminated by sparkling lights dispersed throughout the mansion. It’s light enough to see where I’m going, so I follow the path out into the sectioned-off yard in search of her.
Rounding the corner of the tall hedges, I spot her pacing alongside the large fountain. She seems disorientated and agitated.
“Isla?”
She mumbles something, her breathing ragged, her pupils wide. “I…no…but then…wh—”
Grabbing hold of her wrists, I turn her to me, and when her eyes meet mine, I know she’s not here with me. “Listen to my voice.” I pull her into me, and the soft caress of her body on mine is unlike any other drug I’ve had. “No one is going to hurt you.”
“Please,” she whispers. “I can’t explain it, but I don’t want to be here.”
Confused, I hold her to me, and her hands travel up to my face.
“My head…it hurts…Please make it stop!” Tears fall from her eyes, and I do the one thing I’ve been thinking about doing since she came to the police station.
My lips crash onto hers, the sour taste of my betrayal overpowered by her sweet, addictive allure.
Now it’s me who can’t stop myself, gripping her hips, pulling her closer to me, the soft skin beneath the thin fabric of her dress enslaving me to wonder what the contact would feel like without it.
She’s levelling me in a way no one besides her ever has.
She leans in, granting me entry into her mouth, and each stroke of her tongue on mine sends another wave of arousal surging through me.
She breaks the kiss abruptly, taking a step back, her hand covering her mouth as she stares at me with wide eyes.
“I won’t apologise,” I admit, because I enjoyed every sweet fucking second of it.
I think she’s going to slap me again, and is it insane that I want her to? Is it blasphemous that I’m raging hard with the thought of it?
“I wasn’t about to ask you to.”
Her confession isn’t a complete shock. I see the way her body reacts to my touch, the way her stare lingers for a little longer on my lips, and I don’t miss the curiosity in her eyes.
She steps forward, looking up at me, and I hold my breath. For the first time in my life, a woman makes me nervous. I want to reach out, tangle her hair between my fingers, and search for the missing answers to my questions in her mouth. She makes me forget who I fucking am.
“Do it again,” she says, and I don’t wait for her to change her mind.
This time, I grip the back of her neck, the loose strands of her black hair fanning the back of my hand.
Her soft moans, interspersed with our ragged breaths, are all I can hear.
When she lifts her leg, I instinctively slip my hand beneath her dress, over her sensual curves.
“This is dangerous,” she murmurs as I move down toward her neck, my tongue tasting the salt on her delicious skin.
“Isn’t that what you crave?” I ask, my voice a low rasp over her ear.
Why else would she be okay touching me?
Why am I okay touching her when my heart beats solely for someone in my past? Someone who I haven’t even seen in years, who I don’t even know if they’re still alive.
It doesn’t matter, because all I can feel is the cosmic energy exuding from her every breath. The way she clings to me is like she cannot let herself be anywhere but here, and that’s exactly what I feel.
I want to be wrapped up in her.
“I don’t know what I want,” she admits, her wet tongue tracking from my neck up to my lobe.
Hating myself, I pull back, the goal of the evening now weighing heavy.
“We should head back inside.”
Collecting herself, she stares at me, the intensity between us fading like a short-lived sunset you’ve walked weeks to see.
“Right.” She takes in a sharp breath and smooths out the creases I left behind on her dress, the same dress I prefer to see on the floor.
Inside, it’s bustling even more than before, the high society conversing about all the good they’ve done, how much money they donated, or who bought another island yesterday.
I hand Isla the envelope and she takes it, the hesitance still there in her eyes.
Placing my hand on the small of her back, I guide her gently through the crowd as she grips the envelope tight, holding it to her chest. Inching closer toward the man with the greying beard, she takes a deep breath and plasters on a fake smile.
Benedict Archibald is exactly what you would imagine when you think of someone who has lots of money and had a very privileged childhood.
The blue eyes, grey hair, and top-of-the-line Brioni suit complement the persona he portrays.
A wealthy businessman with an aura of invincibility.
“Ah, Mr Faris, so great to have you in our company again.” His greedy eyes move to Isla, and my hand flexes on instinct, ready to cut through his jaw. When I expect him to ask me to introduce him, he smiles. “And Miss Knight, it’s so great to finally meet the daughter of the legend himself.”
She scowls ever so slightly at his remark before righting her features and extending her hand. “Lovely to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
The smug smile he offers her does nothing to subdue my boiling blood, and if he continues to look at her like that, I’ll feed him his own eyes.
“From your father, or from your clients?” he asks, and she huffs a laugh. “It’s a shame for such nobility to be representing such criminals, don’t you think?”
I’m about to step forward when Isla hands him the envelope.
“Have your lawyer call me if there is anything they need to discuss about this cease and desist. Please ensure you refrain from speaking about my clients in a negative manner, or I will drag you through court until you and your company are forced into bankruptcy.”
He stops, assesses her, then looks at me as he takes the envelope from Isla.
“I see,” he says, placing the envelope into his breast pocket. “Was Mr Casella too busy to pay me a visit himself? Or is he in hiding again?”
Just as he speaks Ezra’s name, he appears, almost like he whispered the devil’s name, and he answered.
I’m fighting the itch to fidget when Ezra appears with his bodyguard, the same one who pointed a gun at me. He’s never one to be caught off guard, so I know he planned this. He wanted me to be here so he could see I was truly on board, that I would follow through with the promise I made.
“Benedict, I see you’ve met Malik and my lawyer, Isla Knight.”
“Wish I could say I was pleased, Mr Casella.” He checks his watch, as if he’s expecting something. “This is an exclusive party.”
“Money can buy exclusivity. You know this, Benedict.” He smiles, cocking his head. “After all, isn’t that how you’ve curated the perfect reputation?”
Benedict scowls, visibly uncomfortable.
Malik steps in closer, eyeing the guards behind Benedict at the exit as he speaks into his ear. “A piece of advice: let this story go. And if you ever think of Isla in that way again, I will personally pay you a visit in the middle of the night.”
I wonder if my ears are working, or if I’m making it up, but it feels nice to be protected, even if I am nothing more than an asset.
Malik and Ezra exchange words before I’m being pulled out the door and into the car. As soon as the door is shut, the air stills.
“Why did you say that?” I ask as he pulls out of the driveway.
He doesn’t answer me, and a thousand questions bounce around in my head.
Why did he say that?
And why did I enjoy it?
“I’ll take you back to my place. You’ll be comfortable there,” he says, removing his jacket and tossing it into the back seat.
He takes out the cuff links on his shirt, discarding them in the cup holder between us.
I watch, enchanted with the view of the veins decorating his inked, muscular arms, forming small shadows on the already darkened skin.
When I look back up at him, his bow tie is gone, and the few buttons on his shirt are open, offering a perfect view of his chest. The way he blends the image of criminal and billionaire so perfectly is something I haven’t seen before.
Most criminals carry the burden of their victims, but when Malik looks at me, his victims appear as trophies.
There’s no remorse in his eyes, like he meant everything he’s done in his life, good or bad, and I wonder what it’d be like to live life like he does.
What would it be like not to have regrets?
What would it feel like to experience that world from within?
Do I truly want to know?
Or do I just want the rush?