Chapter Four
Steele
Cooper swore at me as the medic stitched him up. He stood in the living room of my townhome, dripping blood onto my priceless seventeenth century Persian rug. I watched the sticky liquid pool on one of the expertly woven leaves before I glared at him. I’d need to have Swanson come and get those stains out. He was the only one I’d let touch the few treasures I kept in my possession, and his restoration work was the best in the business.
“Steele, what the fuck? Why the hell was she armed? It was like she knew we were coming for her.”
I gave him a lethal stare. “It was your idea to use the brat against her father. Not my fault if you let her get the better of you. You were the one keeping tabs on her. She obviously thought something was going on.”
Cooper grimaced as the needle pierced his side, and he looked at me while the doctor tied off the suture. “Where is the little minx?”
I shuffled my feet, my right foot a little sensitive after the idiotic girl had stomped on it. Without meaning to, a small smile played on my lips as I took in the damage she’d done to Cooper. He wasn’t seriously injured, but, bollocks, she put up a fight. Like a cat backed into an alleyway, she lashed out and used everything she could to try and escape. But there was no use, not when she was dealing with the biggest dog in the country.
“Quincy took her down to the basement. She should be out for quite a while. The sedative I gave her after she lost consciousness should keep her under.” I nodded to the doctor. “You will check on her before you leave.” I didn’t need her dying before I could taunt her capture to Topher. Or even Harrington. I loved possessing what other people wanted. Perhaps I could get Harrington to pay for her as well…she would be worth double.
The doctor nodded, understanding I wasn’t asking, but commanding. As long as I continued to pay him an absurd amount of money, he’d take my secrets to his grave. I had a small medic team on call 24/7, mostly brilliant doctors who were refugees from their own country and didn’t have the proper documentation to work legally. They appreciated the money, and I kept them in line by threatening to turn them over to whatever dictator or warlord they escaped from. It worked out well.
I strolled over to the handsome wooden bookshelf and pulled out a bottle of scotch and two glasses. Filling each to the brim, I walked back towards Cooper and handed him one as the doctor placed a large gauzy patch over the cleaned and stitched-up wound.
“To revenge,” I said, raising my glass towards Cooper and then sitting on the black leather sofa.
“Sweet revenge,” he agreed, and we both drank deep.