Chapter 10
10
J AMES
The plane sits on the tarmac with its engines running while a car's headlights cast a glow over the windows.
Hand tucked into my pocket, I bring my glass of scotch to my lips and take a swig.
Standing.
I’ve ditched the casual look for a dark gray suit and a black dress shirt. A few buttons are open at the base of my neck.
I check the time on my watch.
“Right on time,” I murmur to myself.
The car doors slide open before two silhouettes slip out and stride briskly to the stairs.
Tiago Rossi and my bodyguard.
The two men enter my jet.
The flight attendant pulls the curtain to the side and invites the first man in just as he lifts his gaze from the floor, locks my eyes, and turns to stone.
Tiago Diego Rossi.
My younger brother.
Looking just like me when I was twenty-five.
In all fairness, he looks older than his actual age now that his expression is frozen.
He’s well built and broad-shouldered about my height and weight, his green eyes and dark hair eerily resembling mine.
His lips curl into a smirk, surprise threading through his gaze.
He steps back as if he wants to bolt and hits Thomas’ chest.
My bodyguard doesn’t move, forcing him to move forward.
“You’re not going to disappear on me right now, are you?” I say, slowly setting the glass of scotch down.
He tears his gaze away from me and looks around, taking inventory of the white chairs, dark sofas, and soft backlighting.
“What is this?” he asks.
“Your flight to freedom. Or, as I like to call it, your last chance to get out of the hole you’ve dug yourself into.”
He moves closer while I discretely motion to Thomas to leave us alone.
With a few steps, Tiago closes the space between us.
His strides are paced, his gaze unfaltering. His eyes brim with unabashed curiosity.
He wears dark jeans and a slim-fit T-shirt. His arms are muscular and well-defined, and so are his chest and flat stomach.
“Sit,” I say as I slide into a chair.
He lowers himself into his seat.
“We’re not leaving, are we?” he asks, glancing at the pilot’s cabin.
“As tempted as I am, I’m not kidnapping you. So no. We have a few minutes to talk. Then you can leave or stay. It sits well with me either way,” I say, taking my jacket off.
His eyes roam over my chest and arms.
“Did you tell anyone where you are?” I ask.
“Do I look like an idiot?”
I guess sarcasm runs in the family.
“We wouldn’t be here if you weren’t an idiot,” I toss at him evenly.
I almost see the jolt in his body as he represses his impulse to react.
“Did anyone follow you?” I ask again.
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Good.”
I lean back in my seat.
“Who are you?” he asks, his eyes diving deep into mine.
Smiling, I flick the pack and pull out a cigarette.
“You know...” I say mellowly while lighting my cigarette.
I take a drag and smile.
“Since I’ve been on this, um... Let’s call it a journey,” I say. “That started almost a week ago with a knock on my door in my hotel suite in Monte Carlo...” I murmur, checking the time on my watch again. “Almost every person I’ve run into asked me the same dumb question, which is surprising,” I continue before taking another drag and pushing the smoke out. “Especially, considering that the answer is written all over my damn face,” I add, my eyes locked with his. “I guess people knew the answer, yet they couldn’t fathom that as unique and special as you are, and as much of a headache as you are, you might be related to someone else.”
He relaxes in his seat, his arms folded across his chest.
A smile grows on his lips, casting a light over his face, and the shift in his expression finally gives away his actual age.
Oh, he’s a troublemaker.
“My fucking brother?” he asks, grinning.
He doesn’t seem to be angered by the news. Not at all. His reaction is nothing like what Theresa has warned me about. I wouldn’t say he is dancing with joy, but he’s finding it amusing, which makes my palms itch.
I almost want to slap him.
“Are you my fucking brother?” he asks, grappling with disbelief and chuckling at the same time. “What’s your name?”
I wait a few moments, my cigarette burning slowly between my fingers.
“Sexton. James Sexton.”
His eyebrows move up again, his eyes widened with genuine surprise.
“No fucking way. Sexton… As in Sexton International,” he says, running his eyes over the private jet's interior, putting two and two together.
“As in...Yes.”
Mouth open, he shifts in his seat and leans forward slightly, running both hands through his hair.
It feels as if I look at myself in the mirror.
“James Sexton, the fucking billionaire, is my fucking brother,” he says with that kind of awe and blind enthusiasm that only speaks of his age again.
His crooked smile does it as well.
“I thought you’d be crushed,” I say, grinning lazily while bringing my cigarette to my lips.
“Who told you about me?” he asks, his smile gone.
“Who do you think, genius?”
He sags back again, his muscles shifting every time he moves.
“My mother?” he mutters, annoyed.
“If you think I had a dream about you and just showed up to save the day, well, you’re wrong. Of course it was our mother.”
His dark expression suggests things have finally sunk in.
He opens his mouth to speak.
I raise my hand.
“Before you say anything about her… I’m not interested in hearing you badmouthing her. And then, she came to me because she was desperate. And trust me… I would’ve never known I had a brother if it weren't for you. Or anything about your life or where she lived. We weren’t exactly on speaking terms before she showed up at my door. I know you’re going to have a field day with this, but I have to tell you the truth, and you need to deal with it on your own. She left my father and me because she was pregnant with you and in love with your father. See where I’m going with this? She said she had no choice, and maybe she didn’t. I didn’t know about you as much as you didn’t know about me, so that’s that. There’s no reason to have a meltdown over this.”
My gaze slides away from him as I catch sight of Thomas, who gestures at me, prompting me to check the time on my watch again.
“We’re running out of time,” I say, swinging my gaze back to Tiago, catching him studying me. “There are twenty more minutes before we take off. You’ll either be on this flight or not, but I need to know before we lift off.”
“I want my money,” he says abruptly.
I read his eyes for a moment.
“It’s no longer your money. I paid the Armenians what you owed so that you could get your freedom back. This way, you can have your old life back without looking over your shoulder, provided you are not fighting again. If you are, you’ll fall back into their clutches.”
His eyes glint with stern determination.
“There’s no point in going back if I can’t get my money. I’d rather stay here.”
“You can stay here, but six months from now, you’ll be in the exact same situation, and I won’t be here to bail you out.”
“You have lots of money. And I want my money too. I fought for them.”
I smile.
“But see, kid. That’s not how this world works. You had your money, made a mistake, and lost it. I’m giving you a pretty good deal here. Your handsome face stays untouched, and you can walk away from this mess. A clean slate, if you wish. Go to London, and hook up with Abby Newtown. Or go to Portugal, and do whatever the hell you want.”
He jolts in his seat, his lips pressed into a tight line, his brow furrowed, fury gleaming in his eyes.
“You’re not giving me anything, man,” he says, his face dark. “That’s not freedom. I don’t want that kind of life. I don’t want to go back to Lisbon and do what? Go back to school? Get a job? Work in my mother’s gallery? No fucking way. I’d never be able to survive,” he says, his voice hoarse with desperation. “And I don’t want to go to London to live with a woman. I’m not that type of man. I know what Abby wants. It’s what every decent woman wants, but I can’t give that to her. Not to her or any other woman. I don’t want to be tied down and live a life of drudgery.”
“And being a fugitive is better how?”
“It might not be better, but I have hope at least.”
“Hope to do what?”
“I don’t know. Hope that I could be free and not live like everybody else.”
I huff.
“You already live like everybody else. What am I saying? Your life is ten times worse than any other’s schmuck. You’re barely twenty-one and already have a bunch of Armenian and Russian gangsters on your back. If you keep doing this, you’ll be dead in a few years, if not months.”
“I don’t care what happens to me. I don’t want that kind of life,” he says with stubborn indignation.
I tense up in my seat.
“If you don’t want that kind of life, you’ll have to learn how to earn what you want. And by the way you've started it, I can tell you’re getting nowhere fast.”
“I could do something else, but I need my money first. That’s why I stashed it away. That was my initial plan, but I couldn’t do it fast enough with the little money that they left me after taking their cut. That’s why I risked everything. I was hoping I could move faster.”
“To move faster, you need to learn how to walk first,” I say through clenched teeth. “And right now, all you’re doing is starting fires you don’t know how to put out. Having money is not enough if you don’t know how to handle it. Money is a great servant but a horrible master. And right now, you work for it, lose your head because of it, and make stupid deals with stupid people who, like you, do stupid things for money because they’re serving the same Master. You have to learn how to handle money, make it work for you, serve you, protect you, and not get you killed. That’s what mastering money is. I could give you your money back, and weeks from now, you’d be without it and probably get someone hurt because of it. Maybe even yourself.”
“It wouldn’t happen,” he says. “I don’t want to go back to London as much as I don’t care about staying here. Or going back to Lisbon. If nothing else, I’ll join the French Foreign Legion.”
“Anything to get yourself killed.”
“Why do you care?”
I raise my hands before putting my cigarette out.
“I don’t give a damn. My mission here is done. I said I’d bring you home, and here you are. I’m taking you home. What you do with your life is none of my concern.”
With that, I shift my eyes away from him just as Thomas shows up in the doorway.
“We’re ready to take off,” I say in a different voice before he pulls away.
Tiago looks at me, puzzled.
The engines start running at a higher speed.
“What about my money?” he asks.
I glance at him.
“You’ll get your fucking money. You’ve earned it. Now buckle up. We’re ready to take off.”