Chapter 42
Chapter Forty-Two
Lucian
Malcolm fucking Voss.
Piece of shit.
I stare at the message glowing on my phone, reading it a second time even though every word was perfectly clear the first.
You were always so fond of informed choice, Hawthorne. Make certain your wife has hers.
For several seconds, I don’t move.
Beyond the glass walls of Lorenzo’s penthouse, Las Vegas is beginning to pale beneath the first thin wash of morning. The city has finally gone quiet enough that I can hear Sophie breathing beside me.
She is on her side, beautiful and trusting, between Caleb and me, her face turned in my direction, one hand tucked beneath the pillow. The sheet rides low across her back, leaving the smooth line of her shoulders bare, and her hair is an impossible tangle from our hands.
From hers too.
A slow, almost primitive satisfaction moves through me at the memory.
Last night, she didn’t simply surrender to us.
She reached for me.
Then for Caleb.
She told us what she wanted, chose what we did to her, and somewhere in the middle of all of it, when I told her she was ours, she looked straight into my eyes and calmly reversed the claim.
“And you’re mine.”
The words have followed me into the handful of hours since, disturbing something I’d spent most of my adult life making certain remained untouched.
I have always understood possession.
Being possessed is another matter entirely.
And, Christ help me, I liked it.
Yesterday she sat between us at Carrington’s table and took command of a situation most experienced men would have found intimidating. She saw what I didn’t. Understood what Voss needed. Used his arrogance against him.
I should be satisfied.
Instead, Malcolm Voss has inserted himself into my bed without ever entering the room.
For the first time since Caleb and I began this long, ruthless pursuit, Sophie is with us because some part of her genuinely wants to be.
And I will be goddamned if I’ll allow anyone to ruin that.
My grip tightens around the phone.
Caleb’s eyes open.
He doesn’t ask why I’m awake. One look at my face is enough.
Silently I hand him the phone.
His gaze drops to the screen, and he’s instantly alert. “Son of a bitch.”
Unlike most people, Malcolm Voss has never been intimidated by our dislike of him. If anything, he seems to relish it.
The feeling is mutual.
Years ago, he approached us with what he described as a simple retrieval problem. His wife had disappeared with his longtime business partner, and Voss wanted them found.
There was nothing simple about it.
His wife had discovered an affair he had with a woman young enough that the word affair was charitable. Voss had enough power over her employment and her future that the idea of consent was questionable at best.
And when his wife found out…?
The divorce cost him half of what she could legally reach. His former partner, who knew where Voss had hidden substantially more money, relieved him of another fortune before disappearing with Voss’s wife.
In Voss’s words, he was the victim.
I never agreed.
Voss particularly disliked hearing that from us.
He disliked it even more when Caleb and I refused to locate either of them.
Since his wife still has evidence of his wrongdoing, he wants her back. Unfortunately for him, he’s spent years discovering that there are limits to his reach.
He offered Richard Langford’s archive because he knew we wanted it badly enough to wager something he wanted more.
If Sophie turns on us after seeing what’s in that archive, Voss gets something he wants almost as badly as his wife found—proof that Caleb and I are no better than he is.
Caleb hands my phone back. “We need to tell her.”
My gaze moves to Sophie. “When I’m ready.”
Voss knows enough about our marriage to recognize our obvious hypocrisy. But that doesn’t mean I will allow him to use Sophie to manipulate us.
Caleb studies me for several long seconds. “That sounds remarkably like we’re still deciding what she can handle.”
I clamp my jaw.
I’m not withholding the truth. I’m controlling the order in which she receives it.
Between us, Sophie moves, yawning and stretching a little. There’s also a smile on her face, and I intend to keep it there as long as possible.
She looks between the two of us, and obviously sensing something is wrong, she pushes herself up, dragging the sheet with her. “Lucian?”
“Voss contacted me.”
Her expression changes instantly. “Why?”
“About the archive.”
Caleb looks at me.
I ignore him.
Sophie tucks the sheet beneath her arms. “What about it?”
I choose my words carefully.
“He apparently feels we should examine what we won sooner rather than later.”
Her eyes narrow.
“What exactly did he say?”
There it is.
The question I knew was coming.
The easiest thing in the world would be to turn the phone around and let her read it.
Instead, I set it face down on the nightstand. “He was being Voss.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
Her gaze shifts to Caleb.
He doesn’t rescue either of us.
“What does being Voss mean?”
“Vindictive. Smug. Deliberately provocative.”
“All right.” She watches me for another second. “And what did he say?”
Carefully I choose my words. “He implied the contents might be more interesting than we expect.”
Not technically a lie.
Caleb’s silence becomes oppressive.
With a tiny frown, Sophie moves her attention to Caleb and then back to me.
She’s confused but not suspicious.
But she has spent too much time studying human behavior not to recognize when two men, who normally move as one, are standing on opposite sides of something.
“Then let’s find out what’s in there.” She throws back the sheet.
Her glorious nakedness should distract me.
Under almost any other circumstances, it would.
But now, the stakes are too high.
She crosses the bedroom, retrieves her robe, and pulls it around herself.
“Sophie.”
She turns. “Voss specifically told us my mother might be in those records. Now he’s contacting you before the sun is even properly up to make cryptic comments.” She gestures toward my phone. “So let’s find out what we’re facing.”
Brushing her hair back over her shoulder so that it falls in a thick river down her back, she leaves the bedroom.
Scowling at me, Caleb gets out of bed and pulls on his tuxedo pants from last night.
Despising Voss more than ever, I follow.
No one speaks as Caleb presses his palm to the biometric reader. The wall panel slides aside, and the steel safe unlocks.
He opens it.
The black decryption card rests exactly where we left it.
Sophie looks at the three of us reflected faintly in the polished steel.
“Whatever is in there, we all see it.”
Her gaze catches mine.
It is not a question.
“Agreed.”
Caleb removes the card, and we all move to his secured terminal at the desk.
I enter my credentials.
Caleb provides the biometric authorization.
A final field appears on the screen for Sophie’s code.
For a moment, she simply looks at the blinking cursor.
Yesterday I watched her push the final baccarat plaque forward with a steadier hand than men twice her age and ten times her experience.
Last night, I watched her claim a place inside this marriage that Caleb and I could never have forced her to occupy.
Now she pulls out the chair, sits, and types in her six numbers.
The system accepts them.
ACCESS AUTHORIZED.
She sucks in a breath as a progress bar appears.
Encrypted sectors begin resolving one after another.
Sophie folds her arms on the desk and leans closer. Caleb stands behind her right shoulder, and I position myself on her left.
None of us speaks.
Moments later, the screen flickers and a directory begins to populate.
Business names. Property addresses. Loans. Transfers.
Then it becomes more personal. Correspondence. Medical records.
Sophie inhales sharply.
A final folder loads.
Elizabeth Langford.
Sophie’s hand freezes on the mouse, and her entire body goes still.
Gently I touch her shoulder, wanting to protect her from whatever is there. “You don’t have to do this.”
Ignoring me, straightening her spine, she clicks.