Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Robyn
D amon stepped in, blocking one of the army of butlers in the foyer who attempted to take my coat. Who attempted to touch me.
Heat licked over my skin as Damon’s fingers brushed my bare shoulders, sliding my jacket free. Shoving the damning sensation aside, I focused instead on Belmont’s grotesque display of wealth.
Columns and marble. Priceless paintings and antique vases. I remembered that first time I’d walked into Sinclair’s home, the night I’d met Damon. I’d been astounded by the luxury then, but that was nothing compared to now.
The affluence here oozed from every corner and seam like pus from an open sore. I wondered how much of this gold and glitter had been bought by the death of my parents. By silencing their discovery that GrowTech’s pesticides caused cancer?
I inhaled harshly when Damon took my hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow, my fingers finding the familiar place where they’d rested so many times before.
Funny how I’d only been with Damon for a fraction of my life, and yet that fraction felt all-consuming. Like a single drop of coloring into a pitcher of water, it tinted everything that came before and after it with the knowledge of him. And now, I suffered a kind of destructive déjà vu.
But I couldn’t pull away. I’d promised to obey, and at least one of us kept our promises.
“They’re all looking at you, Robber,” Damon murmured, effortlessly taking two glasses of champagne off a passing tray and handing one to me. “You’re exquisite.”
Our fingers brushed like embers landing on drought-ridden land.
“Or maybe they’re all looking at you.”
“For being so handsome?” Another wink was fired in my direction, and I swore the silver slips of his eyes could see how wet it made me.
I missed so many things about this man, about the way he could make me feel, it was criminal. In another life, I would’ve insisted he didn’t even need a finger to know how I wanted him, only that singular penetrating look.
My eyes narrowed as he tipped his glass and clinked it to the edge of mine.
“Your arrogance is?—”
“Unparalleled?” he finished for me, the word like a hook that hauled me right back to the past and the night I’d irrevocably sealed my fate to his.
“Criminally so,” I countered and then took a sip, attempting to bury the nagging part of me that didn’t want to be anywhere else but close to him. Close to the pull of his dominance. The promise of his intensity. The warmth of his embrace .
He was always good at this—of course, he was. He was trained by the FBI to do this. To blend in with seamless arrogance and boundless confidence, two things that could get one past most barriers in this world if one had the talent to wield them. And Damon had it in spades.
He could be both the center of attention and still the wolf in sheep’s clothing. Infamous yet invisible. It was damnably inconvenient for someone who wanted to see him in prison…but also irresistible. Just the littlest bit. Especially when his eyes twinkled the way they were now when he looked at me.
“As long as you think I’m handsome, Robber, that’s all I care about.”
I fought the urge to roll my eyes, instead washing the inadvertent compliment from my mouth with another gulp of champagne.
I shifted my attention to the sprawling living room, the furniture whisked away to open the space into an intimate ballroom. A string quartet was stationed in the far corner, their bows extracting classic holiday melodies from their instruments.
In the other corner, a towering Christmas tree draped in gold ornaments that had to stretch at least eighteen feet high yet still seemed miles from the ceiling.
“Our tree looked better,” he murmured in my ear.
My shoulders drew back, and I was hit with the unexpected memory of our one Christmas together. The one where he’d insisted we put up a tree even though I hadn’t celebrated the holiday in years. I hadn’t celebrated much of anything for years; it was hard to move on from loss when so much felt unfinished.
It was a sad-looking tree to start, but by the time we were done—by the time he had me tangled in the lights, laughing, and kissing him, it was perfect. Somehow, we’d created or found something magical outside of our mission. Something unintentional. Unexpected. Undeniably real.
Neither of us had had anything like that until we’d found each other. Or so I’d thought.
“Ours was a dressed-up disaster,” I replied. Just like our relationship.
There was a whirring over my head, and I looked up, startled by the small drone that whizzed above the crowd, a camera and a piece of holly suspended from its base. I fought not to roll my eyes.
Of course, Belmont wanted photographs and video. He wanted to be a celebrity; he wanted his holiday party to be the exclusive event of the season to draw more billionaire moths to his flame.
I lowered my head back to the milling crowd, a collection of the city’s finest and most famous who glittered in rich colors and blinding jewels. All I could think of was Sandrine and how, even though she loved the appearance of it all, the wealth was a weight she couldn’t shake. And then I shoved her from my mind. My friend. A woman I’d pitied at first. And one more person to betray me.
A web of servers in black and gold vests keeping a full glass in everyone’s hand at all times, the scent of cinnamon seeming to trail along behind them. I was familiar with the facade of finery. The net of diamonds and silk wrapping people like this in its trappings.
But to Belmont, there was no gleaming jewel or glittering gold or expensive attire nearly as prestigious as the guest list. Congressmen, the mayor, and several prominent CEOs all studded the large room like moving masterpieces to Belmont’s power and influence. A veritable who’s who of corrupt men in power.
There was a time I would’ve taken notes—added them all to my list of targets to take down. And while it was satisfying in the moment to rip another of Belmont’s associates from his grasp, it was only for a moment. Because another one just popped up in his place. But no more. Tonight marked the beginning of the end for Belmont.
And hopefully not for me. The thought came unbidden as the tower of heat rippled beside me, and I felt Damon dip closer.
Sometimes, I pictured my husband like that cartoon of Hades, the one with the blue flames rising from his head. Of course, I believed him to be the devil who’d broken my heart, but it would also explain the heat emanating from him whenever I was close.
“I love this color on you.”
The compliment caressed my ear, and I turned my head away to swallow the rush of bitterness I felt for agreeing to this—for agreeing to wear something he got me. And for enjoying the heart-tripping alchemy his lust wielded over me.
“Do you know what color I love on you?”
“You’ve never seen me wear orange, Robber,” he murmured, taking all the wind out of my acerbic retort.
Lifting my glass of champagne, I angled toward him and lifted my ring finger just a little, enough to make the diamond shielding all his secrets wink back in his face.
“Well, I already know I’ll love it,” I said and sipped my champagne.
Orange accessorized with handcuffs was going to be my favorite look on him.
A low, melodious chuckle dripped from his chest. The husky one that suggested seductively that he was turned on by how insistent I was on seeing him behind bars. Like it only made the challenge more enjoyable.
Damn him .
Gulping down a mouthful of bubbles, I turned to walk away and almost ran right into another couple—clearly several glasses of champagne deep—twirling and singing “Baby, It’s Cold Outside,” so off-key, it alone would’ve stopped me in my tracks.
Of course, my handsome Hades took the opportunity to get closer to me. His presence fell over me like a shadow—a musky, sinful-scented shadow.
“You’re beautiful, Robber,” he said so only I could hear, his head angled in a way where I could pretend to ignore him because it didn’t even look like he was talking to me. “Always the most beautiful woman in the room.”
Goose bumps lifted like an army of sleeper agents, planted underneath my skin over a decade ago, just waiting for their Lothario leader to call them to action.
The tips of his fingers—no, his knuckles—landed at the top of my spine and began a slow descent over the bare ridges of my back. My shoulders rolled backward, trying to pull myself away from his touch, but short of shoving my way through the crowd, there was no escape.
His fingers on my bare skin were the most lethal kind of assault. Lower and lower, the light touch ignited every vertebrae like a spark to a firework, a cascade of heat sparkling through my body. My nipples pebbled hard against the fabric, the low cut of the back of the dress making it impossible to wear a bra.
I wanted to run away—as far away as I could even though he’d know then the effect he still had on me. I also wanted to sink back. To settle into the heat of his embrace and let those sinful hands claim every inch of me that longed for his touch for a decade. But I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of either. So, I waited for the torture to end and, in the interim, cataloged the feel of his fingers so I could recall it later from the safety of my fantasies.
God, this was so dangerous.
“Showtime.” A single word, and I shoved aside all my feelings for Damon back into the Pandora’s box where they belonged.
It had to be my imagination, but a path seemed to magically appear in front of us, and at the end of it stood Bernard Belmont, the CEO of GrowTech and the man responsible for the death of my parents, their murder, and the cover-up.
I stiffened, caught off-guard even though Belmont was the reason we were here. I saw him on TV or from a distance, but never like this. Not this close in a long, long time, and so in his element, sucking up the wealth and prestige of those around him like a leech.
“Say the word, Robber, and I’ll kill him right now,” the dark voice rumbled again.
What? My head nodded toward Damon. He couldn’t be…he was serious. There was no questioning the sincerity that oozed from my husband’s beautiful but lethal expression. He was really offering to kill Belmont.
“Right now? In front of all these people?” It went beyond illegal and stupid and straight on to ridiculous.
“For you,” he said with a cold arrogance, and I hated how it fanned the butterflies in my stomach. Lifted them higher. Fluttered them faster.
The idea that the world’s most dangerous criminal was at my disposal. My own personal weapon. Willing to do anything I asked…
I was tempted to say yes. Not because this was how or where I wanted Belmont’s end, but because I wanted to watch Damon follow through. I wanted to see him go to the lengths he promised for me. Maybe then it would be easier to stomach the urge I had to listen to him…to want to know this kernel of truth he taunted me with.
It was so, so tempting. But even more dangerous.
“You know death is too good for him,” I finally said and directed my gaze back to the man in question. I wanted Belmont to pay, and I wanted his whole empire to crumble.
“Then let’s go give him something worse,” he murmured, his hand bracketing my lower back as he led me across the room.
“Mr. Belmont.” Damon extended his hand. “A pleasure to see you.”
Belmont’s head cocked, taken aback by a face he didn’t recognize. No surprise. Very few people could say they had the privilege of recognizing Damon Remington.
“Yes, welcome.” Belmont recovered quickly and, for the sake of the crowd, took Damon’s hand.
“I’m sorry to hear about Wenner and Carson. Quite a hit in one year,” Damon pulled no punches with his next statement, taking even me by surprise with his blunt chastisement.
Lloyd Wenner was GrowTech’s longtime COO, one in the group involved in my parents’ deaths and cover-up. He’d died earlier this year as a result of my brothers’ efforts. And then there was Brock Carson. The elitist, unscrupulous businessman Belmont hired to replace Wenner; he’d also just been killed by one of my brothers’ teams.
The mention of both of them in the same sentence would’ve been inflammatory enough, but the way Damon said it, his tone so banal yet laden with coldness, instantly put Belmont on edge.
“You’ll have to forgive me, but I don’t believe I know you,” he said with a voice that bordered on threatening.
His grip tightened, making Damon’s skin blanch as though the overweight older man had a chance of holding his own for even a second in a fight with someone as fit and trained as Damon.
“Yes, well, most don’t recognize me without my hat, but I’m sure you’ve heard of me. Everyone has,” Damon drawled with an easy smile, only closing his grip when Belmont tried to pull away.
A second later, Belmont’s security, stationed like statues around the perimeter of the room, lurched from their posts, ready to eject Damon from the house and possibly from this world entirely.
“Damon Remington, at your service.” He accompanied his debonair introduction with a short bow, something that should’ve been a show of deference, yet topped with his smirk, instead came across like a slap to the face.
The corners of my lips climbed higher as Belmont’s eyes widened in shock, realizing he faced the infamous criminal consultant who was partially responsible for his company’s recent tumult. My smile almost made it into full bloom, the thrill of finally confronting the evil from my past flooding me with a sense of power that seemed indestructible.
Until my husband went and destroyed it.
“And this is my beautiful wife, Robyn Remington,” he presented me like a trophy at his side with a burgeoning look of pride and a possessive hold on my lower back.
I’d felt pits in my stomach before. The stumble of my heart. The breathlessness in the face of utter desolation. But this was none of that .
This was the opening of a parachute to find it was made with a hole in the center. It was the launch of a plane to realize it only had one wing. It was the moment I realized the thing I believed would save me was mortally flawed.
I believed Damon Remington had brought me here to help me, and it wasn’t that I should’ve known better. I did know better, and still, I’d been fooled.
I thought I had been prepared for anything, and just when my defenses began to fall, that was when he struck. When he did something he couldn’t undo and I couldn’t prepare for: when he branded me in front of a wealthy and influential world as the wife of the country’s foremost and most famous traitor.
By some miracle, I stayed standing. Or maybe it was less a miracle and more the urge to murder that rooted my heels in place.
“Mr. Remington. I didn’t realize you received an invitation,” Belmont said, his eyes narrowing on Damon and ignoring me entirely, proving Damon’s introduction was purely for selfish reasons.
“As you know, I’m good at getting all kinds of things for all kinds of people.” Damon tipped his head, his eyes darting to the approaching security. “And I hear that particular skill of mine might be something you’re interested in.”
With a slight flick of his wrist, Belmont halted the approach of his henchman and then directed them away.
“Mr. Remington. Have you seen the gingerbread house yet? Please, allow me.”
The gingerbread house, which was nothing more than a candy-coated replica of Belmont’s home placed on display next to the Christmas tree, also guarded a small alcove in the room where Belmont felt he could speak more freely.
The older man led the way, making curt greetings to a few people we passed. Meanwhile, I kept silent by Damon’s side, feeling as unsteady as a grenade rolling across the floor, afraid that as soon as I removed the pin sealing my lips shut, I would explode on the man who’d just handcuffed my fate to his.
For years after his disappearance, after he’d been declared a traitor to this country, I wondered why none of the alphabet soup agencies had come knocking at my door, demanding information on my treasonous husband. I almost started to convince myself that maybe we hadn’t truly—legally—gotten married. That the judge we’d stood in front of, the license we’d signed…that it had all been a sham.
But how did I prove it? How did I know for sure? Go check at the courthouse?
“Hi, yes. I’m wondering if you could look up a marriage license for me. My name is Robyn Keyes, and I may or may not be married to Damon Remington. Yes, the former FBI agent turned traitor. Yes, that’s the one.”
If my name hadn’t come up in the FBI’s nationwide search for their defected agent, I surely would’ve set off alarms by requesting a copy of the marriage license. And if it was all a sham, the request itself would trigger the same response. Even if I wasn’t truly married to him, a lot of people would have a lot of questions as to why I believed I might be and what I knew.
I didn’t want to be involved. I didn’t want my life to be scrutinized for many reasons, not the least of which was knowing Sinclair wanted me dead. I didn’t trust the feds to keep me safe from that man, not knowing what I knew.
My connection to Damon was safer kept a secret. And if I was being honest, there was a twisted part of me that hoped for a very long time he would come back and explain everything—too long a time considering how he’d left.
“Your house looks a little unsteady right now,” Damon said, and he wasn’t talking about the mock gingerbread version nor the real structure we stood in. “I’m sure I’m not the only one who’s heard the rumors, old sport, but I do feel I can help.”
I drew a slight breath. Damon’s chummy nickname for his targets—an ode to his love for The Great Gatsby—was something that hadn’t changed about him either.
Belmont banded his arms over his chest, his jacket looking fit to burst at its seams. Not unlike the anger in his expression. He didn’t appreciate being caught off-guard in his own home, even less being forced to confront his numerous failures by a stranger.
“You know what I hear, Mr. Remington? I hear you might be responsible for some of the…turbulence I’ve been experiencing.”
“Me?” Damon’s eyes feigned surprise, but his smile was nothing but sure. “That would be quite a fantastic feat for someone to accomplish.”
My teeth ground together. Here he was, standing in the lion’s den, being threatened by the lion himself, and he was fishing for compliments? Looking to stroke his own ego?
“Quite,” Belmont clipped. “I’m curious how you think you can help me. And why should I believe you want to?”
The CEO was angry, but he wasn’t a fool. Not only would it be stupid to turn down help from a man like Damon, but it would also be dangerous. And, as Damon pointed out, Belmont was already treading precarious waters with his company and the ties he was trying to form with the Pakistani Mafia.
“I’m sure my reputation precedes me, Mr. Belmont, but in this particular case, you have firsthand experience witnessing how adeptly I remove…obstacles from business that I want to transact.”
Belmont’s nostrils flared at the all-but-blatant admission that Damon was responsible for the deaths and arrests of everyone else working in concert to achieve a deal with Shazad— to be the ones supplying, and profiting, off of the warlord’s expansion of his heroin empire.
“So, you’re going to shift gears from being one of my obstacles to removing them?”
I couldn’t be one hundred percent certain, but my best guess was that after so many failures on Belmont’s end and so many money-minded criminal organizations vying for a piece of Shazad’s business, the boon of having a man like Damon Remington in his corner would greatly weigh the scales in Belmont’s favor.
“For the right price,” Damon said, casually reaching forward and plucking a gumdrop from the rim of the gingerbread house.
Belmont seethed at the blatant display of disrespect. In fact, he looked to hate my husband almost as much as I did in that moment, but money was more important than feelings, and sometimes, enemies made the best bedfellows.
Not like that.
“I’ll consider it,” Belmont grumbled, irritation twitching his lip. “Though I don’t appreciate being ambushed in my own home, Mr. Remington.”
“No one does, old sport.” Damon popped the gumdrop through his lips. “But we both appreciate money and a good deal, so I suggest you don’t think too long.”
Belmont scowled for a very brief second before backing away and plastering a tight smile over his cracking expression. “Enjoy the rest of my party, Mr. Remington.”
“Oh, I fully intend to.” Damon snaked his arm around my waist, the sudden contact making me shiver and drawing me from my statue-like stance. “Starting with a dance with my beautiful wife.”