Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Robyn
D amon had left. Again .
I rolled my wedding band between my fingers, surprised but not to find it waiting for me on the nightstand when I woke up. I didn’t have to check the rest of the house, or even leave his bed, to know Damon wasn’t here. He wouldn’t have left the ring otherwise—his promise to return.
I inhaled deeply, my chest burning with the heat of all his promises.
I will always protect you.
It was only ever you.
All the pain I’d carried was nothing more than dry kindling set ablaze by his truth; Damon hadn’t left me for Sandrine. He’d never stopped loving me.
I slid the ring onto my finger and for a fleeting second wondered what would’ve happened if I’d listened to Damon and stayed at the apartment that night instead of going to look for him…no. I shuddered. I couldn’t think like that. There was no way to know if Damon’s handler or Sinclair’s men would’ve reached me first. No way to know if things would’ve worked out better…or far, far worse.
There was only what happened. What I’d believed he’d done and what he’d believed had happened to me. Who he’d become to save me and how he’d stayed away to protect me. Something I had a sinking suspicion he was doing now.
Rising from the bed, I went to the dresser for one of Damon’s undershirts. I had to laugh when I saw a handgun neatly placed next to the pile of shirts. Taking one from the top, I slid it over my head, the fabric hanging low on my chest and hitting just above my knees.
The elegant scent of amber and whiskey settled over me, and heat sprouted under my skin, recalling the feel of Damon’s touch. The magic of his mouth. The promise of him.
I was always yours.
Heading from the bedroom, I padded straight for the kitchen, hearing Nonna moving around. Damon’s promise to return weighed on my finger, but it wasn’t enough. I needed to know where he’d gone and why he’d gone without me.
“Buongiorno, signora.” Nonna’s smile burst across her face as she set a plate full of eggs on the counter for me. “I see you found something else to wear.”
The older woman couldn’t be happier if she’d won the lottery. Part of me savored the youthful twinkle in her eyes, another, smaller part was annoyed that she was right all along.
Anger was a funny thing. Like a wall, it could protect you and keep harmful things away, but it also blinded you. There was no seeing or hearing through a wall; it blocked out everything. Damon could’ve shouted the truth at me, beat it against the barricades, but only I could lower my defenses and let it…let him inside .
And I had…only for him to leave again.
“Nonna, where’s Damon?” I asked, standing on the opposite side of the counter rather than going to the seat she offered.
“Did you sleep well?” She ignored me and asked, though she knew exactly how I’d slept—and who I slept with.
“Nonna…” I scowled and flattened my palms to the counter.
She ducked her head and reached for a bottle of hot sauce from the cabinet, moving it and my plate over to me.
“Mangiare.” She shooed her hands at me like my husband disappearing on me for a second time was nothing to worry about until after breakfast.
“I’m not eating until you tell me where he is.”
The fact that she wouldn’t tell me was one thing, but the flash of concern in her eyes before she tore them from mine was what ignited my spark of worry until a full-blown flare.
“Please.” I stiffened, hearing the vulnerability that oozed from my plea. I sounded desperate. Anxious. All things I hated to be let alone revealed to others, but after what he said last night and then waking up alone this morning, I was afraid Damon had done something severely stupid.
Nonna’s hunched shoulders sagged, and she slowly faced me.
“Signor Damon left early this morning with Signor Pat,” she confessed. “He told me to make sure you had big breakfast when you wake. He didn’t say where he going.”
Dammit.
“Told him wasn’t good idea,” she muttered, her real disapproval showing through. “Signor Damon very stubborn. Too stubborn.”
She shook her head, and in that moment, I could see the thousands of times she must’ve scolded my husband over the last decade .
I knew I should be angry at Damon for leaving again. For not telling me. But the ring on the nightstand wasn’t only a promise to return; it was an explanation for his absence.
He’d left to take care of my demons. To save me like he’d promised. And to come back to me like he’d vowed.
I couldn’t be angry at him for that, but I could be angry that he thought he had to do this alone. Like he owed me this…penance for staying away for so long.
“Excuse me.” I spun and rushed back across the house, my feet pounding down the staircase, and into my room.
Pulling my phone from the charger, I opened the screen and went to the call history, but it wasn’t Damon’s name I tapped on.
No, there was only one man who could help me now.
“You know, I could get that gun from you if I wanted.” Pat’s snark was as sharp as the look he shot me through the rearview mirror.
The handgun I’d found in Damon’s dresser rested casually on my knee, aimed at the grouchy Irishman.
“I have no doubt you could, but to do that, you’d probably injure me, and after yesterday, I’m sure you’re already on Damon’s shit list.”
“Taking you to him isn’t going to do me much better,” he grunted.
I tipped my head and smiled. “It’ll do you a little better.”
Outside the car, mountains rose up around the Tahoe basin like a long-lost fortification. The drive from the Bay Area to snow country was a solid four hours without any traffic, but during this time of year, we were going on six, which meant it would be almost dinnertime by the time we arrived at Belmont’s ski chalet.
The sprawling mansion was located in an exclusive community on the Heavenly ski resort. It was where Belmont conducted his business. Where he hid his underworld dealings from the real world. And where he’d instructed Damon to come today to meet with him and Shazad.
Damon had taken a private helicopter this morning, arriving much sooner and leaving me with only the slower option. Especially considering the time it had taken to lure Pat back to the house.
Before this morning, I would’ve said there wasn’t much one could throw at Pat that would surprise him, but being greeted at the front door by me and the barrel of a handgun had certainly come as close as one could get.
“It’s not safe for you to go here, Robbie,” he repeated for probably the fourth time this trip. The other three times I’d ignored him, afraid if I delved into the conversation, he’d find some excuse to stop driving.
“It’s not safe for Damon to be here alone either, and yet you let him.”
A harsh bark of a laugh grated through his throat. “There’s not much I can stop Damon from doing, no matter how I disagree. But you…”
“What about me?”
Heavy eyes flicked to mine quickly and then back to the road. “Why do you think he left you behind?”
I huffed and rolled my eyes. “Because my husband thought it was too dangerous, just like you said.”
“Wrong,” Pat growled and hit his blinker, finally turning off the stretch of highway that at this rate, I was sure was taking us straight to hell. Though if Shazad was there, it certainly came close.
I tensed, feeling my palm grow slick around the metal handle of the gun. “Then enlighten me.”
“Because you’re his weakness, Robbie,” he rumbled, and ahead, I saw how the road angled up through the trees, leading to massive mansions built into the lower mountain face, the glass facades glistening like sheets of ice. “Without you there, he doesn’t have to worry. He can be the ruthless man the world knows him to be, but with you there…there’s no hiding what you mean to him. The show for Belmont…it wasn’t just to get him to believe Damon. It was to show Belmont that you meant nothing to him—that he’d easily sacrifice you for a business deal. For you to come here…after that…they’ll know you’re his vulnerability. They’ll know you’re his Achilles heel.”
My rising pulse tripped and spilled heartbeats into my veins.
Was he right? Was this wrong?
“He’s alone there, Pat,” I said low. “Tell me you don’t think he’s in danger because they made him come alone.” My jaw locked tighter with every word. “Swear to me that you think he’s safer there alone than he is with me.”
I took the gamble because what choice did I have? Pat didn’t think it was a good idea for Damon to go alone to this meeting, but was that worse than me being there?
“I don’t know,” he muttered and shook his head. “I don’t like either option a whole hell of a lot.”
“I’m the only one they’ll let in,” I said softly. “I can’t let him face this alone, Pat. I won’t. After what they did to him, I don’t think they’re looking for vulnerability as an excuse to turn on him, and I can’t…I can’t lose him again.”
I didn’t realize my gaze had fallen to my lap until I felt the car slow. Looking up, I watched the massive gate ahead approach and a security guard step from the gatehouse.
“We’re here,” Pat rumbled. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
I tucked my gun by my side and out of sight underneath the thick fur of my jacket.
A second later, Pat rolled down the window, the heavily armed security guard looking like he was itching to shoot something—or someone—today.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m dropping off the lady.” Pat cocked his head to me.
“You have the wrong house. We’re not expecting anyone.”
“I’m here for my husband,” I called, catching the guard mid-turn. He stopped, and then his boots crunched over the frozen snow to the back door.
He bent and knocked on the window. Pat looked for my nod and then rolled the glass down.
Resting his hand on the top of the car, the guard’s violence-wrought face distorted as he snarled, “And who are you?”
I smiled at him. “Mrs. Remington.”
The interior of the chalet was all harsh edges and deadly wealth. The rugged, cold landscape surrounding the home was distilled into the soulless white furniture and the mounted masterpieces of death hanging from every wall. Antlers, animal busts, pelt rugs, and massive paintings idealizing not just the hunt but the kill.
It was no wonder Belmont wanted to meet here, where the strappings of his business were removed, leaving behind nothing but the carcass of his soul on display.
Though I’d left Pat behind and was escorted inside by the guard from the gate, called Peter by his equally crude partner, I hadn’t felt a tremor of fear until I crossed the threshold.
“If you could take me to my husband’s room—” I broke off when Peter grabbed my arm just enough to make it hurt and sneered.
“I’m taking you to dinner.”
“I’m not hungry. I’ll wait for him in his room.” I lifted my chin, already knowing this was a losing battle as the second guard disappeared from my periphery with my duffel bag.
Peter’s head tipped, and his crude stare dragged up and down my body. “You’re an uninvited guest, Mrs. Remington. Either I take you to the dining room or we go to your husband’s room and see how well you enjoy uninvited things.”
Rage scorched my veins, and I was sorely tempted to pull the gun from my jacket and shoot the sick smile straight off his face.
“Dinner it is,” I conceded through locked teeth.
Invited or not, guest was a very generous term considering the grip Peter maintained on my arm the entire way.
The dining hall was a monstrous exaggeration of mass murder.
The long room was lined with animal busts, big and small, from waist height to the ceiling. There were no windows. There was no outside. There was just a room designed as a shrine to death where Belmont sought to impress his equally soulless associates .
I noted how for each chair stationed at the table, the dozen or so of the largest animal busts, many belonging to endangered species, were precisely positioned to mark each seat, almost as if to say it was by Belmont’s grace that you either dined at his table as an ally or decorated his home as an adversary.
My gaze reached the far end of the room, where the four men sat at the end of the table. All of whom I recognized. Belmont. Amir Shazad. Uzair Shazad. And my husband. All had been vying for the top of my most hated list for over a decade. Until recently.
Now, there were only three I hated and one whom I’d never been able to stop loving. And that one looked like he wanted to kill me. Damon’s shock passed so swiftly over his face I barely caught it before he wiped it clean, leaving nothing but potent fury unspooling in his silver gaze; it was the only mark of anger buried into an otherwise calm mask of ambivalence.
“Mrs. Remington,” Belmont boomed, his smile vacant but his stare threatening as he rose from his seat. “Damon didn’t mention you were coming, but I’m glad you could join us.”
Belmont lorded over the head of the table. On his right, Amir stood to greet me, the years taking quite a toll on the older Pakistani man. And next to Amir, his son, Uzair, straightened, his dark hair and classically handsome face a twisted reminder that even the sickest monsters could look beautiful.
Uzair smiled with the careless arrogance of a man who thought himself a god and behaved like he was one. Not a merciful, caring one, but like Zeus. Like nothing and no one, not even other gods, could touch him as he raped and abused and killed countless women for his pleasure. He was more than a criminal. More than a rapist or murderer. He was a psychopath.
For years, I’d believed Amir chose to ignore the horrors his son inflicted because he was his heir. However, seeing them together, the truth was clear. Amir didn’t ignore the kind of man his son was… he was afraid of him. Afraid his own son wouldn’t hesitate to turn on him—to kill him with his own hands—should Amir try to curtail his sadistic tendencies.
“Thank you.” My gratitude was a mockery, but I had to play my part. “I originally had other plans, but seeing as how my husband included my work into this arrangement, I thought I should be here.”
Peter brought me toward the group, and I watched Damon’s fury flare as he focused on the hand holding me painfully prisoner; Peter had no idea his unnecessary brutality had marked him for dead.
“Please, sit.” Belmont motioned to the chair.
While the other men returned to their chairs, Damon remained standing, his lethal stare trained on the man escorting me and his right hand adeptly swiping the steak knife from his place setting.
“Thanks for delivering my wife, old sport.” Damon smiled when we reached him and extended his left hand.
Peter looked confused for a second, another crease forming on his scarred face. “You’re welcome.”
He went to shake Damon’s hand, and my husband moved like lightning.
Damon grabbed his wrist, yanked him forward, slammed his hand to the table with a loud crash that rattled the china, and then nailed it to the wood with his steak knife.
Peter’s roar of pain belonged in this room. It belonged among the animals that had been slaughtered with similar cries of distress before their lives had been ended.
Peter reached for the knife, but Damon grabbed the man’s flailing arm, stopping him.
“I have a collection, too, you know,” Damon growled, his eyes flitting to the animals on the walls. “Body parts of men who thought they could touch my wife.”
Damon twisted the knife, cutting through muscle and tendon and scraping along bone. Peter bellowed again, his eyes bulging with pain and fury.
“Mr. Belmont,” the man staked to the table pleaded, spittle flying as he gasped in agonized pants.
Belmont stared, and then his mouth curved slightly. Just like at the fundraiser, the only thing that intrigued this man was exaggerated displays of power and violence, emotional or physical. It was like his soul had been numbed to lesser displays of cruelty over the years, and now he needed a stronger dose—a harder hit to feel anything.
And then Belmont’s smile flittered away with a deep sigh of boredom. “You’ve made your point, Mr. Remington. Un-knife my man so we can continue with dinner.”
Damon hesitated purposely—and gave the knife one last excruciating turn before he wrenched it free, and Peter stumbled back.
“Clean yourself up,” Damon ordered, tossing a napkin from the table at Peter’s chest, the injured man clutching it and instantly pressing it around his wounded hand. “And while you’re at it, old sport, bring me a new steak knife.”
My heart stampeded in my chest, a cacophony of emotions dumping into my veins. Meanwhile, my husband calmly took his seat like he hadn’t just stabbed a man for touching me, the blood still staining the tabletop.
My attention whipped to the side as a young woman appeared, her eyes downcast as she filled my glass with red wine. All I could think was the color was the exact same as Peter’s blood.
She disappeared quickly, and I fought to not dwell on what she was made to do here and what they threatened her with if she didn’t.
Looking back to the table, I realize the chill still wrapped around my bones wasn’t from the lingering adrenaline but a persistent warning.
Uzair’s dark eyes were locked on me—had been this entire time from the other side of the table. And I knew why.
He liked women who were defiant. Women who were strong. They were his type. And then he liked to take them. Imprison them. Hurt them in indescribable ways to prove he was stronger. Superior.
“I would’ve cut off his hand,” the psychopath remarked, his eyes roaming over me like his leer was any less painful or offensive than Peter’s punishing grip. But that was Uzair; the god who rules didn’t apply. “I don’t like when anyone marks what belongs to me. Especially something so beautiful.”
The young server returned then with another steak knife for Damon, who seemed to wait purposely for it in silence, allowing Uzair to continue.
“You are quite striking, Mrs. Remington. I’ve thought so for a long time.” Uzair casually dared to mention a time when I’d almost been given to him in order to make a similar deal. Something he’d think I had no awareness of.
“You should keep my wife’s name out of your mouth, old sport,” Damon drawled, casually inspecting his new steak knife like he had a new target in his sights.
“It was simply a compliment, Mr. Remington,” Uzair replied casually.
My husband ran the blade of the knife along his finger and smiled. “And I’ve cut out tongues for less.”
“Gentlemen, please,” Amir hissed, clearly annoyed with the dick measuring contest occurring between his son and Damon. “Let’s get back to business. ”
“I agree,” Belmont chimed in, tipping back as he was served his salad first. Only when he nodded his approval were the rest of us brought plates. “Although, I have to say, Mr. Remington, I didn’t realize you cared so much for your wife,” Belmont remarked, his tone far too interested to be anything but dangerous.
I reached for my wine so I wouldn’t give anything away, letting the liquid only reach my tongue before I pretended to swallow.
Damon drummed his fingers and let his head tip casually to the side. “So, if my man came in here and took one of your trophies, you wouldn’t want his hand as retribution?” He shook his head and grinned. “I’m surprised you’d be so careless with your possessions, Bernie, considering how you prize them.”
I choked, my glass clanking on the table as I glared at my husband, who ignored me. But it was Belmont’s instant frown and change of topic that reminded me of what Pat had said.
I was Damon’s weakness. If they knew how much he cared for me, it would be dangerous for us both. The only way to protect me—to warn the rest of them to keep their distance—without betraying his feelings was to become the epitome of a chauvinistic criminal. One these men would recognize. One who treated women like property. Something to be defended, not respected.
To add insult to injury, Damon looked to Amir and added, “I want to assure you, Mr. Shazad, I take only the utmost care of the goods entrusted to my possession.”
And just like that, my husband’s display of violence became a justified show of character and force for the man he needed to trust him—to want him as part of this massive deal.
And so, I lowered my head and pretended to let my anger seethe. The more they believed I despised Damon for what he’d done and how he treated me, the safer we’d be.