Chapter 29 Selene #2
A fond smile pulls at the corners of Cordelia’s mouth, and Travis Langham hums his agreement with her statement.
I look around the table, no less disgusted by the people surrounding it than I was when I sat down minutes ago.
They’re all immaculately dressed, eating and sipping wine.
Aubrey has changed into a clean suit and gotten his wounds cleaned and covered with makeup.
Meanwhile, I haven’t touched my plate and am still wearing Beck’s boxers and one of Cal’s t-shirts. I don’t even have on a bra or shoes.
And if I could feel anything besides the blue flames of anger licking at my ribs, I’d be humiliated, which is probably what they wanted me to be.
Phineas sits his glass on the table and steeples his fingers. “There was not much to decide. The Senator wanted to ascend quickly. I presented the most effective path.”
“Which involved taking the life of my child and twenty-seven other people.”
“There weren’t supposed to be that many casualties,” Langham explains, chewing loudly and with his mouth open. “The kid got a little trigger happy, if you know what I mean.”
“No, Officer Langham, I don’t know what you mean.”
He pulls a face, cutting his eye at Aubrey. “She really isn’t any fun, huh?”
“None.”
My hand clenches into a fist that Phineas studies with vivid interest. “I can only imagine the frustration you are feeling right now, Mrs. Taylor. All your enemies here in one place, and yet, you can do nothing to punish us for the crimes you worked so hard to prove we committed.”
“It is frustrating.”
The admission comes easily because I can’t see the point in lying. Being dishonest now would only be in service to my ego, and my focus is on getting out of here alive.
His eyes light up. “Honesty. How refreshing. If your friend Ms. St. James had been as forthcoming as you have been in this moment, she and the father of her child might still be alive.”
Horror fills me even as hope tries to take root, convincing me that if I continue to be honest I can make it out of this alive. “Jordan’s dead?”
“Do not grieve for her, Mrs. Taylor. She revealed your location within seconds of Travis putting a bullet in her partner’s head. She was willing to sacrifice you to save herself.”
Cordelia lets out a tisk of disapproval, pointing at Aubrey. “I always told you that girl was a liability. She didn’t have the stomach for this work.”
A vein in the center of Aubrey’s forehead begins to throb. “I know, Cordelia.”
“So that’s how you found me?” I ask, unwilling to be subjected to another one of Aubrey and Cordelia’s spats. “Jordan told you.”
“Yes.” Phineas smiles then says, “You are not a fan of deviation are you, Mrs. Taylor?”
“No, I would prefer to stay on task. Things get done a lot quicker that way.”
And I want this conversation, this experience, this entire day to be done.
I want to go to the home I’ve made in Cal and Beck’s arms and never leave again.
I want to forget the sound of Cordelia’s voice and Langham’s chewing.
I want to delete every memory I’ve ever shared with Aubrey from my brain and scrub every place on my body that has been touched by those green eyes.
“I wouldn’t be in such a rush to get things done if I were you,” Aubrey says, smirking when Langham pulls a syringe filled with a colorless liquid from a pocket inside his suit jack and sits it on the table.
Langham waggles his brows at me. “Potassium cyanide. Same stuff I used on Sanders.”
The not-so-subtle threat snuffs out the flames of anger, leaving me cold and so fucking afraid I can’t convince my features to convey anything else.
“Put that away,” Phineas snaps, and the order hits Travis like the crack of a whip. He jumps into action, sweeping the syringe out of sight.
“She might as well know what’s coming,” Aubrey argues.
Cordelia nods. “It usually helps if they know they won’t make it out alive.”
“If I wanted either of your opinions, I would have asked for them,” Phineas growls. “This is not your White House or the fucking Oval Office. This is my home, and I get to decide what happens with my guest.”
“But I’ve already told you—”
“The last time I listened to you I wasted hundreds of thousands of dollars liberating a man from prison who could not be bothered to do the job I paid him to do and thousands more to get the men already on my payroll to clean up the mess you made, so you will forgive me if I do not give a single fuck about what you have told me.”
Aubrey shrinks. Cordelia and Langham fall quiet. Phineas looks to me, huffing as he grabs his wine and takes a long sip. He swallows slowly, savoring it and the silence that only breaks when he wants it to.
“Mrs. Taylor, you have found me in a unique mood.”
I will my voice not to shake, needing confidence and strength I don’t possess to continue engaging with him. “Is that so?”
“Yes, I would like to open the table for a discussion.”
“A discussion?”
He squints, tilting his head to one side as he regards me. “You are familiar with the concept, yes?”
“Of course.” I roll my shoulders back. “Since this is your home, I think it would only be right that you start us off.”
The offer is ridiculous. I wouldn’t even know where to begin with brokering the terms of my freedom. I mean, if that’s even what he’s offering. I’m sure there’s a world where this sick fuck thinks allowing me to choose the method of my murder would be a kindness.
“Showing such respect under these incredibly harrowing circumstances is admirable.”
“Thank you.”
“But playing to my ego will not save your life.”
“I don’t expect it to.” The lie rolls of my tongue, smooth as silk. Phineas studies me, searching for signs of deception and coming up empty.
“Very well, let us begin.” He takes another sip of wine, polishing off the glass and sitting it near the edge of the table.
A woman appears out of nowhere to fill it, but he doesn’t pick it up again.
“Your husband seems to be under the impression that you are a threat to the freedom and livelihood of every person at this table.”
“I am.”
A slow, sinister smile spreads across his face. He claps his hands loudly, looking at Aubrey. “This woman is a delight, Mr. President. Why are you so determined to get rid of her?” His lips part, but Phineas shakes his head. “That is a rhetorical question. It does not require a response.”
Aubrey bristles, but he does not speak.
“Ensuring you are no longer a threat,” Phineas says. “That is my goal for this discussion. What is yours?”
“To leave here alive.”
“These goals complement each other. I want to see you leave here alive as well.”
The other three people at the table shift uncomfortably in their seats at the declaration, but relief is a soft tingle in the tips of my bare toes as I envision walking out of here.
To freedom. To Cal and Beck. To Monique and the girls I adore.
It’s all within reach. Phineas—the most unlikely ally of all—is offering it to me.
I just have to figure out how to get a firm grasp on it.
“You do?”
“Yes, we will already have our hands full with covering up Ms. St. James and Mr. Granger’s deaths.
Another death connected to the President would raise red flags and draw undue attention to him and, by extension, me.
We are weeks away from closing the deal on the Qatari military base, and I need him focused on that not delaying work so he can pretend to grieve his wife. ”
“I wouldn’t,” Aubrey protests.
“You would, Mr. President. I would require it because it would be what the American people want to see, and if you speak out of turn again, I will have you removed from the room.”
“I’m glad we’re aligned, Mr. Gambit,” I say, needing his attention back on me.
“As am I, Mrs. Taylor, and I only need one thing from you in order to make it a reality.”
One.
A small number with huge implications.
A singular request that will give me my freedom but at what cost?
I wrack my brain for potential asks—grant him access to the computer Aubrey’s men removed from the house in Bethesda when they ceased me so they can destroy Jordan’s files and everything from my investigation, sign an ironclad NDA that prevents me from pursuing justice for my son and so much as uttering any of their names, agree to stay with Aubrey and birth another child.
Everything I come up with feels like too much and not enough all at once.
“What is it?”
My voice shakes, and I hate that. Hate the way those verdant pools Phineas calls eyes glow with delight at the tremors. Hate the way my heart keeps trying to sink and soar at the same time because hope and despair are battling for control of my body.
Phineas spreads his arms wide, encompassing the whole of the table within his impressive wingspan as he asks me to do the one thing I thought he never would.
“Join us.”
Aubrey scrubs a hand down his face. He is clearly outraged, but he is so afraid of Phineas making good on his promise to remove him from the room that he doesn’t even breathe.
He just sits there silent, seething along with Cordelia and Langham.
They don’t want me among their murderous ranks, which is fine because it is the last place I want to be.
“Why would I do that?”
“Because it is the only way to ensure your safety and that of your loved ones,” Phineas explains, bringing his forgotten wine glass to his lips.
“You know too much, Mrs. Taylor. Your only choices here are death or allegiance. As I explained before, death would be an inconvenience. I am also of the opinion that it would be a waste of a brilliant mind that would provide me with a foothold in an industry I have yet to make a name for myself in.”
“You don’t need my help to break into tech.”
“Do you truly think it wise to try to talk me out of your usefulness?” The pointed edge of his tone conjures the image of Langham’s syringe plunging into the side of my neck.
Death or allegiance.
Those are my choices.
“No,” I breathe.
“I did not think so.”
We stare at each other, neither of us blinking, and I feel it. His power. His influence. His cruelty. There is no way for me to win this. I drop his gaze, resenting the slow trickle of defeat that starts at the crown of my head and ends at the tips of my toes.
He celebrates my surrender with another round of solo applause, pushing to his feet to give me a standing ovation that doesn’t end until he is in front of me, beaming triumphantly.
“Now that you have agreed to my terms, you are free to leave. My home. Your marriage. The White House and all the constraints that come along with it. It is obvious that you and the President make each other miserable, and I like to see my friends happy.”
I blink up at him. “Friends?”
“Yes, very good friends.” Phineas holds out his hand, and I take it allowing him to help me from my seat.
His skin is cold and far too soft. I try to pull away, but he tightens his hold, baring his teeth in a smile that’s all danger and no joy.
“And you should know, Mrs. Taylor, that when I call on my friends, I always expect them to pick up.”