Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
“If you’ll believe in me, I’ll believe in you. Is that a bargain?”
—The Unicorn, Alice in Wonderland
McQueen Enterprises, an imposing steel-and-glass masterpiece, dominates the town’s north end.
The tallest structure in Wonderland rises up on Church Street to scrape the cloudless sky.
I stride inside with purpose toward the stocky security guard, brown hair slicked back away from a face that looks like it hasn’t cracked a smile in years.
Those watchful eyes that miss nothing. His hand rests on the pistol holstered at his right hip.
He greets me with a grunt and a nod. He’s seen me here often enough to know I’m not a threat, and I offer him a cheeky grin and a wink in return.
The polished marble floors and gigantic industrial chandelier looming over the lobby create a sophisticated and austere first impression.
Behind the front desk are big, black block letters that read MCQUEEN ENTERPRISES.
The pretty receptionist at that desk looks up from her computer, her enormous eyes widening in horror when she sees me.
But then a tentative smile spreads across her mouth, and when she offers me a shy wave, I continue toward the elevators without acknowledging her.
I press the button marked forty-five and ride the car up to the top floor, and as soon as the doors open, I step out into the vestibule and storm toward Roman’s office.
Roman’s secretary, bent over a filing cabinet drawer, straightens and swings around. Clutching a stack of files, Gillian Jackson shakes her head. “Oh, no, you don’t,” she chides sharply as I attempt to stride past her. “Mr. McQueen is in a meeting and insisted he not be disturbed.”
I ignore the woman, whose salt-and-pepper hair is pulled back into such a severe bun, I don’t know how her ears don’t meet in the back of her head. “As if I give a shit,” I drawl.
She drops the pile of folders on her neat little desk. “You’re not getting past me this time.”
Challenge accepted. “Fucking watch me.”
Gillian springs from around her desk, chasing after me. “Mr. Hathorne, wait! No!”
But before the spry woman can stop me, I swing open the office door and, smirking, stroll inside.
I hate it in here. It’s unwelcoming and bleak, with gray walls and a massive L-shaped glass-and-metal desk.
Every inch of this space is as cold and caustic as the man who commands this office, like a king presiding over his dominion.
Not even the late afternoon sun streaming in through the wall of windows behind Roman softens the severity of this room.
The atmosphere crackles with authority, and as I step across the threshold, I’m sorry, but I’m not bothered by Roman’s piercing glare.
“Hello, Maddox,” Roman says, his voice smooth, the syllables delivered with pointed precision.
“I’m sorry, Mr. McQueen, he—”
Roman cuts off his secretary’s frantic apology. “It’s fine, Gillian.”
“He’s a wily one, Mr. McQueen,” she mutters.
His unforgiving gaze flicks over me. “That he is.” Then Roman folds his hands in his lap and smiles coolly at the man sitting across from him. “William, will you kindly excuse us?”
The man, lanky and blonde, quickly masks his disappointment and grips the arms of the brown leather chair. “Of course.” He pushes himself to his feet. “We’ll pick this up later?”
Roman gives him a slow shake of his head. “That won’t be necessary. Consider your matter”—he pauses for a fraction of a second, but that microscopic beat, somehow, holds a wealth of meaning—“in capable hands.”
Relief replaces William’s dismay. “I’m grateful.”
“Nonsense,” Roman scoffs with a wave of his hand. “You would do no less for me.”
“Still, I thank you for this. I didn’t want to have to involve you, but…” William’s sentence trails off.
“We’re friends, William,” Roman reminds him. “Your family has been in my home. You’ve eaten at my table. Please tell Malinda and Cassidy I’ll personally ensure this…situation…has your desired outcome.”
“You’re a good friend, Roman.” At Roman’s cryptic grin, William turns and gives me a cautious glance as he passes me on his way to the door.
Once he’s gone, the door closes behind him, and Roman lifts a single brow at me. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your presence?”
I slap my palms on his pristine desk, leaning toward him. “I need you to find someone.”
His other lifts. “Any person in particular, or some poor random soul?”
“This isn’t a game, Roman,” I snarl as I push away from the desk. Pacing, I cut right to the point. “Alice had a stalker while she was at Krobes.”
Roman’s shoulders are squared, and that smarmy expression instantly shifts to one of concern. “Explain what you mean by a stalker.”
“The word is pretty fucking self-explanatory,” I snap. “But I’ll break it down for you. Some jerkoff, soon to be a dead man, stalked her and terrorized her. This prick scared the living shit out of her so bad he’s the reason she came home.”
A muscle tics in Roman’s jaw. His upper lip twitches, lifting in a vicious snarl, but his rare show of emotion is fleeting, his expression settling back into chilling stoicism. “Tell me everything.”
Sometimes I forget Alice spent about as much time at McQueen Manor as she did at Tiger Lily.
Roman watched her grow up and treated her like a third daughter.
I suppose that’s why—for that split second—he wasn’t the ruthless businessman who practically rules Wonderland—and does it with an iron fist. For one split second, he was a father worried about his daughter’s best friend.
I share the details that Alice told me, whipping myself back into a nasty temper. My imagination is running absolutely wild, and my brain feels picked apart, with the jagged pieces put back together wrong. I need to hurt the man. I need to hurt him until I murder him.
And then I’m going to piss all over his fucking corpse.
“I’ll do this for Alice, of course, but I want something from you.”
“Of course you do.” Because every-fucking-thing with Roman is a quid pro quo.
He reclines against the back of his chair, a cruel sovereign on a tarnished throne. “I want confirmation of his death.”
Good trade. “I’ll bring you his heart on a fucking plate.”
Exhaling, Roman flares his nostrils before demanding, “So, who is this…future dead thing…who earned himself an unmarked grave?”
“Rook Knavish,” I spit out the name, hating how it feels skidding off my tongue.
Pursing his lips, Roman nods, as if digesting a revolting meal. “I’ll tell you when he’s found.” Then, as I’m leaving, he says, “Maddox, one other thing.”
With a roll of my eyes, I stop and spin. “What, Roman? What other thing, Roman?”
“The gentleman you so rudely interrupted when you barged in here?”
“What about him?” I ask, shrugging.
Roman leans forward and clasps his hands, laying them on the desk. “Alice isn’t the only woman who has, unfortunately, experienced…misfortune…at a man’s hands. Virgil Adaway raped William Zanders’s daughter. My dear friend would be most appreciative if Virgil sustained a fatal happenstance.”
The way Roman sprinkles a topic with ten-cent words.
Misfortune. Happenstance.
How fucking pretentious. But it’s whatever.
“Not a problem,” I tell him. “Just tell me where, when, and how messy you want us to make Virgil’s fatal happenstance.”
Because March and I work best as a team.
“Messy enough that the next man who gets it in his head to harm a woman in Wonderland, he’ll remember Adaway’s tragic accident.”
So, he wants it gross. Awesome. I’ve never murdered a rapist before. “Consider it done.”
Trust and believe I’m going to have a damn fine time making that nasty motherfucker regrets every breath he’s ever taken.