18
R
iley,” Betty pointed her finger at me as soon as I walked into the locker room at the club at the start of my shift. “Mr. Kaiser wants to see you in his office.”
I dithered nervously as I tied my apron strings with trembling fingers. “Oh, okay,” I breathed as my head was stuffed with thoughts of Gunner and Ronan and my broken phone. “D-Do you know why he needs to see me?”
“No,” she replied, and I waited for her to expand on her answer, but she didn’t.
It won’t be long before Bitchtective arrives to ask me why I hadn’t answered her calls or messages or why the bug in my phone wasn’t working. Shaun still had the broken parts of my phone on the floor, so I didn’t know what he did with them. But it worried me that Gunner had that look in his eye when he spotted Shaun in the distance. He was seeking revenge, and if he punched the tooth out of Shaun’s mouth last time, then I’d hate to think what he’d do next time.
“Now,” Betty raised her voice, making me flinch, then clapped her hands so I got my arse into gear.
“Oh,” I jumped and walked briskly down the hall toward the stairs as my apprehension grew with every step. It was bad enough having to enter his office to drop his evening meal off, but it worried me that maybe he’d found out about Gunner and me.
My heart rate increased as I dashed up the stairs and turned down the hallway. Ronan’s door was always the first I came to, and if it were open, I would’ve popped my head inside to say hello, hoping to drop a hint as to why Mr. Kaiser wanted to see me.
The silence was deafening, and my nerves wound into knots in my stomach as I approached Mr. Kaiser’s door and knocked.
“Enter,” Mr. Kaiser answered, and I gently opened the door to find him sitting behind that large, treacle-colored desk in the smoke-filled room.
He wore a white button-down shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows. A glass of whiskey and a sea of paper were on the desk. The top two buttons were undone, and I could see a shadow of dark hair on his chest as his large hand rested on the desk while the other held a cigar. As I approached his desk, his gaze differed from the last time I saw him, and fear snaked down my back at the scrutiny on his face.
Mr. Kaiser leaned back in his chair and looked over me as I stood there waiting for him to speak. He inhaled on his cigar and blew out the smoke, briefly clouding his face with smoke.
“You asked to see me?” I was the first to speak, since his mouth refused to move and he’d rather stare at me than tell me why he wanted me there.
He hesitated, taking his time to speak, which only added to the trepidation. “Come over here,” he ordered me, pointing to the space beside him.
My cheeks burned as I stepped around the desk, so I was on his side as the temperature soared.
“Closer,” he demanded, flicking his hand, so I stepped into his space.
“Is this better?” I asked in a shaky voice.
“Closer,” he flicked that finger again, and I hesitated because if I stepped any closer, I’d be practically sitting on him.
“Um,” I stepped closer, feeling embarrassed as my thigh pressed against his leg.
“Get on your hands and knees,” he ordered, and I thought I was mistaken. What did he ask me to do?
“I’m sorry?” I asked to clarify, a little stunned, but still shaking nervously.
He pointed to the floor. “Hands and knees.”
I lowered my body to my knees as those dark eyes narrowed in amusement and cruelty. Then I leaned forward, placing my hands on the floor on all fours. Seconds passed, and he did and said nothing, as all I could see at this level were his shins and large hands resting on his lap.
This was weird, and I couldn’t understand why he asked me to come up there specifically to get on hands and knees for him. Is this how powerful men intimidate and humiliate women? Whatever. The more he tormented me, the more driven I was to find damming evidence against him so that I could see my freedom.
The sound of fabric brushing made me quiver, stifling a gasp of horror, and I dared not look at what his hands were doing. Then he lifted a leg and rested his foot on my back, and I turned my head when flapping fabric caught my eye to find that it was a handkerchief. He then rubbed the shoe that was on my back with the handkerchief. Shined his fucking shoe on my back.
Once satisfied, he took his foot off my back, placed it on the floor, and flicked his finger at me to get up and stand behind the desk. Again, he dragged it out before, arranged the papers on his desk, took a swig of his whiskey, inhaled his cigar, and just when I was about to lose my faith in life, he said, “We’ve had some interesting occurrences here recently.”
I nodded, wondering what he was discussing and not interested in explaining. Not that I care because the man just treated me like a workhorse. Right now, I hate him.
He pointed his finger at the wall and added, “Mr. Byrne said that you would be a good fit for a new role in the club.”
“What sort of role?” I asked, hoping he wouldn’t ask me to dance, because I had two left feet and was not particularly sexy like those beautiful cheeky dancers on the stage. I was also underage, so I couldn’t serve behind the bar.
“It’s a…how shall I say, a role of a delicate matter,” he raked his eyes over me again, making me feel naked. “We need someone to be our eyes and ears on the floor and take notes of certain conversations.”
“You want me to be a spy?” I asked as he spoke in riddles, so I needed him to use blunt language. “On the floor and in the kitchen?”
“Yes.” He sucked on his sweet-smelling cigar again and took another sip of his whiskey. “Since you lied to me about your age and used a fake ID to slither your way into my precious club, you would need to prove your worth and regain our trust by working on a small project.”
This could be interesting, especially if this project of spying would get me closer to unlocking his safe and planting cameras under his desk.
“We have an enemy in the midst,” he continued, “and I want you to find out who is plotting against us.”
I swallowed, cleared my throat to speak clearly, and didn’t sound nervous. “Does this have something to do with you being closed last night?”
He nodded slowly while his eyes were filled with doubt, as if he wasn’t sure it was a good idea to assign this job to me. “We need to find the rot in the system and remove it. So, your new role will be to listen to the staff's conversations, and if anyone acts suspiciously or makes traitorous statements, report them back to Ronan or me. Do you understand?”
I nodded as my head swirled with thoughts and feelings that I’d betray the good people I work with. “Will I be paid more in this new role?” I challenged him because I was putting myself at risk.
He watched me closely, tilting his dark head back as if he wanted to see me from a different angle. Initially, I thought he was angry with my gall, until a smile stretched across his handsome face and his eyes twinkled in pride. “Sure,” he said. “I’ll arrange a little extra on the side, and if you find some relevant dirt, we’ll give more.”
“Thank you,” I sighed. I was getting closer to achieving my goal of buying a car, and once I got one, I could flee from this godforsaken town.
He flicked that finger to the door, “You can go now.”
“Just one more thing…” I held my stance. “Does anyone else know what I’m doing? I mean…does Betty know?”
He shook his head. “The only people in on this are you, Ronan, me…oh, and Gunner, but he’s in another reality.” He revealed hints of his dangerous side, reminding me who he was. “So, you’ll keep it between the three of us, won’t you?”
A shiver snaked down my spine as I swallowed over a lump in my throat. He terrified me. He always terrified me. This man before me was my enemy; I'd be ten feet under if he knew who I was. But Bitchtective didn’t care about the potential harm she was causing me; all she cared about was putting him back in prison.
“I was asking to know who to trust and who my confidants are,” I added to show that I was thinking ahead.
“Trust no one, Riley. Trust no one. And you answer only to me and Ronan. Do you understand?” That tone told me everything I needed to know. Don’t mess with the Kaisers.
“Yes, I understand,” I replied gently as I turned my back and left the sweltering intensity of his office.
Trust no one.
Did he also mean not to trust him because I didn’t? As I trotted down the stairs, eager to return to work, the image of him shining a shoe on my back flicked about as my cheeks burned. I couldn’t believe he shined his fucking shoe on my back. What an asshole.
Naturally, I would adhere to his demands, as it sounded like Ronan’s idea to put me forward as the mole in the overgrown field, but my objective was to put me at the top of the pyramid. I’ll wear my Riley Laws mask, but plot and scheme working for both sides so that Annika will benefit one way or another.
At the end of the day, I still needed a gun, so I hoped Cheetos would come through for me. Trust no one. Mikael Kaiser’s menacing, deep voice circulated in my head. Trust no one . Could I trust Cheetos as well?
When I walked back into the kitchen, a cloud of guilt surrounded me, as I was about to betray the very working-class people I worked with. Everything looked and felt different. Could they tell that I was a planted mole? Did I look different to them after being sent up to Mr. Kaiser’s office for a private chat?
Heads turned when I walked into the busy kitchen as grills were sizzling and one of the chefs smiled and cocked his eyebrows as two other of the kitchen staff called out a friendly hello to me.
“Sorry, I’m late,” I said as I put my head down and emptied the dishwasher and stacked plates.
Six staff members were solely working in the kitchen, and I couldn’t imagine any of them being dumb enough to mess around with their crime bosses. Surely, they must have known who the Kaisers were. Or maybe they didn’t understand because the Kaisers' original territory was in Larsson, and they dominated more and more terrain through coercion and force.
Whenever I heard staff talking, I pricked my ears, but the topic was only ever work-related. Organizing meals, asking for someone to pass the garnish, asking if an order had been covered, etc. Too busy to talk about anything that’s not work-related.
“Petra, can you take the rubbish bags out?” Chris, the sous-chef, asked me, pointing to the plastic bags by the door in the back.
“Oh, it’s Riley,” I corrected him, now that I could use my other fake name.
He frowned, paused for a few seconds, then focused back on the grill. I rushed to the bags, grabbed them, then walked down the hall to the back exit that opened into the alleyway where the dumpsters were. After throwing them into the bin, I glanced down the alleyway to the road to find that familiar black unmarked police vehicle and the door opening.
I groaned, as I wasn’t in the mood to have a conversation with her tonight or any time, for that matter, but she needed an explanation. First, checking that I was being watched by staff inside Savile, I ran to the car. Before Bitchtective could speak, I told her, “My phone broke, so if you’ve contacted me, I couldn’t reply until I buy a new one.”
She was irritated and opened the back door, leaned in, and pulled a box out. “I was aware,” she stated, handing the box to me.
“How did you know?” I asked her.
“I have my ways,” she said, slamming the back door, then opening the front door. “Have you planted the cameras yet?”
I shook my head. “It’s tough to get in there alone.”
“Find a way,” she ordered impatiently. “Maybe,” she waved her hand at me. “You could try doing something with your appearance to be more sexualized, so they’d drop their guard. There’s nothing like sex to make men lose their heads…well, at least for two minutes.”
I screwed my face up in horror. “I’m not going to do that,” I hissed, imagining myself trying to seduce Mikael Kaiser.
I’d look like a fumbling idiot. He was terrifying and imposing, and he held a sense of immense power just by sitting there and looking at me. I couldn’t spend two minutes with him without shaking and stuttering; there was no way I could distract him with my wily ways by seducing him.
“Well, you better do something or else I’ll be contacting the adopted parents of your little brother and letting them know there has been a drastic mistake and he must be given back to your mother,” she threatened, as she climbed back into the passenger seat of the car.
I leaned over to see who was in the driver’s seat, and it was that silent cop again—the man who rarely spoke but drove on command, like a string puppet.
“I gotta go,” I hurried away from the car, still wondering how she knew my phone broke.
There could only be three possibilities: team Shaun, Cheetos, or Ronan. None of them were friends, and I couldn’t imagine any of them colluding with the cops. I had no time to think deeply about it, so I ran back to the fire exit door, swung it open, ran down the hall to the locker room, and stopped dead to find Betty jotting something down on a clipboard.
“Oh, sorry,” I panted, catching my breath from running back.
She didn’t speak, yet I could feel her eyes on the apparent phone box in my hand, probably wondering where I got it from. With shaky hands, I opened my locker, threw it inside, and glanced at Betty, who was watching me. I flashed her a smile and didn’t wait for her to return a smile. Instead, I ran back to the kitchen to get back to work.
It was almost amusing that I was working for both sides, the police and the criminals, spying for them both, yet on neither side. I was alone in this battle, yet only I needed saving.
“Petra,” sous chef Chris used my wrong name again. Actually, I didn’t mind. We could use it like a pet name. “Orders to go upstairs.”
I grabbed the trolley, placed the covered plates in the warmer, and then wheeled it along the hall to the elevator. It’s always Ronan’s door I saw first, my Simmering Summer, and I knocked gently and opened the door. He pressed the phone against his ear and grinned, waving me inside. Rourke, who was Gunner, was my Crushing Winter, but what should I call the man in the room next door?
I left the meal on his desk with the cutlery. As I moved closer to Mikael Kaiser’s office, my nerves played havoc on my body, prickling my skin and trembling my hands. I hoped he wasn’t there or on the phone, too. But when I knocked on his door, my heart sank when he called for me to enter.
“Where would you like it?” I asked him as I pushed the door open.
“Here,” he frowned and pointed to the space in front of him on his desk.
Those eyes followed me as I tried to steady my hands. I took the cover from the trolley and walked with it, praying that I didn’t drop it. Once it was out of my hands and on his desk, I walked briskly to the door, and even with my back turned, I knew he was watching me.
Once I was free from the intensity of his sauna, I cooled my breath and wheeled the empty trolley to the elevator. Ronan might be my Simmering Summer, but Mikael was my Smoldering Fall, a sea of reds and oranges that, on first impressions, looked hot but were cold to the touch.
No. Wait. He wasn’t my anything—just a Smoldering Fall.