Chapter Twenty
The grandfather clock chimed noon, and Darius Boyd took a long swig of his bourbon. Polite society would tell him it was too soon to be drinking hard liquor. To that, he would tell polite society to go to hell. The alcohol had no effect on him, and the bourbon kept him focused.
Sunlight beamed through the windows, casting its rays over the pile of correspondence on his desk.
Most business was conducted over text and email these days, but he preferred the old way of doing things.
Business lunches, hard copy proposals, mailed invitations, cash over bitcoin.
It frustrated those who worked with him and for him, but no one dared to challenge him .
He made them a lot of money, and he could snatch it all away before they could blink.
They were loyal to him because of their greed. That was their folly. Oh, he understood greed. He’d made a career out of manipulating people because of the love for money. But he knew what was truly important. Power was far better than money. Power could get him anyone and anything.
He wouldn’t tolerate a threat to his power. Steal his money, and he exacted revenge. Go after his power, and he went in for the kill.
A sinister grin curled his lips. Ah, the kill. Talk about the ultimate power trip. He lived for the kill. The ecstasy of holding someone’s life in your hands. The potent rush of sealing their fate with one word or one action. It was a high like none other.
He craved it like an addict in need of his next fix, but where an addict grew more desperate the longer they went without, Darius had no such urgency. The longer he waited, the more calculated he was. The more he relished the chase…and the capture.
The knock on his office door was expected. He didn’t bother ordering the person inside. Instead, he polished off his drink, poured another, and waited for his visitor to come in.
“I have the information you asked for.”
Darius sipped his bourbon slowly, relishing the sweet burn down his esophagus. “Tell me.”
His man stepped further into the room, adjusting his tailored suit jacket to conceal the weapon at his side.
His eyes were as black as his heart — if he had a heart.
He was average height and average build with average features.
His complexion gave no clue as to his heritage.
Neither did his accent. He was a man without a country, known only by the moniker Mars.
“The people asking questions belong to a private security company, Atlas Security.”
Darius raised a brow. “Private investigators?”
“Not really. Primarily security for high-profile clients. No one knows why they’re asking questions now, but Remington Corteman is on their payroll.”
Darius placed his glass on the bar and turned to face Mars. “The bitch doesn’t know when to let it go.”
“She knows about the girl.”
Darius narrowed his eyes, the only sign of his reaction. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Darius sat behind his desk, the mechanism of his plush leather chair creaking as he leaned the seat back. His elbows lay on the armrests, and his fingers steepled in front of his face.
“I know you don’t like to talk, Mars, but I’m going to need more words from you.”
The man told his employer what he knew. Atlas Security was sending operatives to ask questions about Marty Warner.
Remi Corteman was involved. They found the girl in a Podunk town.
The girl was caught on camera along with a known associate of Atlas Security who wasn’t an employee.
The girl left one Podunk town for another.
The only information that mattered to Darius was about the girl. She was still alive. That needed to change.
“I don’t think I have to tell you what’s at stake, do I, Mars?”
“No, sir.”
“We could lose everything if we don’t clean this up and soon.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Mars vowed.
“No,” Darius said slowly. “I want the girl.”
“Sir?”
“The girl belongs to me. Bring her to me. Take care of anything or anyone who stands in your way.”
“Anything and anyone?” Mars didn’t need the clarification as much as he wanted to savor his directive.
“Whatever it takes.”
This time, when there was a knock on his office door, Darius responded.
“Just a minute!”
He looked back at Mars, but the man was already slipping out a different exit. Mars had his orders. He would carry them out flawlessly. All Darius had to do was wait. The girl would be his soon enough, and he would show her exactly what a mistake it was for her to run.
“Come in,” he finally called.
His son breezed through the door with all the confidence and polish he was bred to have. Dressed in an expensive navy suit accented with a blue tie and matching pocket square, he wore the million-dollar smile that was made perfect by years of orthodontia.
“You’re not going to believe this.” Cassius Boyd waved a piece of paper in the air as if it were a first prize ribbon from a county fair.
“I don’t know about that. If it’s good news for you, I’ll believe it.”
“It’s the best possible news. I got a call from Patty Whitfield with MLD Holdings. They are giving me their endorsement. They pledged half a million dollars to start.”
Darius flashed a bright smile that he knew would please his son. “Wonderful! We should celebrate. Dinner at Chateau de Lumière? My treat.”
Cassius beamed. “Sounds perfect. I’ll tell Nyla. She’ll be up for dinner at her favorite French restaurant. Will Mom be able to join us?”
Darius barely suppressed a look of disdain. “Octavia left earlier today for New York. I don’t believe she plans to be back until Sunday.”
“Then she’ll be back for the next speaking engagement?”
Darius dipped his head in a brief nod. “Yes. She won’t miss it. We’ll both be there. We want to be with you every step that you’re on the campaign trail.”
“All our plans are coming together, Dad.”
This time, Darius’ smile was genuine. “That they are, Cass. We’re going to have everything we deserve.”