Chapter 14 #2
‘Congratulations, Dayna, you’re succeeding in the most idiotic thing I’ve ever known you to do.’
She rolls her jaw.
‘I’m sorry. I just can’t understand why you want to step into a bullfight.’
‘Little Princess didn’t explode because of things my dad did, Clark.
’ She gets off the bed and paces, hands on her hips.
‘Caspar sabotaged the rig. I can never prove it, but he admits it. He’s proud of it.
Swinging dick of the fucking Persian Gulf.
He messed with the valves so the pipelines couldn’t take the pressure. ’
‘What?’ I’m up now too, standing opposite her, the bed between us.
‘SP was going strong. We had some big contracts coming in. I was about to take over management of the rig.’
I close my eyes and push away thoughts of Dayna being hurt, or worse, Dayna being one of those who died.
‘Caspar sabotaged the rig because he wanted SP out of the Gulf. He couldn’t take the competition. Caspar killed my dad, Clark. He’s the reason my dad is dead, and he died thinking he was to blame for all those lives lost. I can never forgive Kahn for that. Never. Do you understand?’
I drag a hand back through my hair, trying but unable to process everything that’s happened, that’s happening. ‘Fuck.’
‘That’s why I need the well. I don’t have something to prove to the industry. I want to take back what my dad had. I want to stick my fingers up to Caspar and hurt him the only way I can.’
‘He knows you’re in with a chance of winning now. That’s why he came here.’
She opens the top of her robe and shows me her angry red-purple neck. ‘If he thought he could get away with it, he’d kill me to keep me out of the Middle East.’
She moves to the wall, and I notice for the first time that there’s a knife lodged there. She yanks it out and throws it down on the bed. Morbid fascination makes me pick it up. I turn it in front of my face. All I can think about is how I’d like to put it through Caspar Kahn’s throat.
‘You’re pulling out of that deal, Dayna.’
‘No. I won’t. Haven’t you heard what I just said?’
‘I heard that Caspar wants to kill you. You’re pulling out.’
Her eyes fill. ‘You just don’t get it, do you? He killed my dad, Clark. The person who loved me more than anyone else in the world.’ She tries to stifle a sob, but it breaks past her fingertips and her shoulders heave.
I put the knife on the bedside table and go to her, wrapping my arms around her, pulling her into me.
Kahn is going to pay. But now, I bring Dayna to the bed and lie back, hugging her into my chest. ‘This isn’t you, Dayna.’
‘I told you, I’ve changed. I’m not the girl I used to be.’
‘Yes, you are.’ I pull the duvet over us and hold her hand against my chest. With my other hand, I stroke her hair, and I kiss her scalp until her breathing calms. I’m anything but fucking calm.
When I’m certain she’s sleeping, I slip out of the bed, put on my shoes and jacket, and take the knife from the bedside cabinet.
I take the lift to reception, hanging my bow tie loose down the sides of my neck and untucking one shirt tail on route. When the lift pings on the ground floor, I walk to the service desk, off-balance enough to seem drunk, not unsteady enough to be escorted off the premises by security.
I lean over the counter towards the receptionist. ‘Excuse me, I need you to help me.’
She doesn’t flinch, clearly used to seeing drunken men in black tie at 1 a.m. ‘Are you a guest of the hotel, sir?’
‘Yes. I, erm…’ I lean closer and whisper, ‘I’m staying here with my partner, Mr Kahn. I’d, ah, appreciate your discretion.’
She looks me up and down, sizing me up. ‘Of course, sir. How can I help you?’
‘We’ve been at the crude energy conference all day.’
She nods.
‘We’ve both had a few too many. I made an insensitive comment about him not discussing our…
’ I clear my throat. ‘…relationship, while we’re here.
He didn’t like it. Oh, it was my fault, but he’d had too much to drink and overreacted.
So he went to our room, and I think he’s probably passed out drunk.
Now my key card won’t work, and he isn’t answering the door.
If he’s sleeping, I don’t want to wake him.
Could you reset my card for me? And, please, please, don’t disclose our?—’
‘Of course, sir.’ She takes the card from me. ‘What’s your room number?’
‘Four… five-five. No, five-six. Ohhhh…’ I drop my head into my hands. ‘I think maybe it’s five…’
‘Three-eight?’
I lift my head and deliver the most heartfelt, drunk-looking smile I can. ‘You. Are. An. Angel.’
She smiles and hands me Dayna’s spare key card, now set up for Caspar’s room. ‘Sir, I suggest you head straight back to your room. We don’t want security to make a scene.’
‘I will indeed. I have some making up to do. Thank you.’
Back in the lift, I tuck my shirt into my trousers, my fury returning at a rate of knots.
I stop outside 538 and listen. When I don’t hear anything, I slip in the card and let myself into Caspar’s suite.
The lounge is empty, but I can hear movement in the bedroom.
The door is ajar, and low light spills out through the gap.
I hold my eye to the opening. I can hear the sounds of pants and grunts.
The room comes into focus. A petite woman in black suspenders and bra is straddling Caspar on his bed, riding him, her hands in her hair.
He starts lifting his hips, grunting harder, and grabs her waist, pulling her down on him until she lets out a fake, high-pitched screech.
I wait until he’s about there, then I step into the room.
Caspar holds the woman still. She squeals when she turns to see me standing in the doorway holding Caspar’s knife.
‘I suggest you get out,’ I snarl.
She swings her leg over Caspar and gathers her things: condoms, lube, a sheer cover-up that wouldn’t cover much at all.
‘My money,’ she snaps.
Caspar sits up, pulls off his condom, and covers himself with the duvet. He opens the drawer of his beside cabinet. I brace myself for a weapon, but he pulls out a wad of notes and throws them at the woman, who collects them from the floor and dashes out of the room.
I calmly take a seat at the foot of Caspar’s bed and hold up the knife.
‘The rumours are true. You, a Layton. And a Cross.’ He laughs, a sound that reverberates in the room. ‘The irony.’
‘I think this is yours. I wanted to make sure you got it back.’ I throw the knife with as much force as I have.
It lands right where I want it to, in the leather headboard, about four inches from Caspar’s head.
If I’d missed, right now, I’d only have been sorry if it landed further away from his face.
I rush to him before he has a chance to shift from startled into action. I’ve no idea what I’m going to do until I’m holding the point of the knife to the middle of his throat, pricking the flesh just enough to make his eyes bulge with terror.
‘You pick a fight with Dayna, you pick a fight with me. I’m a lot bigger and a damn sight more reckless. You don’t want to fuck with me, Kahn.’
I move the knife back a touch and he speaks. ‘This is new. A Layton defending a Cross rather than wanting to end one.’
‘What the fuck are you talking about?’
He chortles. Short. Sharp. ‘I wonder how Harold would feel about this.’
‘Harold isn’t the head of Layton Oil any more. I am. And I’m warning you to stay away from her.’
‘Harold might be willing to lose that well to me, Clark, but I’m certain he won’t want to lose to a Cross. If you have a hand in making that happen, I’d say it’s you who should be warned. And I might not be able to touch her now, but if she wins my well, her time will come.’
I hold the knife to his throat again and I push, watching his flesh stretch as it bends under the tip of the blade.
Then I smack my other fist into his cheek, sending his head whipping back against the bed, his eye socket immediately swelling.
I throw the knife onto the floor. ‘Your time will come long before hers if I get so much as a hint that you’re going near her.’ I get in his face and hold his head up by the throat. ‘I will end you.’
I leave him there, quivering, but I know this isn’t over. Dayna can’t submit an alternative bid. Her life means more to me than any well or whatever revenge she thinks she needs.
How do I convince her?
I head back to her room and quietly slip inside. She’s still sleeping. Peaceful. Beautiful.
I take off my blazer, socks and shoes, and lie on top of the duvet next to her. She hums contentedly and whispers my name, reaching out a hand to touch my chest.
‘I’m here, baby,’ I whisper, shuffling onto my side and pulling her into me, her back to my chest. She tugs my arm across her stomach, sliding it across the silk of her nightwear.
Finally, my adrenaline wanes enough to let me lie still, wrapped around her. If it weren’t for the duvet between us, and the fact I have too much to work out before I can sleep, I’d think this night ended perfectly.
I drop my nose to her neck and inhale the scent of just her. No perfume, no cleansing products, just something that is distinctly Dayna. Something that aches everything deep under my ribs because I hadn’t realised the extent of how much I miss it. Her.
She moans as my breath meets her skin and I can’t help myself, pressing my lips to her neck, attempting to soothe the evidence of her conflict, gently teasing her lobe between my teeth.
I’ll stop if she isn’t interested. I don’t know where her head is.
I don’t want this because she’s had a rough night.
I want all of her. For good. I want her to be mine now, tonight, forever.