Chapter 22
Aiden
“I didn’t think I would see you so soon, not once you went to ground,” Eric says. He has a smirk on his face, an expression of unearned triumph.
“Trying to kill us all for the simple sin of not allowing you to steal our bride and use her as a pawn was a temperamental mistake,” I tell him. “A hail of bullets may as well have been a temper tantrum on your part. And for what? To make an enemy of us?”
“You have a lot of enemies right now,” Eric says. “BP was popular. He did a lot of things for a lot of people.”
“He did nothing that anybody should miss,” I say. “And you know it.”
Eric gives a casual shrug. “Have you come here to kill me?”
I have the very strange feeling that he would not mind if I had.
Men in my line of work find themselves tired after a time.
Fighting multiple battles on multiple fronts that never end, knowing that an assassin’s bullet, or blade, or perhaps poisoned cream cake is never all that far away takes a toll on the strongest of souls.
Even those who enjoy doing battle and take glee in evil start to tire after a time.
I see the weariness in Eric’s soul, as I soften my gaze and let my natural charisma do the work. This man wants me. My brothers believe it is a sexual thing, but I don’t think so. I think it’s deeper than that. Eric does not want to fuck me. He wants to be commanded.
His will to dominate is not as strong as I first imagined.
His attempts on our lives have been flaccid, in a manner of speaking.
Sprays of bullets, screeching tires, kidnappings.
We took them seriously because we lost Teddy, and we are afraid of losing Ella.
Leo’s gunshot wound is not from Eric. It’s from Luke.
“I don’t intend to be that merciful,” I say.
“Oh?” He smiles, and I sense his excitement.
“No,” I say. “You see, Eric, I have been making moves of my own. The armed squads are fine if you are doing business in a lawless state, but fortunately for me, the laws of finance and commerce are still being enforced in most of the civilized world, even if no others are.”
“And?”
I pull a small packet of papers out of my pocket. They’re ceremonial really. The real deeds and such are committed electronically. But this will help get the point across.
I hand it to Eric.
He opens them and shuffles through them.
“What’s this?”
“These are controlling shares in all your operations. For the last few weeks, I have been buying seats on the boards of companies, big and small, all of which operate under your umbrella.”
“I’m too bored to go through all this right now,” Eric says, petulant. The facade of masculine dominance and control is beginning to crack in earnest. “Tell me what you’ve done, or spare me the death by boredom and just kill me.”
“You will not be sending armed men against us again, because those armed men now work for me. Does that make sense?”
He smiles. “You don’t have the capital for that kind of move, Levin. That would take billions in…”
I shake my head at him. “No, Eric. It would take billions if I owned a grocery store or two, or had a job at the local school, or did one of myriad useful, productive things. But those are not the weapons I wield. I could explain to you the leveraging of stocks, shares, and futures. I could draw you a graph where lines go up, and smiley faces all around it, but you’ve already proven inept in the understanding of anything besides the petulant old money use of excessive force because deep down you still think you’re a king.
But you’re not. You’re a knight on a battlefield you barely understand, and you just got taken. ”
I watch several expressions chase over Eric’s features, and each and every one of them confirms my original suspicion. He does not want to be in charge. Not deep down. Right now, he is practically panting with submission.
“A man like you isn’t well poised to take me,” he says. “Even if you might have controlling interests and whatnot. There are still people who will be loyal to me…”
“No, dear boy,” I say, emulating his phrasing.
“There won’t be. Ever. You don’t understand how fickle people in our world are, how easily they are bought off.
BP’s evil little fucking associates are being flushed into the light, one after another.
His organization has been dismantled. And you, thinking that it was the perfect time to come after me because you thought I was distracted, made a huge mistake.
Grief does not distract me. Love does not distract me.
Right now, the love of my life is in the arms of my brothers, no doubt carrying one of our children in her belly, and I can promise you now, that I have had a lifetime of learning to be a fearsome father, and that is only going to intensify from here on out.
So you can bend the fucking knee, or you can lose your legs. ”
I am standing over Eric now, while he sits in that armchair that I am sure suddenly feels far too hot and far too restrictive. He squirms beneath my gaze like a worm who sought the sun and found it far hotter than it imagined.
“I will make you suffer,” I tell him. “I own you. So the first thing I will do is put you out of this house that is far too big for you, and send you to a cottage in the north of Scotland.”
“Not Scotland!” he gasps. “My toast is too buttery, my tea too hot!”
Even in this moment he is acting like a smart-ass.
That’s good. It means he’s in a submissive frame of mind, acting a brat, wanting Daddy to come down on him hard.
These games do not have to be sexual to work.
The dynamics are effective whether I am interested carnally or not.
If anything, the power is much more easily wielded in a situation like this where I have no emotional attachment whatsoever to him, or to what happens to him.
“Did I say Scotland? I meant Russia,” I say. “Would you like to keep commenting, or is Siberia cold enough for you?”
He shuts his mouth.
“You are being banished, Eric. You will live the rest of your life in a modest house, with modest things, and a modest income. You will work a modest job…”
“In Siberia? What am I supposed to be? A wood cutter?”
“Works for me,” I shrug. “You’re going to stay there until you have learned your lesson. I’ve arranged a marriage for you. It’s time you had a wife to keep you in line.”
“What?” Now he is sitting bolt upright.
“Did you think buying you out meant just leaving you poor? No, Eric. You are going to be completely broken by the time I am done with you. You are not going to be able to remember the man you once were.”
“Who am I supposed to be marrying?”
“She has ties to the Russian mafia,” I tell him. “So I would keep her happy, or you will be dealt with by people who also have a fondness for removing legs.”
“This is insane,” Eric trembles. “All because I had you shot at a bit?”
“Yes. All because you threatened the lives of my family. You are lucky you are not going to live the rest of your life in a rat-infested dungeon being used for torture practice.”
“Why aren’t I?”
I reach down and muss up his hair. “Because I’ve always liked you, Eric. You’ve got charm. And maybe you can be rehabilitated.”
He looks confused as hell. I am sure he understands what has happened. What he doesn’t understand is why he now feels the way he feels.
Wrong of me, perhaps, to hear my brother’s declaration of love wrecking some part of Ella’s sense of self and forcing her to recalibrate her understanding of where she is in the world, then use that goodness to tame evil, but I use all resources at my disposal.
I said once that I could not get rid of Eric because he ran too many things, and had too much influence.
That was true. It was also before I hired a team of forensic accountants to tell me precisely where he was vulnerable, where he was over-leveraged, and where he could be shorted.
That took care of most of the threat, but it wasn’t entirely dealt with.
Even with most of his controlling interests now out from under him, he does still have friends. That’s why I want him alive enough to be able to give directions from time to time, but to enjoy his twisted, dark, and frankly probably almost entirely subconscious desire to be commanded.
“You’re an absolute fucker,” he says. “Well played, old man, well played indeed.”
“Thank you,” I say, inclining my head. I toy with the notion of making him get on his knees, but decide against it. It’s too overtly carnal. I don’t want my owned boy getting the wrong idea. I definitely wouldn’t like him knowing I think of him as an owned boy.
“Time to meet your bride to be,” I say.
He sighs. “You have her here already? Of course you do. You’re a monster, Mr. Levin, a complete and utter creature.”
I take that as the compliment it is meant as. He has all but given up on himself. Before I walked into this room, he thought of me as prey. Now he has been reminded that I will never, ever be the object of a hunt for long.
I go to the door and open it.
“Elana?”
A woman strides into the room. Tall, statuesque, curvy. She has crimson lips, raven black hair, and bright blue eyes. She is wearing a simple blue dress made sinful by her curves. Black leather boots run up under it.
Eric shivers and stands up a little too slowly for her liking. I see the curl of her upper lip at the same time he does. He leaps up, but it is too late.
“This is to be my wife?” His voice is eager.
“This is to be my husband?” She asks the question at practically the same time, however her tone is louder, her voice harsher, and her bearing far more dominant.
“This is Eric the Red,” I tell her. “This is the man you’ve agreed to take in marriage.”
She looks him up and down. “You look better standing,” she says in a tone that suggests he looks generally awful. I could spend a lifetime watching Eric be roasted by his wife to be.
“Take me shopping,” she says. “Now.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says.
“Thank you,” Eric mouths to me.