Chapter 7
KANE
Lily practically runs from my office.
Did I frighten her? How?
I thought I did well. I didn’t order her to her knees and use her mouth. Neither did I demand she strip, bend her over the desk, and fuck her little pussy until she moaned like a whore. On balance, I was an exemplar of professionalism.
An hour of her company and I’ve been hard for sixty minutes. I rearrange my aching cock and balls. I’m desperate for release, but I don’t give in to the need to touch myself. Nope, I open my phone and check the app that tells me exactly where she is, to within a couple of feet.
It will also show me what she’s looking at on screen.
I watch the dot go to our penthouse, and sigh with relief when I see the notification as she opens the phone.
“Good girl,” I say under my breath.
I switch to watching her screen live.
Then my heart stutters as the first thing she does is open an internet browser, and search for Kane Anderson.
She’s searching me.
All the customary things appear. My businesses—the legal ones anyway—and a gossip page detailing my rise to power through Croydon.
My nickname too. She flips through, seemingly looking for something specific.
Then she goes to images. It’s mainly public, paparazzi photographs from galas I’ve attended with other London mafia bosses, women on my arm.
Then she finds what she’s searching for.
A promotional shot I don’t even remember doing.
It’s head and shoulders, and I’m staring right into the camera, my eyes appearing more violet than usual, stark against a dark background.
The photo was taken partially in profile, my hand raised.
It remains on that image for so long, I’d think that she’d put the phone down. But no. There are movements. She zooms in and out, shifting around.
I’m as held by her actions as though she were in the room with me.
At last, she closes the tab and moves to more humdrum things, and I’m left wondering what that was about. She’s half my age, and I’ve just become her boss. It’s probably nothing more than that.
Yet.
She’s meant to be mine. It’ll take some time, wary creature that she is. She might be looking at my photograph, but she was clearly overwhelmed. And until then, I’ll discover everything I can about my Lily.
Next, she logs into her email and fills in the forms for her new employment.
It’s the work of a second to access her password for an online store, log in, and find the registered address. I almost send it directly to my head of enforcement, but instead copy it to my notes app. Sometimes it’s best to deal with personal business personally.
I peruse her Wishlist, relishing getting to know her through it. Mostly they’re modest little things. Paperback books, music, eBooks, some clothes. It’s only about a hundred items and the word wish drags at me.
She re-opens her email account, and I can almost feel her confusion as the store shows a new login notification.
Her suspicion grips me by the throat, until I realise this is an opportunity. I grin as I transfer all the items across, and click.
There’s no time to be smug though, as her location dot is on the move.
I don’t think. I’m on my feet and walking out, immediately. If she’s going somewhere, I’m following.
At first I think I’m doing a decent job of this whole stalking thing. I stay at a reasonable distance, watching her in the reflections of windows. I could, and probably should, keep a bigger gap and only track her phone. But the desire to see her and be nearby is insatiable.
But it’s like she senses me. Time and time again I have to slow or turn away as she stops, looking around her.
She walks into the main commercial area of Croydon and I’m a bit confused about where she’s going and why. It’s only when she heads into the bank that I finally get it.
Sweet, honest little thing. I’m so used to lies, or extracting the truth along with a chunk of flesh, it didn’t occur to me she might genuinely need to go to the bank.
I linger on the other side of the street, making a phone call to my second-in-command, Foster, to tell him I’m out of the office for the afternoon, and will focus on the legit branch of the Croydon empire, the hotel work, for the foreseeable future.
I guess he recognises that I’m distracted, because he gives me shit for not bringing today’s security detail—with me, and he’s right, because I don’t threaten to maim him for his clucking like a mother hen over a fucking mafia boss a decade younger and six hundred per cent more ruthless than him.
Not only that, I think of Lily, alone in the world, and tell Foster where I am.
Ten minutes later two of my men are discreetly nearby.
All the time I have my gaze trained on the small figure of my girl inside the bank. My heart jerks as she emerges into the midday sunshine, until I see that her face is crumpled.
I mean to keep watching her from a distance, I really do. Stalking is best done with clear boundaries, right? She won’t welcome my obsession, I’m aware of that. The whole reason for following her is because she’s been scared by men before.
Lily covers her face with her hands, and her shoulders heave. That sleek brown hair has frizzed and come loose from the ponytail.
But I’m crossing the road in long strides, straight to her.
“Lily.”
Her head tilts up and shock registers a split second before I reach her and wrap her in my arms, pulling her into my chest.
“Mr Anderson,” she whispers, clutching my lapels. Then she shakes again, and sobs.
“It’s okay. Whatever is happening I’ll fix it.” I’ll burn that bank to the ground for upsetting her.
“You can’t. I have to go…”
I swear silently that every tear will be avenged with blood. Whose blood is yet to be established. A couple of passers-by eye us curiously. I’m well known around here, and embracing crying girls isn’t my usual activity.
Above Lily’s head I mouth “car” to my men, and moments later one of my discreet navy SUVs slides up.
“I need to return to the office, ride with me.”
Lily blinks up at me as I guide her to the back seat. It shuts behind us before she can get out more than a, “But…”
Then I gather her into me again, pulling her legs across mine. “What happened?”
“The clerk,” she hiccups, “wouldn’t let me access my account.”
“Mmmhum.” I make an understanding noise, but I have no idea what she is upset about. That’s all? Tears over a bank account?
“I have to go to Waltham and get my ID. And I can’t, I really can’t!” Her voice rises to a scared wail.
“What happened, Lily?” I have to know. “Why can’t you go back?”
Then it’s all spilling out. How her parents died and left her with her aunt and uncle. How she was an unpaid house cleaner and dogsbody. How she was unhappy, but managed to tell herself it wasn’t so bad, and got her graphic design degree. She’d been planning to get out.
“And then,” I prompt when she falls silent.
I indicate to the driver to cruise around as I wait for her to speak, still tucked into me. Fuck, she’s so delicate and small. I’m a giant compared to her, and all I want is to keep her safe.
It takes long minutes, but eventually she begins to talk. Lily sniffles out how her cousin, two years younger than her and just ascended to being the Waltham kingpin, had told her she was to do nothing but clean his house until he was ready to trade her in marriage.
I growl at the thought of any other man having her as his wife.
She’s mine.
“I did something bad,” she confesses.
“I understand.” Was it murder, I wonder idly? I’d be disappointed, I admit, because I’d prefer to have the privilege of killing anyone who upset my angel. I could lay the bodies of her enemies at her door, like an overgrown and homicidal pet cat.
“I stole from him,” she says in a tiny, guilty voice.
My laughter is inappropriate, and she blinks up at me.
“He tried to steal your life.” And he tried to take her from me, though none of us knew it at the time.
She presses her lips together as she considers this.
I stroke her shoulders and frown. “Why Croydon?”
“I didn’t have anywhere to go.”
She fled across London, as far away from Waltham and their influence as she could, to the place that’s Waltham’s opposite. Notorious for being dangerous, rather than safe. A concrete jungle, not wooded parks and expensive gardens. Commercial and new and crass, the opposite of classy and ancient.
She ran, though she doesn’t know it, to me.
“What about friends? From university or school?” It unsettles me how close I was to not finding her.
“I don’t find it easy to make friends,” she confesses, almost too low to hear.
“What is wrong with people?” I snarl.
“Nothing.” Lily shakes her head. “It’s me. They like me, or tolerate me well enough when we’re in groups or they have to. But no one sticks around when it’s more than mildly inconvenient.”
And that steals my heart. There’s blood gushing into my chest cavity, because Lily deserves someone who will stay, and that person is going to be me. I will never leave her.
Or let her go.
“It’s the same for me,” I confess before I can think better of it.
“Really?” She peeks up at me, and I smooth my hand over her hair.
Nodding, I avoid telling her it’s justified with me.
I don’t tell her that being a mafia boss is the loneliest job imaginable.
I don’t say that people tolerate me because I’m powerful and ruthless.
I just hold her, and will her to understand that she never has to be lonely again, because I will always, always be there for her.
Whether she can see me or not.
“Yes. And I don’t honestly care what you wear.” Nothing would be a great option in my mind. HR might not agree, but they’re disposable.
“I need clean clothes.”
Again, naked and in the shower seems a fine choice.
“And I really want this job,” she says earnestly. “I want to fit in. And I won’t in…” She leans back and plucks at her T-shirt, then her gaze snags on my sodden shirt. “Oh no. I’ve snotted all over your shirt.” She covers her mouth in horror, and I laugh. “I’ll pay for the cleaning.”
“You want to clean my clothes like my little wife?” I can’t help but tease, prising first one hand then the other from her face.
“Maybe?” she whispers.
And oh hell, I’ve managed this long with her close without getting a hard-on, but if she leaves openings like that we’ll have serious problems. I set her onto the seat next to me, at a safe distance.
“How about this: I’ll pay for your work clothes, but only if you don’t skimp on it. And I’ll sort out your account.” I have a way to fix that.
“But—”
“You’re not going back to Waltham,” I reply, and there’s no room for discussion. I’ll deal with those arseholes, but Lily won’t see them again.
“That’s too generous,” she protests, but her eyes light.
“Not at all.” She has no idea how self-interested I am. “We’ve got some shopping to do.”