by Wasp, A. E.
Even now, sitting in the warm sun behind those security walls, Danny was still scared.
A long, low whistle made me turn my head.
“Hell of a view out here,” Steele said, striding towards us.
He could have been talking about the turquoise Gulf water, or the white sandy beach. Hell, he could even have been talking about Danny. But his eyes didn’t move a millimeter from mine as he stalked closer.
The sun was suddenly a hundred degrees hotter. I grabbed for my drink and sucked it down. His dark eyes crinkled at the corners with his grin.
He was wearing low-slung cargo shorts and an insanely tight heather-gray T-shirt that clung to his broad chest like cling film and said, Surely Not Everybody Was Kung Fu Fighting.
Gah.
Hot Latino men big enough to break me in half had always been my weakness. But a guy like that, who also looked at me like I was more than just a collection of holes he could sink his dick in and wore ridiculous T-shirts? With that sweet-as-syrup Southern accent that peeked out every now and then? He was my kryptonite.
Eyes locked on mine, he took the pink drink from my hand without asking, wrapped his lips around the straw, and sucked slowly, cheeks hollowing with each long pull. When the glass was empty, he licked his lips, like he was chasing every single drop.
I nearly whimpered, and my dick perked up. I wondered if he noticed.
His gaze dropped to my crotch, and he smiled. Yeah, he’d noticed.
I cleared my throat. “Josie said you were looking for me. Come to escort me to the ball?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest. I needed just a tiny bit of distance before I fucking evaporated from the heat in his eyes.
And damn if his smile didn’t widen like he knew exactly what I was trying to do.
I couldn’t help but return his smile. I was pretty sure I was grinning like a fucking fool, and I didn’t care.
“That Miss Josie. So helpful.” He grinned. “I was looking for you,” he agreed. He turned to look at Danny for the first time and gave him a wink. “Both of y’all. You can come, too, if you want to, Danny. Wes — the redhead you met last night — has a preliminary report on the senator. Thought you might be interested in hearing what he has to say.”
I nodded. I definitely was.
Danny swallowed and shook his head, grimacing as he laid a hand on his stomach. “No. Uh. No, thanks. You two go ahead. I think… I feel like maybe I have a headache? Maybe too much… sun?”
Steele gave me a look that asked, Is he for real? And I replied with a shrug that said, I know, he can’t lie for shit.
Steele nodded once, then smiled at Danny. “M’kay. You feel better, okay?”
Danny nodded as if he had no choice but to obey Steele.
I snorted.
“I’ll ask Miss Josie to bring you some water, too,” Steele said, frowning at the drink in Danny’s hand. “And maybe something to eat.”
“Th-thanks,” Danny breathed gratefully like Steele had offered him a new car instead of a bottle of water.
“Sure.” Steele wrapped his arm around my waist. “Later, man.”
He led me toward the three-story wall of windows that formed the rear of the main entrance hall, with its white stone floors, enormous oak front door, and the sweeping stone staircase that led to the second floor. From the stilted, two-second tour Ridge had given us yesterday, I understood that the bottom floor was mostly entertaining areas - a huge living room, library, dining room, and kitchen, plus an echo-chamber of a room with a piano and a bunch of plants. The second floor had six fairly small bedrooms - three in the front, and three in the back - each with an attached bath. And the top floor housed the media room, along with the master bedroom, which apparently no one ever went into, for reasons that hadn’t been explained.
“Keep feeding him, and Danny’s gonna propose to you,” I teased.
Steele grunted. “He’s going to be disappointed, then.” He looked at me seriously. “I’m not the marrying type.”
I nodded. I got that. Hell, neither was I. Romance was bullshit, and forever was a pipe dream. All I wanted was respect.
“Besides,” Steele continued, typing a message on his phone one-handed as we crossed the hallway and climbed the stairs, “Miss Josie lives for this shit. Stand still too long, and you’ll become her new project.”
“How’d you guys meet her?”
“She came with the house.” He shrugged, his hand still firm around my waist. “How much has Ridge told you about the situation here?”
“Hmmm. Let me think…Nothing.” I rolled my eyes. “The flow of information with Ridge is decidedly one-way. He needs to know every time I fart, but all he told me was that he had some shit to take care of in Florida. Something about a funeral.”
“Your brother’s protective.”
“He’s a control freak.”
“It’s possible to be both, you know.” He sounded amused again.
“Maybe.” I turned my head to give him a hard look. “But I wouldn’t suggest trying it.”
He chuckled. “Duly noted.”
“So the funeral?” I prompted. “That’s how you… inherited this place?”
He sighed. “Short version is, we all knew a guy named Charlie… in a professional capacity, you might say.”
“So he was a criminal,” I surmised.
He grinned. “Yeah.”
“And?”
“And… somehow, he had an attack of conscience right before he died. I don’t know why or how. I mean, we weren’t besties, and he hadn’t exactly stayed in touch. He left us a bunch of shit to do, like I mentioned yesterday. Assignments.”
“You called them crusades last night,” I pointed out. We hit the second-floor landing and kept climbing.
“I’m starting to think maybe they are,” he said seriously. “At first I thought… well, I dunno what I thought. Charlie didn’t exactly give us the opportunity to decline his invitation. He has dirt on all of us, so it was more like, sign up or hang. So I wasn’t real kumbaya about getting involved. But if the other assignments are like this one? Taking down assholes like Senator John Harlan? Sign me up. I hate bullies.”
I snorted. “Let me guess, you were protecting the nerds back in… wherever you went to high school? Somewhere in the south, I’m guessing.”
“Charlton County High School in Folkston, Georgia. Smack between the Okefenokee Swamp and the Florida border.”
“So you’re a redneck?” I teased.
“American by birth, Southern by the grace of God,” he agreed. “And I was a scrawny out gay Cuban kid. I was protecting myself against bullies anyway, jus’ seemed neighborly to extend that protection to the other victims of the social order.”
I grinned. “How does a chivalrous, redneck swamp-man suddenly become a criminal? One who gets blackmailed by another criminal into joining a crusade?”
We hit the third-floor landing, where a hallway ran left-to-right. At the left end, a large wooden door stood closed, but we headed right, toward the sound of voices.
“That’s a long story for another time,” Steele said, rubbing the back of his neck while he led me into the room, his other hand snug at the small of my back. “But I’m not technically a criminal. Ain’t never been charged with anything.”
“Finally,” Ridge said when we walked into the room. He looked me up and down suspiciously, like he wondered if we’d maybe stopped for a quickie along the way. “Chat on your own time, Alvarez. We have shit to do.”
Honestly. I was gonna kill him, and any court on Earth would acquit me.
“Relax, Pfeiffer,” Steele said.
The room was snug compared to the other living areas in this monstrosity of a house, and I liked it. Three big, deep brown sofas arranged in a horseshoe shape faced a giant monitor. A small wet bar, complete with popcorn maker stood against the far wall…not that anyone was making popcorn right now. The carpet was thick and plush, and even the walls were covered in some kind of fabric. Whether for a
coustics or atmosphere, I wasn’t sure, but I could tell from the impressions in the carpet that the sofas had once been arranged in three rows and had only recently been moved.
Ridge sat in the seat closest to me, at the end of the horseshoe closest to the door, dressed all in black like he was going to a funeral… or out on a job.
On the other end of the horseshoe was Wes, the redhead I’d met last night, wearing a T-shirt that looked like a Star Trek uniform. He didn’t look up from whatever he was typing on his phone as we entered.
Two other guys, who hadn’t been around when we got in yesterday evening, sat on the middle sofa. They glanced suspiciously from Ridge’s face to mine, and back again, like identical twins were some strange voodoo they didn’t understand.
Steele slid his palm down over my hip and grabbed my hand. The gesture was supportive - like he was reminding these guys that I belonged. It was also blatantly proprietary, but from this guy, I dug it.
Like, a lot.
Meanwhile, I could practically hear Ridge’s teeth grinding, but I ignored him.
He’d been simmering since yesterday morning — longer than that, probably; since whenever he’d seen the pictures — and he was spoiling for a fight. I was in the mood to give it to him.
He knew I was no chaste virgin. Hell, he’d been the first person I’d told when I slept with Jake Montero back in high school, just like Ridge had told me when he’d fucked Monica Selms…and Pete Burkett (though sadly, not at the same time.) But we weren’t in high school anymore. I knew he hadn’t been celibate since the day he’d dropped me off in D.C., but I accepted that it was none of my damn business who he’d slept with unless he chose to share. I don’t know why he thought it was any of his business to police my sex life, either my personal one or my professional one.
I wasn’t a naïve idiot either. It was like the man forgot that he’d had help sneaking around Alamosa in our formative years, providing alibis and distractions as needed. I had solid instincts for people — not something I expected the other guys to believe, given the little matter of Snow White, but something Ridge should have known — and they told me that Steele was trustworthy. Besides, I wasn’t exactly jumping into the guy’s bed. It was only a harmless flirtation, a thing I hadn’t known I needed.
At least for now.
“Leo Shook,” the older man said, standing up and coming forward to shake my hand.
“Hey. Breck,” I introduced myself. “Nice to meet you.” I almost added Officer. Guy was obviously some kind of law enforcement. Strange to see him in this crowd.
He nodded.
The other man, who seemed to be trying to blend into the sofa with his brown hair, brown eyes, and generic looks, lifted his chin. “Carson Grieves.”
His voice was vaguely accented - not quite American, but not quite anything else either. British, maybe, or halfway in between.
I nodded politely.
“Okay. Let’s get this party started,” Wes said, looking up finally and tossing a smile to both Steele and me.
Steele motioned to the empty corner between Leo and Ridge, and I led the way, taking the seat closer to Leo and leaving Steele to sit closer to my brother.
“John Harlan, Senior Senator from the great state of Florida,” Wes said, pushing a button that made Snow White’s face appear in living color on the giant screen. His eyes looked soulless even in real life, but enlarged they were ten times worse.
“He’s a Floridian?” Leo asked, shaking his head sadly. “I really should’ve made time to vote in the last election.”
I laughed. The guy was cute, in a silver fox kinda way.
“You really should have,” Carson agreed. “It’s people like you who ruin things for the rest of us.”
Leo turned his head, narrowing his eyes at Carson. “The rest of you? You mean convicted felons who can’t vote?”
“Convicted felon,” Carson sniffed, clearly offended. “I meant people who live in other states, obviously. I’ll have you know, I’ve never been convicted of anything in my life.”
I noted he didn’t say he hadn’t committed the crimes, however.
“Besides,” Wes said. “You can vote again as soon as you’re off parole.” All eyes in the room turned to look at him, and he shrugged, his brown eyes dancing. “Best criminal’s an informed criminal.”
“True,” Carson said. “Much like Senator Harlan, everyone’s favorite john?” He pointed at the senator’s picture on the screen, and I laughed, catching the joke.
“Sorry, but he was not my favorite john,” I corrected. “I had lots of others I liked better.”
Steele snickered and put his hand on my thigh, squeezing appreciatively.
“Exactly like Harlan,” Wes agreed. “Get this. Former fucking pastor of a church up near Marianna.” A picture of a large, brick church appeared on screen, with Harlan and his family standing in front of it.
“He is a pastor?” That was possibly the most horrifying piece of information I could learn about the guy. “He only liked boys who looked young.”
“Oh, not just the ones who looked young, Other-Pfeiffer,” Wes said. He pressed something else on his remote, and pictures floated up onto the screen. A couple of boys who looked just like Danny. One who looked just like Ridge and me.
I felt like I might be sick.
“Duncan Schaeffer’s parents made a complaint to the Board of the church that Harlan had inappropriate contact with him. So did Jamie Carmichael’s,” Wes said.
“And lemme guess, nothing happened,” Leo surmised.
“Depends on what you mean by nothing,” Wes said, an obvious thread of anger in his voice. “Both families made sizeable down payments on houses shortly after their complaints. Carmichael’s dad scored a job in the church, too.”
“Fuck,” I breathed. That was so much worse than anything that had happened to me. I’d been attacked, yeah, but I’d made choices that led me there. And I’d never imagined Snow White was a person I could trust. Unlike these boys, who’d had no way of knowing.
Steele’s fingers squeezed my leg again in support.
“Marcus Diamond’s family was the only one who contacted the police and made a formal complaint,” Wes said, pulling up a picture of a police report. “Of course, this record doesn’t officially exist, and no charges were ever filed.”
Leo leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Dirty cops?” he growled.
“Or true believers. Who’s to say?” Wes said. “Either way, they did wrong by this kid. Parents moved out of town a couple years later.”
“Least they got him out of there,” I said.
“Nah,” Wes said softly. “They didn’t. Marcus Diamond killed himself a year after this report was made.”
A cold tingle snaked up my back and raced down my arms. John Harlan was a monster.
“He’s dead,” Steele rumbled. “One way or another.”
Carson was staring at the screen, at the picture of Marcus Diamond’s brown curls and elfin features. “But first, we take away everything. His money, his power, his friends, his legacy. We leave him with nothing.” He looked at me. “Vengeance.”
I nodded. “It won’t be easy. Guys like him don’t get where they are just because they have money or prestige. He’s got insurance policies.”
“Like what?” Leo asked, turning toward me. The force of his attention pinned me to my seat.
“Like…” I swallowed and let myself feel the weight of Steele’s hand on me, let it soothe me. “He has these legendary parties. I know people who’ve been to them. He invites his friends to hang with him and hires a bunch of boys and ladies to entertain everyone. But the deal is, he tells the hookers to make sure they get his friends in certain positions and hands out bonuses if they do. The other boys figured it was part of his kink, right? Snow White always tapes his own encounters, so maybe he likes watching his friends getting it on, too? But I figured it was blackmail. That’s why Cisco didn’t cancel him as a client, even after what happened wi
th Danny. That’s why no one ever even breathed his real name.”
Wes shook his head, disgusted, but Carson shrugged. “It’s what I’d do. Get leverage like that on someone, and you’ve bought their silence. Best case scenario, if one of his victims talked, would be mutual destruction,” he mused. He looked around the room at each of us in turn. “Which is why we need to turn the game back around on him.”
“My man,” Wes said, pointing a finger at him approvingly. “What do we need to do?”
“We identify his weak spots, and we target them without mercy,” Carson said without inflection, and I reassessed my opinion of him. Fucker wasn’t bland, he was scary. In a good way. “Who are his major donors?”
Wes pulled a keyboard out of thin air, and his fingers flew as he punched the buttons. A list appeared on the screen: names, addresses, and amounts so staggering I blinked, making sure I was reading correctly.
Leo whistled under his breath. “Asshole was making a mint.”
“How can he be that popular?” I asked, horrified.
“He’s not.” Steele’s fingers rubbed a soothing circle just above my knee. “He’s not just holding that leverage over people’s heads so they can’t tattle on him, he’s making people pay through the nose to ensure his silence.”
“Not for long,” Carson said with a satisfied smile. To Wes, he said, “Number twenty-three on the list.”
“J. B. Waters, Pharmaceuticals?” Wes said, clicking the name. “From Pittsburgh, P-A. What’s so special about it?”
Carson’s smile widened. “I own it.”
“The fuck you do,” Ridge said, half-doubt and half-hope. “How?”
“By being Benjamin Waters, heir to the Waters fortune, of course.” Carson brushed an imaginary piece of lint off his immaculate button-down shirt.
Leo sat back. “You do understand you can’t hope to impersonate a real person like that. His picture will have been in the media, stockholders will have seen him in person.”
Carson rolled his eyes. “You’re adorable, Leo.” To Wes, he said, “Go on, pull up the Board of Directors.”
