“Are you being held hostage? Blink twice if you are.”
She laughed, a soft sound that seemed almost too throaty. “No, I’m here voluntarily.”
Sampson grunted something under his breath and then gave me a pointed look. “You can interrogate her later. We have a plane to catch and civilization to return to.”
We rode to the airport in silence, returning the car to the valet, and checking our bags ourselves to skip the unnecessary human interaction. When we made it to the first class lounge, Sampson dived on the breakfast buffet like it was an actual lifeline. I directed Aviva toward a comfortable set of couches, and Hendrick flopped onto an armchair sideways.
“Fuck, it’s early. Why did we get flights this early?”
“Because you said you wanted to leave at the first sign of dawn, remember?” I looked at the girl beside us. “If I’d known you were stealing a girl, I would have been a gentleman and booked a flight at a more respectable time.”
Aviva let out a strangled noise that could have been a cough or a laugh. “Not stolen, remember? Adult.”
“Well, obviously not in your right mind, if you’re going along with whatever half-assed plan this asshole talked you into.”
Hendrick just shrugged, not even defending himself. “I told you to get four tickets. Who did you think the other one was for? My invisible friend?”
“You stopped seeing Jeffery when you were six.” Hendrick glared at me, and I gave him my own smug smirk back. “No, I foolishly believed you were bringing Nurse Ratched, or whatever her name was that you’ve been fucking for weeks. Convinced her to give you a little in-home care, one-on-one.”
Aviva flushed, and I chased away my guilt. She should know what she was signing herself up for if she went along with this. Hendrick just waved a hand like that was yesterday's news, which obviously it was.
Sampson broke the tension of the conversation by returning with a huge tray of pastries and a single coffee. He sat it in front of himself, obviously not willing to share.
I stood with a sigh. “You guys have the manners of barbarians.”
Sampson glared up at me from sleep-hooded eyes. “What? I’m not your fucking bitch, Otto.”
Still shaking my head, I looked at Aviva. “Come on, we’ll get you some breakfast.” Aviva went to grab her purse, which was cute, but I waved it away. “Nah, it’s all included in the ticket.” I led her through the line, collecting the things she pointed out and putting it on a tray. Fruit salad and yogurt. Healthy.
“So, what’s actually going on? Last time we met, I got the impression you hated Hendrick and everything he represented.”
She eyed a roast vegetable quiche. “Can I have three things?”
Her eyes were too big for her face. That’s what gave her that fragile doe-eyed look, even if her gaze was shrewd. “You can have one of everything if you want.”
She gave me a quick grin and put the quiche on the tray too, grabbing a tiny bottle of hot sauce. “I still hate everything he represents. But he made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”
I knew all about Hendrick’s deals. My jaw tensed at the idea of Aviva being one of the girls who threw themselves at Hendrick for his old ass family name and bulging trust fund.
She looked over, and I mustn’t have kept my thoughts off my face well enough, because she frowned too. “Not that kind of offer. I didn’t prostitute myself for a first class trip to New York, Otto. Jesus, you guys are all the same.”
She stepped around me and over to the beverage section, pulling out a herbal tea bag from the carefully curated collection of artisanal teas. She ignored me as she filled a cup with hot water and strode back to the couches.
Halfway there, she stopped and doubled back, not stopping until she was in front of me, as close as she could get with the tray between us. “Let’s get this straight. This isn’t some bad reboot of Pretty Woman. This wasn’t my fucking idea, but when life hands you an all-expenses-paid trip around Europe, you damn well take it. But there were three rules, and I’m gonna make them really clear to you and Sampson as well.”
She spun on her heel, marching back toward the guys until she was standing in between all the couches, her knees bumping the coffee table.
“Listen up. Rule number one: I’m not fucking any of you, so you can stop looking at me with those damn bedroom eyes,” she hissed, pointing at Sampson.
He grinned, and it was a shark smile. “Didn’t want to screw you anyway, Good Girl. You aren’t my type.”
I saw her shoulders stiffen, but she didn’t snark back. “Two: I’m not freeloading this. So, no paying for my food, or anything else. I’m paying Hendrick back the flights and hotels… eventually.”
It would take her a decade to pay off this flight from Tampa to NYC, let alone Europe, but I didn’t tell her that.
“Third thing?” I prompted. She looked at me over her shoulder.
“No questions. We do what I want to do, and go where I want to go, without the psychoanalysis.”
Yeah, that one might have been aimed directly at me.
“Viva, as long as you don’t wanna go to my place for dinner with my folks, I don’t care where the hell we go,” Hendrick joked, drinking some of Sampson’s coffee, and nearly losing a hand by way of a butter knife.
I waved Aviva into a seat and handed her the things she’d chosen for breakfast. “Sorry, Aviva. I wasn’t implying you were, uh, swapping one service for another. I just know Hendrick, and he could talk a nun into a tango between black silk sheets, you know?” I said in a low voice, because we were beginning to draw attention from the surrounding travelers. “I know you said no questions. But where are we going first?”
“New York City.”
Hendrick lifted his head up. “I need some stuff from there too.”
I hummed low. I was anxious to get out my journal and write notes, but I resisted. “And what about your passport?”
She froze, and her face turned down, like sadness was dragging it low. She looked like a kicked puppy. “I don’t have it. It's back home in Columbia.” She gave me a sad smile, waving a hand like it meant nothing. “It was a bit of a crazy idea anyway.”
Sampson grunted, though he looked like he was back to dozing. “Don’t stress it, Good Girl. I’ll take care of it.”
She blinked at him, where he was strewn across the couch in uncaring insouciance, and then looked over at me, like I was the calm voice of reason. “Can he do that?” she whispered.
“Don’t know if you fully comprehend this yet, Aviva, but once you spend some time with these two, you soon will. There is no obstacle that money can’t overcome, and Sampson is richer than God.” I nudged her shoulder with mine. “Welcome to how the other half live.”
Chapter 8
Aviva
First class was an experience. Actually, being with the guys in general was an experience. They were moved to the front of lines, given extra attention, given the best of everything because they oozed two things. Money and good looks. I tried to ignore the incredulous eye widening that all the customer service people got when they saw me tagging along at the back, and after one gate assistant tried to stop me going on with them—because I was an obvious interloper—Hendrick had taken to throwing an arm around my shoulders and holding me close, like we were lovers. The incredulous looks got worse, and some were downright catty, but at least no one barred my entry anywhere.
But first class itself? It was a little slice of luxury, even though it was only a two and a bit hour flight. We were seated immediately, in seats that were as wide as a recliner and with enough leg room for an NBA player. It was better than being crammed in economy, but the guys still looked reasonably disdainful. Hendrick raised an eyebrow at Sampson.
“What? You said I couldn’t bring the jet. I’m not your travel agent, asshole.” He slumped down in his seat, with Otto sitting next to him, and Hendrick and I across the aisle.
Once we were seated, a pretty hostess came down, greeting us with c
hampagne and ‘fuck me’ eyes cast in the direction of Sampson and Otto. At least she kept them to herself in regards to Hendrick, who I assume she thought was my boyfriend.
“Please, enjoy the complimentary champagne as the flight is boarding. If you need anything further, don’t be afraid to press the assistance button.”
She bustled off to greet other passengers, and I belted myself into my seat. I turned off my phone, knowing I only had a few more hours until my parents arrived at the center and realized I wasn’t there.
Otto leaned across the aisle. “Now, I know you said no questions…”
I grinned at him. He was really easy to like, dammit. “You’re going to struggle with that one, aren’t you?”
Sampson snorted a laugh, and Otto elbowed him in the ribs. “I have to email our travel agent about a destination, even if it’s just for the first leg.”
I chewed my lip, pulling out the copy of Jules Verne that I’d stolen from the center. Hendrick raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t see anything about being a klepto in your medical files, Viva.”
“Of course you read her medical files,” Otto groaned.
I ignored them both, and flicked the book open to the last page. I’d read the note over and over before deciding to do this, talking myself in and out of it several times before committing. It read:
Come and find me, and if our destinies are meant to intertwine, I’ll be waiting with the Francs at the corner of 5th Ave and E79th.
Hendrick read over my shoulder, then gave me a look that I knew too well. I’d given it to myself in the mirror numerous times since I read the words.
“We’re traveling around Europe because you’re chasing someone who could’ve written in that book five years ago? You know how that sounds, right?”
It sounded crazy, I knew that. But I tensed my jaw and glared at the three of them. “Rule number three.” Otto was looking at me, not with incredulity, but with actual concern. Like I was actually mentally unwell still. Heat flooded to my cheeks and I doubled down on my stubbornness. “Maybe he’ll be in New York and this will be a very short trip, okay? Or maybe he won’t be there at all and we’ve had a great trip around the world. Just… let it go.”
Hendrick shrugged, and grabbed the book, flicking through the pages. The Captain came over the speaker and gave the usual speech, while the flight attendants ran through the safety briefing that no one in the first class section actually watched.
Finally, we were taxiing down the runway, and I gripped the seat as we lifted into the air. It always terrified me, this moment where you were hurtling down the asphalt in a giant tin can only held to land by some tiny wheels that they literally pulled off the ground.
We jerked up and down a bit, bumping across the runway, and my heart stopped. This was the part where we hurtled off the end of the runway and into a steep embankment, where the plane snapped in half, and the front—with all the first class passengers—burst into flames.
A warm hand covered mine, and I realized I’d been gripping Hendrick’s forearm like a vice. “It’s okay, we’re in the air now. Safer than driving a car.”
I unclenched my fingers from his sleeve and gave him a tight smile. “Sorry,” I mumbled, and when the hostess came back around with a bottle of champagne, I gladly held my glass out for more.
Two episodes of some cop show, one gourmet snack of cheese that smelled like ass, three complimentary chocolates and too much champagne later, we were touching down at JFK. We alighted first, and I swerved a little bit as I stood. The champagne had definitely gone to my head. Otto put his hand out to steady me as Hendrick carried my duffle bag.
I dreaded turning my phone back on, but as we stood at the baggage claim, I switched it off airplane mode.
Still nothing. I breathed out a sigh of relief, then guilt washed over me. They were going to drive all the way to Tampa and I wasn’t going to be there.
Me: Checked out early. Going to take some time to sort some things out. I’m fine, I promise. I’ll text every day. Love you xxoo
Then, because I was a chicken, I turned my phone back off. Our bags came onto the conveyor belt first, and the guys plucked them off. A driver waited with a sign, ‘Kenley’ printed across it, and Hendrick went over and spoke to the man in a low voice. There was a tenseness in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before, and when he returned to us, his face was grim.
“I have to go home first. I’ve been summoned.” He looked over at Otto. “Take her to the St. Regis. And to wherever she wants to go. I’ll meet you guys later.” He paused and looked at me. “If we could leave for Europe sooner rather than later, I’d appreciate it.”
I tried not to feel extremely awkward as we slid into a town car, with rear-facing seats and everything. I sat beside Sampson, who was on the phone again, this time booking a room at a hotel.
For me.
“Don’t you all live in New York?”
Otto nodded. “Yep.”
“I don’t need a fancy hotel. I’m pretty sure I could stay at a Motel 6 or something around here.” I looked out the window as we passed a number of budget hotels that surrounded the airport.
Otto gave me a bright smile. “Don’t worry about it, Viva,” he said, adopting Hendrick’s shortening of my name. “Sampson lives at the Regis permanently, so it isn't a big deal. We’ll just get you a room near his.”
We fell silent again and I watched the city through the window. I’d never been to New York City. Tampa was the furthest I’d ever been from home. I even went to college near home. Went home every summer.
New York was insanely busy, but as we crossed into Manhattan, I began to see things I’d only seen on TV, and excitement ran through my veins.
When we pulled up in front of the St. Regis, I gasped. It was beautiful. And I was in leggings and an oversized hoodie. As a woman in a gorgeous dress—the kind that I’d only ever wear to a job interview, or maybe a wedding—walked past and up the stairs, I realized that I did not belong here.
Otto slid out, heading over to talk to the doorman, while Sampson held open the door. He put his hand on my lower back and propelled me up the stairs to the front desk. I stood there, gaping at the beautiful fresco that flowed from the ceiling and down the walls. It was opulent in the extreme.
“This is Aviva Robinson. She’s checking in.”
The woman gave Sampson a tight smile. “Apologies, Mr. Rubio, but we haven’t had her room made up yet. It will only be—”
“She’ll be in my room. Call up when it’s ready and have her things sent straight to her room.”
“Yes, sir.”
God, that must grate. A grown woman having to call Sampson sir, when he was what, twenty-three or twenty-four? Hell, that would drive me nuts.
Sampson ushered me into the elevator, Otto joining us a second later. “Her room isn't ready. We can chill in mine until it is.”
A part of me—probably the remaining sane part—said going to a hotel room with two men I’d known for a sum total of two hours plus a plane flight wasn’t a great idea. But that same part had also warned me that galavanting off to Europe with three strangers—who clearly had enough money to buy off the authorities in whatever country we ended up in—was probably not the safest move.
I’d ignored her then and I’d ignore her now. I was going to give these guys the benefit of the doubt, and if they chopped me up and put me in a barrel to drop into the Hudson river, then so be it.
I could hear Dr. Arubut’s dry voice droning on about risky behavior. At least I didn’t actively want to die anymore—that should count for something.
The doors to the lift opened and we stepped out into a hall, walking toward the door right at the end. Sampson opened it and strode in, not waiting for me to go first. Fair enough, he didn’t seem the chivalrous type.
When I stepped into the room, I gasped. It was beautiful, and also completely impersonal.
“Welcome to my humble abode, Good Girl. Make yourself comfortable. I need to shower.”
And then he disappeared into a gleaming marble bathroom.
Holy shit.
Chapter 9
Hendrick
The driver pulled up to my family’s brownstone, and I slowly climbed out. Fuck, I hated this house. “Thanks, Reynolds.” I’d left my bag with Otto, just in case shit went bad. And when it came to my family, it always went bad.
I knocked, and the butler opened the door. He was a new one; they never stayed around for long. They came and went. Either my father fired them in a fit of rage because they laid out the wrong tie, or my mother got caught banging them in the pantry.
I strode straight upstairs to get the shit I needed, so when I inevitably stormed out, I’d have it with me. Taking the stairs two at a time, I was relieved to make it to my room without running into either of my parents.
My room was immaculate, untouched. More like a hotel room than my bedroom, considering I never stayed here if I could help it. I didn’t stop to look at the small pile of letters on my dresser, or bother to pack any clothes. Money could buy me that shit. Instead, I walked right to the end of my walk-in closet, pushing open the false front on the very end cabinet. If you opened the drawers, you’d see my collection of Rolexes and cufflinks. But if you pushed it into just the right position, the false front opened, revealing a safe behind it. Wasn’t much there: important documents, a couple of photos from when I was a kid. Ten thousand in cash. My passport.
Grabbing a couple of bundles of cash and my passport, I grabbed a jacket and stuffed it all into the pockets. That was it. All I needed from this place.
I briefly wondered if I could sneak back out again before my father found me, but his voice bellowing up the stairs killed that dream dead. Dad was good at crushing dreams.
Inside the Maelstrom Page 5
