“Que voulez-vous dire?”
“Ch-check out, Monsieur? Hier soir.” She looks down at the floor, presumably trying for English and not finding it.
What the fuck? Last night?
That can’t be right.
I stare at the woman, waiting for something to tell me she’s made a mistake, that the language barrier is causing difficulties. She doesn’t give me anything other than a small smile before she starts cleaning the wall of glass between us and the ocean.
Gone.
I glare at the woman still cleaning then turn to scour the rooms for evidence of her departure. She can’t be gone. The maid’s got it wrong, must have. My fingers pull back the wardrobe doors in the bedroom, a slight panic lacing the move, to find all her belongings still there. The vision immediately causes a sigh of relief to come out. It’s one that has me chasing my own feelings on the matter, suddenly desperate to find her now I know she’s still here. I smile and run my fingers along her clothes, still able to smell her perfume on them, and remember her lips last night. So soft. They meant it when they kissed me, just like her body meant every push towards me.
I walk backwards and stare at the clothes until I’m sitting on the bed musing my own feelings some more. What the hell am I thinking? That I should tell her? That I should go find her and make her see sense, admit to the love between us? That’s not going to work. I’d be a fool, and an inconsiderate one at that, to take her back to my life. She deserves better than that. Better than Cane. But this feeling isn’t leaving me. It’s pushing me closer to her with every breath I take, certainly now as I’ve felt the panic that came when I thought I’d lost her.
The thought has me gazing at the floor, eyes flicking about for something to give me direction. Tell her? Don’t tell her? My eyes suddenly halt on the empty space in the corner of the wardrobe. Where’s the bag? The one that always looked out of place?
I stand and clear the trails of long dresses, upturning shoes and handbags to find the rucksack. It’s nowhere to be seen. I turn and scan the room again, hoping that she’s moved it for some reason, but it’s gone. I don’t even need to look. I knew it the moment my eyes latched onto the empty space.
My damned heart sinks with the realisation—she’s gone, too.
“Fuck,” I spit out.
Anger slices its way through me. Real fucking anger. She’d do this to me? To what we had become? I didn’t even deserve a good-bye, thanks for the time?
Bitch.
My lips sneer, making me turn from the room without any other damn thought on the matter. Perhaps Quinn’s had the right idea all these damn years, cold bastard that he is. What the hell have I been thinking? That we’d settle into something other than what we first set out for? She clearly fucking meant it when she said holiday fling, regardless of that love I know was there.
I storm out of the villa, all sense of relaxation disappearing with every step forward. I can feel it building as I stamp my feet, dulling my insides back to tense and bored, numbing me back down to who I’ve always been. And that feeling, for whatever reason, pisses me off more than her leaving.
I glare at the same fucking couple swimming by again, the woman’s giggle making me frown and look the other way. She’s caused this in me. I’ve let her get inside, haven’t I? Let her give me something I hadn’t had before her. Dumb fuck. She made all this happen, gave me some credence in this adventure and made me think it meant something to her, too, and now she’s left without the slightest concern for how I feel.
Screw her.
I’ll become as empty and cold as Canes are meant to be again.
I’ll go home. Forget about dreams. It’s not something I can damn well avoid anymore anyway. She’s gone, proving her damn point as she has, and the endless emails need attention whether I like it or not. Maybe I’ll tell Quinn to go screw himself, too, when I get back, but I’ll finish my job properly before I do. I’ll leave it as it should be rather than have him blame me for shit that needed rectifying. At least make it so he can access everything I’ve created without buffers blocking him.
Fuck.
I stand in the doorway of my villa and stare, anger, irritation and internal pain racking up the tension in my body to the point where I want to explode. That thought alone brings out a part of me I never knew I owned—hatred. I’ve never hated in my life. Never allowed myself to care enough, but this view and the thoughts of her associated with it have me about ready to leave without even entering the fucking place. She’s everywhere in here—the lounge area, the deck. I turn my head and snarl—the fucking bedroom. Christ, I can even smell her still, hear her breathy little moans and groans.
I’ve walked in, pulled my bags together, and left the place before I get a chance to remember any more about her. It’s done now. Over. Like she said, a holiday fling and nothing more. Calculated fucking. That’s what it was.
That’s all it was.
Damn, if that doesn’t hurt more than I thought it ever could.
Two hours sitting in the first-class lounge at the airport before I left didn’t help ease my anger, but at some point, the anger ebbed into sullen musings. That carried on the entire journey back to LA. I tried to tell myself it was just the thought of going back, of becoming Cane again full tilt, but it wasn’t. It was all to do with her.
It still is.
I look across the tarmac to the family jet and sigh, part of me wanting to turn straight back around and go find her rather than deal with Quinn. There’s an argument coming. I can feel that. One I’ll defend my position in, so he knows that shit is not acceptable to me. It would fucking help if I knew why he did it in the first place.
It still makes no sense.
And I’m pissed enough as it is.
Andrew, one of our pilots, is waiting at the top of the steps, ready to take me home to Chicago, his pristine suit showing the world how much we’re worth. Nothing’s changed, has it? I snort. What did I think? That it would for some reason? Nothing will ever change here. We’ll all be Cane until we die—Emily now included in that. I don’t suppose he’ll ever let her go now he’s found something worth his version of love.
The thought makes me scowl and stride towards the plane. I shouldn’t have let Gabby go either, should I? Not that I had any say in the matter. She just went, leaving me like a thief in the night for no damn reason at all.
What the hell did she run for? Or from? It makes no sense whatsoever for her to skip out on me. We were fine. Happy even. And the more I think about it, anger finally beginning to dissipate a little, the more I’m confused. The phone calls. The change of persona. That inability to talk to me about her real life. Let alone the thought of someone else in my room fucking with my laptop. That shit’s still niggling at me. Something’s not entirely right.
My damn brain hurts.
“Good afternoon, Mr Cane.”
I nod at Andrew and cross the threshold back into my world. I’m unable to find words for what it means to me yet. Acknowledging him in speech makes it feel like I need to find my old voice, level it back out again to calm and unreadable. That feels awkward. Just as awkward as this suit that isn’t sitting as comfortably as it should for some reason.
“You fucked it out of you?”
I startle slightly, a frown dropping at the sound of Quinn’s empty tone coming from the cabin. It makes me stop before entering and light a smoke, attempting to find control before he sees the disarray in me. And fucked what out of me? The anger and confusion he created in the first place?
I snarl and step forward again.
He’s still not forgiven for that shit.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, sucking in some much-needed nicotine and rounding the corner.
“Thought I’d meet you.” My brow lifts, surprise evident.
“How fucking charitable.”
We stare at each other, me waiting for those damn dice to stop swirling around in his fingers, him waiting to see if I’ve got anything to say ab
out him beating the ever-loving crap out of me. I have, but I can’t find those words yet either, so I sit and ignore him as I reach for the scotch he has in front of him. Perhaps drinking will take me back to where I need to be. Drinking and not laughing.
The plane takes off at some point around drink number two, or maybe three. Who cares? I’m getting drunk before this shit starts again, drowning my sorrows so I can step foot into Chicago with a clear head after it’s done.
It takes me a while to realise Quinn isn’t drinking a thing.
“Company not good enough for you?” I mutter out. He chuckles as if something is funny. It’s not. Nothing is funny or amusing enough for him to laugh about a damn thing.
“The hell’s wrong with you?” he asks.
I don’t answer. What am I going to say? Some bitch broke my heart and I don’t want to come home, let alone deal with you? Whinge like a baby about it?
I snort, still trying to acclimatise to him being within feet of me again and take another gulp of scotch rather than get into conversations I do not want to have. My hand reaches for the lighter in my pocket, a habit I consciously fought with Gabby simply because she didn’t like it. Fuck her.
“Would it help if I apologised again?”
“No.”
He chortles again and places the dice on the table in front of me, platinum cufflinks glinting in my eyes as he nods his head at his beloved cubes.
“Take a toss. You win, and you can beat the shit out of me.”
I narrow my eyes at them, and him. The thought is goddamn appealing at the moment, but not enough that I’ll play his game. He can suffer in my silence for a while longer. Nothing pisses him off more than noncompliance when he asks a question. Perhaps I’ll find some way of talking soon. Until then, he’s getting nothing.
Not one goddamn thing.
The silence continues for an hour or so. I’ve kept my eyes focused on the outside of the plane for as long as I can, then reverted to getting my laptop out because he’s not taken his stare off me once. It’s become damn uncomfortable.
And he still hasn’t picked up a drink.
Eventually, I lift my gaze over to him, annoyance riling me up, and scan his knuckles on the way through. They’re clean, no sign of any damage he might have caused while I was on holiday. There’s no smile to greet me this time, though, just his normal intensity staring blankly at me.
“What, Quinn?” I snap out. “You’re like a Rottweiler in heat.”
“You look good.” What the ever-lovin’ fuck? He smirks a little. “Nice tan.”
I don’t know what to say to that, or even if I’m ready to say anything at all, so I drop my head back down and push myself back into business. I’m still too angry inside to deal with what needs to be said. And this mood of his isn’t helping me find the fury to let rip at him. Hate what he did or not, he is my brother.
“We need to talk, Nate.”
My lip sneers, fingers flying over the keyboard rather than acknowledge the conversation any further. I’ll do it when I’m goddamn ready to, not because he barks an order at me to comply. Those days are gone now. They were gone the moment he treated me like one of his enemies rather than his ally. And when I find the right words to explain that shit to him or bolster myself up enough for whatever plan I might have to exit this lifestyle, I’ll converse about it all.
“There are things I need to explain.”
He’s damn right, but not now. Not when I’m in this frame of mind.
Spreadsheets pop up on the screen one after another, the torrent of them pulling me straight back into Cane life without a second thought. I barely acknowledge the numbers before my head’s moved them to different accounts, stowing them in the relevant places to maximise profit. It’s ingrained, isn’t it? Just like the damn link that forces the thought of my responsibilities every time I breathe. It’s as irritating as the continuous niggling thought that I should just let this go between us, move on and forget about it, whatever the fuck it was that happened. The death of my father included. Keep my cool in check and behave like Nate Cane always does. Solid, dependable. And if that wasn’t enough, she’s still in here with her eyes and her legs, that mouth of hers constantly whispering dreams at me that neither of us expected nor asked for. But she ran, didn’t she? Left me. Pushed me back into all of this without considering a goddamn thing.
God, I’m pissed. Pissed at her. Pissed at him.
Screw it.
I log out of the accounts, slam the lid closed, and shove the laptop to the side. He wants it, he can have it. Full tilt.
“You’re a fucking asshole, Quinn.”
He smiles and starts pulling at his cufflinks, sleeves rolling up.
Good.
Chapter Thirteen
Miami
The flight from San Francisco is uneventful. It’s a long haul and running on little sleep made the minutes crawl. My position in the first-class area of the small craft afforded me the perfect vantage of the other passengers on the plane as they boarded.
No sign of the man I identified earlier in the airport. I’ve never had any doubts about whether I’ve been followed before. Of course, my brother has never fucked up this badly before now. It had always been my jobs that were risky, and I did those purely for my personal interest.
It makes me wonder if I’m growing soft. That the time away—with Nate—has caused me to take my head out of the game. It’s true that right now, my mind and my heart aren’t in this like they might have been previously. The adrenalin rush and high that used to make me feel larger than life is barely enough to motivate me to move from my seat at the moment. It’s as if something has shifted inside my chest and the excitement and rush that fed me are no longer sufficient for me to run on.
Unlike in Tahiti, I sailed through security at San Fran and hopped right back onto a flight for Miami. As I pull out my phone, I consider who I really want to be making contact with. Nate.
Of course, I have no way to do that. No last name, no further details other than the scraps we offered each other. All part of the deal I set in motion. And even if I knew how things with Nate would change, I question if I’d alter the rules we set in place.
You’re supposed to mourn your holiday romances, right? Feel like they could have lasted forever, been the greatest love of your life? It was never meant to be, though. Not for us. We made it that way, both of us careful about information, both of us keeping that distance. And with time, the fun and feelings will slip to memories alone, I’m sure.
Except that with every mile I move away, every plane I board, my heart suffers. The ache is more intense, reminding me that I can’t ignore my heart, no matter how much I know I should. It’s like it’s bleeding somehow. Like I’ve been left with a cavernous hole inside my chest, one he filled with his smile and laughter. And oh god, those hands. I feel lost without them reaching for me.
Alone again.
I move through the motions when we’re in the air. My lips offer a smile when I thank the stewardess for the bottle of water. I shake my head politely when asked if I’m in need of anything else. After all, she can’t help me. Nobody can. And right now, I’m going to choose to vent my pain and frustration at the one person in the world I can. My brother.
Landed. Will be with you soon.
Good. I’ll come to meet you.
No. I’ll come to you.
The anger bubbling in my stomach is new. I know it’s borne of resentment and frustration. I turned myself into a highly accomplished thief in an attempt to make myself visible to Andreas, and it worked for a short while. But the sacrifice I made set me on this path. His greed and lust for power have only grown over the years and have no sign of abating. I’ve aided him, fuelling his own personal fire for the power he seeks, and helped to mould him into the Andreas that has no real care for the people around him. Just his next deal.
Well, he’s not going to get away with that any longer.
I check into a mid-range chain hotel in
the heart of the tourist sector in Miami. After all that time in the air, I refuse to go any further without a hot shower and something half decent to eat.
I order room service and specify the time for delivery, ensuring I have enough time to wash the last few days from my body. If only I could wash away the memory of Nate’s touch. My thighs still ache, and my pussy is still tender from the fierceness of his lovemaking.
The water does its job of washing away all the grime and tiredness from my skin, but it only gives me more time to think about Nate. He’ll be leaving tomorrow. Maybe he’s already found another woman to keep his bed warm after I left him. As the thought percolates, spears of pain attack my heart as my eyes sting with unshed tears. No matter how much of a bitch I am for leaving in the night with no word, I can’t believe that Nate would be so quick to forget everything we had.
With my mind pleading for good news, I towel off and slump on the bed, finally feeling the wave of exhaustion that I knew would hit.
“Room service,” a female voice calls, a knock on the door following.
My stomach rumbles in response, and I open the door after checking through the peep hole.
“Where would you like it, Ma’am?”
“On the counter is fine, thank you.”
The silver cloche hides my dinner, but I can smell the goodness already. A burger and French fries. Indulgent food that will give me the calories I need to make it through the meeting with my brother.
The taxi stops two blocks away from my brother’s warehouse. I pay in cash and make my way on foot. It’s a quiet area, next to a marina off the main Miami Port, but not close enough to cause suspicion. Too many dealers and crooks set up and get raided or tipped off from working too close. At least Andreas has had the sense to cover some of his business dealings.
With every step I take closer to him, I harden myself for what will happen next. If he thinks he’ll be the one to get us out of this mess, he’s wrong. It will be me. And I’m through with only knowing what he deems necessary. He might not like what I have to say, but he has no choice. It’s my way, or he won’t have the payment for Mortoni. Simple.
Devious Eyes (A Cane Novel Book 2) Page 11
