Absorbing White

by Charlotte E Hart

  “There is that.”

  “Listen, I’ve got to go. Is this done?”

  “Sort of. You owe me a hundred grand though.” Alex smirked and picked up his jacket. One relationship down, one to go.

  “By the way… Evelyn? Did you ever find out what she was up to in my accounts?”

  “From what I could tell, she was tracking money movement, seeing what you had and where you had it. She didn’t do anything other than that, but she’s good, man. I changed all your access passes and re-routed the server, but if she wants in again, she’ll get in. I never said anything to her in the end. I thought I’d leave it to you. I assumed you’d move everything about, which you have, so no harm done really.”

  Hmm, he’d see what Ms. Peters had to say about it. If Pascal hadn’t got her over the arm of a chair by the time he got home, anyway. He made his way to the elevator door and turned to look at his friend.

  “You want me to say anything to Belle?”

  “Yeah,” Conner said as he got up and wandered across to him.” Give her that, and tell her I still mean it.”

  He took the ruby ring from Conner’s outstretched hand and nodded. He wouldn’t be bringing it back. Belle would know how much of a man she was losing by the time he was finished with her. They walked back through the kitchen area towards the door and he felt Conner stop behind him, so he turned to see why. Blue hair was looking at the floor and sighing as if his life was almost over, as if one more day without her and he’d possibly die. He knew the feeling well.

  “I’ll deal with this, Conner. I owe you that much.”

  “You could try just being a decent fucker for once in your life, Alex. And don’t try to screw with her either because she’ll walk all over your ass, man, mine too for letting you try.”

  He chuckled a little and made for the elevator. The man was right. It seemed the Scott sisters were anything but gullible. There really wasn’t anything else to say on the matter so he kept walking until the doors opened. He turned again to see Conner staring at him, a pensive look engrained in his eyes as he took a swig of his beer and nodded his head. The conversation was over, and if he didn’t come back here with some results, he wondered if he’d ever be welcome here again. The doors closed as he remembered the last time he’d messed this up for them. Conner had told him in New York that he’d choose Belle over him the last time he fucked up. Thankfully, he’d been able to salvage that situation. Whether he could fix it this time around was uncertain to say the least.

  He walked across the lobby and realised he’d sent Andrews home, so he asked the doorman to call a taxi. No matter how much money you had, flagging a taxi down in London wasn’t as easy as it was in New York. He stopped at the doorway to stave off the rain that was now pelting down and gazed out into the gloom – changeable weather, another difference between the two cities. A bit like himself really – unstable. No wonder the London disposition settled so comfortably inside him. It gave him the ability to change his moods in time with the weather, letting that dark, predictable place just linger inside and keep him company. It allowed him to recede into himself and allow the wash of London air to settle even deeper. It was dark and familiar, once again threatening the normality of hatred and loathing he was so comfortable with.

  Why did she want him?

  Why did Pascal?

  A horn blasted somewhere, bringing his head back into the now, so he scowled at the black cab and hurried through the rain to the car. He hated rain. It reminded him too much of bathrooms, or rather the lack of them. Opening the door, he slid in and told the driver where to take him. The moron started to yatter away about the weather. Taxi drivers did that a lot, talked about nothing just to keep the air less tense. If only they knew how comfortable he was with that tension, how it radiated through him and relaxed him to that point of no thought other than action. Did no one else feel that? It wasn’t the sense of peace she gave him, but it was the peace Pascal gave him, and it was something he realised he couldn’t be without anymore. That’s why he’d offered the man what he wanted, because the thought of not having that kind of peace was terrifying. It was his version of normal, his version of home. And no matter what she could give him, or how absorbing that was to him, it wasn’t what Pascal gave him.

  “So anyway, she said to me it was my fault...” The cabbie was still blathering on about something his slut of a wife had gotten up to, something she’d done with another man at some point. She probably wasn’t getting anything decent from the man in front of him. It was unlikely the guy could even get it up by the look of the stomach rolling over his belt. He eyed the corners in front of him and watched as his road came into view, those recognizable gates glinting in the distance and letting him know he was nearly there.

  “When was the last time you fucked her properly?” he said. The guy stumbled over a few expletives and regained control of the car.

  “Guv, that’s not the sort of question you ask a bloke,” the dick replied.

  “I assumed, given your rant, that you wanted my opinion, which is that you should try fucking her more appropriately. Then she’d have no need to go elsewhere.” His own words rang in his head as he thought of Pascal. Did he want him to go elsewhere? Then Conner’s words hit him again: “Have you finally turned bi overnight?”

  Had he?

  “I’ve screwed her every way possible,” the cabbie eventually said as they pulled into the drive. Unlikely, was the best word he could think of. Had he shackled her, hung her, tortured her, starved her? Had he watched three men with their cocks in every hole? Had he fucked her arse till she bled? Had he strung her up and watched another man beat her until she cried and screamed and begged? Ripped her open and made her give him every ounce of fear she had? She shouldn’t have the fucking energy to stray, let alone want for it.

  “I doubt it,” he said quietly as he handed over a fifty and climbed out into the rain again. The front door opened and he expected to see Andrews, but it was Pascal who stood there, now dressed in some Edwardian get up, long boots and a purple coat to match, looking every inch the lord of the manor. He smirked like an egotistical villain, leaning against the frame as if he owned the place.

  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” the cabbie shouted as he began to turn the car around. It wasn’t a conversation he was likely to continue. Presumably his sister was in there waiting for an explanation of some sort. He continued to the door as Pascal held it wider and lowered his gaze a little – just enough to show that submission Alex craved from him. Much as he wanted to tap his chin back up again, he needed that compliance for the time being, and he needed the man to know who was in charge.

  “Queer fucker,” the cabbie shouted behind him as the car pulled off up the drive.

  Queer? He stopped and mused the thought as Pascal chuckled beside him. Queer, gay, bi, straight – they were all indistinguishable in his world, all meaningless in certain circumstances, and yet at the moment, it meant more than he could fathom. He slowly turned his eyes towards the still smirking idiot, who licked his lips and took his wet coat from his shoulders.

  “Not yet, I think. Hmm? Maybe with time, yes?” Alex raised a brow and brushed past the man.

  “Is she here?” he said as he carried on down the hall and listened to the clock delivering its normal tick tock. There was no other sound to disrupt the welcoming dull thud of normality, apart from Pascal, whose presence was always troublesome to routine.

  “If you mean Elizabeth, no. But should you mean the female version of yourself who is currently drinking your finest malt, then, yes, she is. Why did you not tell me you had a sister? I believe she may be somewhat deranged, by the way.” Not surprising given her abduction.

  “Hmm. Did you stay away from her?”

  “Mostly.”

  “Pascal, I told Andrews to-”

  “Yes, yes, yes. I realise this. However, she was too tempting, and she also attempted escape on several occasions. I assumed you did not want that.” Alex rol
led his eyes and imagined the amusement she’d caused Pascal, probably got his temperature very high indeed.

  He wandered into the lounge to find an irate looking Evelyn glaring at him as she put a picture down on the sideboard gently.

  “Chess?” she said, a statement really. “Surely you’re not intelligent enough for chess.”

  “I’m not. He is,” he replied as he nodded at the bar where Pascal was already pouring some cognac.

  “He is revolting, not unlike yourself at the moment. Make that driver of yours take me home, unless you’ve got something interesting to say.”

  He watched her making herself comfortable with not even the slightest hint of insecurity as she sat in an unknown home and sipped at his Scotch. Her hair was neatly pinned, and she wore an immaculate beige dress, fit for the boardroom. She was perfection really, the complete epitome of himself in female form. It was interesting that she’d become that way, regardless of her family home. Pascal raised an indifferent brow as he passed him a drink and took a seat over on the sofa opposite her.

  “Evelyn, why were you looking through my accounts?” he asked. There would be no beating around the bush with this woman. He wanted her off guard, caught out. His phone vibrated in his pocket and dulled the moment, so he took it out anyway and checked the message.

  - She says she’ll see you. I’m going to stay here tonight I think. X

  Not a hope. He wasn’t having another night without her in his bed, and the fact that they were back in London, near Aiden again, wasn’t a comforting thought. She would come back here, where he could keep her safe.

  - No you won’t. I’ll send Andrews over for you now.

  He raised his eyes back to Evelyn as he hit the intercom for Andrews and told him to go and pick Elizabeth up.

  “Have you had enough time to think up an excuse so you can lie to me? Or are you going to be truthful?” he asked. His phone vibrated again. He almost rolled his eyes at the thought of what she’d likely be saying to his order.

  “I was trying to find out why you lose about two and a half thousand every week in small pockets. Haven’t you noticed? It’s filtered out, quite cleverly really, but nevertheless it’s not going to anything that you own. Conner didn’t put the leak in there, so I was trying to work out who had,” she replied, bold as fucking brass. If it was a lie, it was a damn good one. Why the fuck was he losing ten grand a month, and where from? More importantly, where to? He supposed he should ask her how she’d even got into his accounts, but that seemed irrelevant to some degree. Pascal turned and looked at him. It was his version of a shocked face, more humorous irritation to the bystander.

  “Why were you interested?” he asked. He wasn’t prepared to let her know she’d just told him something he knew nothing about, something Conner hadn’t detected. He’d be having fucking words with him. “Maybe you should have just asked me.”

  “I wouldn’t have known had I not been snooping. It’s what I do. Then it became interesting.”

  “You just hack people’s accounts to find out what they’re worth?”

  “Not everyone, only relevant people. Nicholas Adlin’s worth and past is reasonably relevant to me now, as is Pascal Van Der Braack’s,” she replied as that smile crept across her face, the same fucking one he used when he wanted to twist the knife and let the world know how in control he was. Clever girl. Pascal laughed, completely unfazed by her apparent snooping.

  “She’s very good, Alexander. My dear, he has kept you from me. What is my worth lately?”

  “Not as much as his, nor will it ever be if you keep paying whoever LC is,” she responded instantly. LC, Roxanne, Lucinda? Pascal didn’t flinch in the slightest.

  “Well, I am more interested in fucking than he is, ferociously so. Tell me, are those hands as useful on anything other than a computer?”

  “Dexterously so.” And now they were flirting.

  “Hmm, maybe we should find out. Up you get. Off with those clothes.” She glared a little and crossed her legs as she sipped her drink again. Alex wasn’t surprised.

  “Pascal, go and make me a coffee. You’re not helping.” There was no way in hell Pascal was fucking his sister. It wasn’t happening. His phone vibrated again so he swiped it out and found two messages.

  - We’ve talked about this ordering me around shit.

  - I’ve spoken to Andrews and told him to piss off. He’s sitting on your drive.

  Elizabeth clearly wasn’t a happy fucking bunny.

  He looked back up to find Evelyn and Pascal staring at each other. Pascal was looking disinterested, which meant an impending explosion, and Evelyn possibly egging him on into something she knew nothing about whatsoever.

  “Actually, Pascal, go and get Elizabeth. Take one of the cars,” he said, pocketing his phone again. It would get Pascal out of the house and his angel back here where she belonged.

  “Is that abhorrent man servant of yours not retrieving her?” the man replied, not one muscle moving as he kept those green eyes trained on Evelyn.

  “It appears not.”

  “Hmm,” Pascal said as he stood up from the sofa and straightened his suit. “Then I shall go and liberate her. This chasing of your angel has become less restrictive recently.”

  Privileges or not, union or not, the man was not putting his hands on her until they were all in a room, together. Pascal wandered past him in his normal fashion and tutted as he reached for the chessboard. He snatched the white knight, removing a pawn in the process, then replaced the knight and made his way to the door. He’d obviously been playing chess while evaluating his next conquest, that being sister dearest, it wasn’t going to happen. Still, it was a good move. He considered the board himself for a second or two and calculated the next position. Whatever it was, it didn’t negate the fact that he was not touching Elizabeth, regardless of the man’s tactics in trying to make him forget the threat.

  “Belligere,” he said firmly over his shoulder. It was all he could say with Evelyn in the room to tell Pascal how he felt, and he assumed the slight halt in his step meant that the man understood. He’d never had to use it before. He’d taken that fucking beating all night without asking the man to stop. He’d taken it to understand, taken it to feel what they felt, taken it to be taught, and had never intended to have to use it. But in this moment, his own safe word was all he could use without letting Evelyn know what was happening between the three of them. Pascal chuckled as he rounded the corner and wandered off towards the kitchen, more than likely in the direction of his damn Ferrari. He looked back at Evelyn, who was now studying the chessboard, too.

  “Do you play?” he asked as he took a seat on the chair next to her.

  “No,” she replied, leaning over the board a little and narrowing her eyes.

  “Would you like to learn?” He reached forward and moved his rook to counter Pascal then took a drink again as he tried to gauge her reactions. She was so like him – so closed, a wall of mystery.

  “Yes, I think it looks rather fun,” she said. Why was she so comfortable? Surely she should be fuming about being brought here under duress. Was she really as good at lying and manipulating as he was? Was it possible that this was all a lie, or was she being honest?

  “Why did you have dinner with Aiden Phillips?” She smiled and leaned back on the sofa, giving herself time to think, a soft chuckle coming from her mouth as she clicked her head to the side and rubbed the back of her neck. Liar.

  “Because he’s relevant, too, isn’t he, brother? You have quite a past that I’m finding out about. You’ve not been very nice at all, have you?” She crossed her legs and angled herself towards him in flirtation, an attempt at misdirection, maybe. “And he’s actually quite attractive.” It didn’t work.

  “You need to learn to play chess, sister,” he said as he beckoned her forward to the table again and began to roll up his sleeves.”

  “Do I?”

  “Yes. Your manoeuvring is clumsy, childlike.” She scowled at him s
o he grabbed the decanter and filled their drinks again with a smile. “Would you like to be better at it? It seems a shame to waste a near talent, especially if your fingers are useful, too.” She raised a brow as they stared at each other, the small upward lift of the corner of her mouth mirroring his. It seemed they were both thinking the same, probably both calculating risk and strategy, possibly in the worst way.

  “Are you friend or foe, brother?” she asked. All he could see was himself looking back at him, distrustful eyes and a mask of unemotional response as she questioned his reason for existing in her company.

  “That depends on who I think you are, sister.”

  Only time would tell.

  Chapter 15

  Elizabeth

  B loody man.

  Honestly, I could throttle him. Who the hell does he think he is? Whatever my little drunken wobble may have been about earlier, I am so over that shit. Belle is still in her bedroom. Why, I don’t know because it’s only six pm, but to be frank, all I want to do myself now is go to bed, too. I nearly picked up the phone and called him to ask him to pick me up and then decided, having sobered up somewhat, that the best thing was to try and get some decent sleep and go over in the morning. Fresh, alert, ready for action, that type of thing. Besides, it’s Christmas Eve tomorrow, and I still haven’t got a bloody present for him, and I suppose I’ve got to get one for Pascal now, too. What on earth do I get him? As if Alex wasn’t bad enough. Oh god, its Christmas Eve tomorrow! The thought has suddenly struck me again. The whole family is supposed to be at Alex’s for Christmas. What about Conner? Are mum and Dad still coming? Has Belle said anything? Shit.

  Anyway, now I’m sitting here trying to work out if I should go over there and give him what for. After all he’s put me through, he still thinks he can order me around? Idiot. The text I sent to Andrews got an instant response of ‘He’s not going to like that’, to which I replied, ‘Sod him. Stay there.’ The poor chap is probably sitting on the drivewy, still trying to work out what the hell to do. Not my problem. If he wasn’t such a Neanderthal arsehole, I might have been kinder. Not yet, though. My kind days seem to be fewer and further between lately. It appears that they need to in order to deal with all these men. What I wouldn’t give for a quiet night in with Teresa and Belle, one where we’re all happy and relaxed, and I can talk openly about what’s going on and they’ll help me understand myself if nothing else.