“Miss. Laurier, a pleasure.” Xavier’s voice boomed from behind me, but I didn’t dare look at him. My nerves had gotten the better of me as I struggled to fathom what on earth I wanted his help for? Of course, that didn’t last long, because when he paused behind me, I had no choice but to spin around to meet his gaze.
His eyes zeroed in on my neck. The bandage was hanging on for dear life, presumably already stained with fresh blood and looking about as horrific as it felt.
“What happened?” He questioned, finally taking a seat beside me at the bar. A split second later, Mariella set an espresso down on the bar in front of him. I shot her a look that could kill and she smirked, sipping at her own Bloody Mary as she sauntered out through a door behind the bar.
“She’s a piece of work,” I grunted, pushing the tomato vodka concoction away and grabbing the shot of coffee from in front of Xavier instead. I threw it to the back of my throat, ignoring the burning as I swallowed. Xavier’s dark eyebrow raised as though he was surprised, but I was in no mood.
“You need to tell me everything you know about Jocelyn. There has to be something you’re not telling me because right now everything is leading back to this club.” The words poured out, and I made no attempt to stop them. Casual chit chat was one thing I didn’t have time for these days.
“Does this mean you’ve considered my offer and are choosing to accept?” He asked calmly as the tips of his fingers moved in circles across the newly shined bar top.
“It means that some crazy ass guy just broke into Jocelyn’s sister’s house and tried to kill her, then proceeded to try to kill me.” My volume increased in tune with my anger. “There’s not one part of me that wants to accept your offer. I think you’re dirty as fuck and not in a good way.”
OK, now I was rambling.
Xavier smirked. “How would you know?”
“Stop. I’m done with these games. You know why Beth disappeared and I need you to tell me what information you have.”
His smirk faltered and his eyes focused on mine, hauntingly so. I immediately felt like I was under a microscope, all my insecurities and worries were laid bare in front of this man I didn’t even know. So many questions ran through my pounding head as I tried to ignore the weight of his stare. I wondered if he knew just how frightened I was. If he could hear my racing heartbeat or the panic sweeping through my thoughts. Something about Xavier Sallow was different. I’d come across plenty of powerful men in my life. Colourful characters, some more accommodating than others. At first I’d thought Xavier was just like them, a rich guy with a few businesses who felt like the world owed him something. Yet being close to him felt different. The surrounding air pulsed with supremacy. How in the world was I ever going to match that? How could we work together as equals when he dominated every space he occupied?
“Who’s Beth?” Xavier asked, snapping my train of thought in two.
“What? No, Jocelyn,” I corrected, shaking my head and clasping my hand to my eyes as I took a few deep breaths. “I meant Jocelyn.”
“But you said Beth,” he highlighted.
“It doesn’t matter, I’ve lost a lot of blood and your bartender just made me drink a killer Bloody Mary on about three hours of sleep so, I got muddled, that’s all.”
Silence filled the space between us before Xavier spoke again. “If you want my help, you’re going to have to come clean to that boss of yours.”
“What do you mean?” It felt like every time I thought I was getting a little closer to getting answers from Xavier, he just threw a thousand more questions back at me.
“Thatcher O’Connor and I have a bit of a history,” he replied casually, his jaw tensing. “One I’d rather not repeat.”
“Is there anything else you’d like to tell me while we are sharing? Or is that it?” I asked, too exhausted to question him any further right now. I clearly had a lot to talk to Thatch about.
“Have you seen a doctor for that?” Xavier changed the subject, standing up and effortlessly stretching a muscular arm behind the bar. For a second I panicked, thinking he was about to pull a gun on me.
Xavier placed a First Aid kit on the bar and began rummaging through it.
“If you think you’re about to play doctors and nurses with me right now, you’re sorely mistaken,” I said.
He chuckled, closing the kit and setting a couple of sterile wipes and a fresh bandage on down.
“You’re no use to me dead, Quinn,” he replied, lifting his hand to remove the bandage from my neck. Against all my instincts, I let him.
The tips of his fingers grazed my warm skin repeatedly as he unpeeled the bandage and tossed it aside. It took all my strength to steady my breathing as he tore the corner from the antiseptic wipe and moved closer to clean the wound.
“How did you get this?” He asked, and I would’ve sworn I could hear a tremor in his words. Electricity pulsed in the air between us as he wiped the thin cotton swab against my neck. I swallowed; certain he could feel my racing heart. What the hell was happening to me? I was going weak at the knees for some guy with a handsome face.
“The guy that broke into Lily’s flat. He fucking bit me. It’s fine. I just didn’t have time to clean it up before I came here.”
“Tried to?” Xavier’s brow lifted.
“He broke the skin, obviously. Then he ran off.”
Xavier didn’t seem satisfied with my answer, but he let it go as he stuck the bandage onto my skin and smoothed out any creases.
“That’ll hold for now,” he muttered, his hand lingering there on my throat for a second too long, making the room spin. “Talk to your boss, then come and see me tomorrow evening. Here. I’ll have Mariella let you in the back around 9 so that you can avoid the crowds.”
Just like that, he was gone. Standing up and buttoning his suit jacket before climbing the stairs two at a time.
Fully aware I was about to get an absolute bollocking from Thatch, I picked up a bottle of whiskey from the corner shop before heading into the office. It was the least I could do to soften the blow that I’d done what he had told me not to do. Few things made me nervous, but confronting Thatcher was one of the few. He had this look that he’d give me, somewhere between rage and disappointment, every time I did something wrong.
When I entered the office building and spotted him sitting behind his desk, I’d barely shut the door behind me when that look hit me square in the face.
“You’re a bit late,” he grunted, watching me as I walked over to him and sat in the chair opposite him. I placed the bottle of whiskey down between us and smiled awkwardly.
“Don’t be mad,” I began, knowing it wouldn’t make a difference but hoping for the best.
“You went back to that club, didn’t you?” He posed it like a question, a simple one at that. Yet I could see from his narrowed eyes he already knew the answer. The real question was, how much did he know.
“I did.” Fuck it, I thought. Let’s just get this over with. “Why didn’t you tell me you had history with Xavier?”
The quiet hung there in the air, the weight sitting on my chest as I waited for him to give me an answer, an explanation. Anything.
“It seems I’ve not been the only one keeping secrets here, Thatch.”
He grabbed the bottle of whiskey from the table and cracked it open, tossing the cap on the desk before gulping down two, three mouthfuls. When he finally let go of the bottle, he scrunched up his face and wiped the remnants of the liquor from his mouth with a sigh.
“I was waiting for the right time.”
My eyebrows raised in disbelief, “the right time? The right time for what?”
“You got your car?” He asked, not waiting for me to answer before he steered his wheelchair out from behind the desk, the bottle of whiskey perched precariously in his lap.
“Why?”
“Bring it round, I want to introduce you to somebody.” He stalled just short of the front door. “Come on, then.”
&nbs
p; Chapter Nine
London’s skyline had faded away into the murky distance hours ago and my patience was wearing undoubtedly thin. Thatcher continued sipping at the bottle of whiskey the entire time I drove. The only time he spoke was to grunt ‘left, right, straight on’. He’d been thoughtful enough to let me know that the drive would take a few hours and had even gone as far as giving me cash for petrol. I hadn’t turned down the offer, believing it was the least he could do, considering our current situation.
Watching the motorway turn into vast countryside was mind-numbing. The uncomfortable silence between us would have been enough to send me spiralling into a fit of rage had my curiosity not got the better of me.
How much could Thatcher really be hiding from me? I was with him every single day. Surely, I would’ve noticed if he was nursing some dark secret from me this entire time. My hands tightened on the steering wheel when we rounded another sharp corner of the country road. Cows and sheep filled the fields at either side of us, the mist of rain not bothering them as they meandered through the grass without a care in the world. The fact that I was jealous of farm animals at this point in my life was concerning enough, but the distraction was a welcome one.
The green fields and large farmhouses started to thin out until eventually the narrow road widened and a village came into view on the horizon. I lightened my pressure on the accelerator as we approached a picturesque church guarded by towering oak trees. Nestled beside it was a school, presumably the only one in this village, busy with the lighthearted chatter of children in the playground. I’d closed the windows as soon as we’d left the motorway, my nose not accustomed to the sour smell of manure but I got the sense that outside the confines of my car a brisk breeze would be dancing through the air. Thatcher and I had never been on a road trip. Hell, I’d never set foot outside of London. I’d had no need to. My work at Thatcher’s agency had always been centred around the city. I hadn’t considered how strange that was until now, my eyes struggling to stick to one focus point as they darted from the quaint village shop, the lush, green parks and people in wellies and tweed jackets going about their day.
“Pull in here.” His gruff voice broke me out of my daze and my eyes refocused on the road in front of us. Thatch hated the countryside with a passion. Maybe that was why I’d never been drawn to venture too far from home. It wasn’t just the countryside he hated, it was the outdoors. At least in London, you were never far away from a pub. That was what he had always told me, but who knew if he was telling the truth even then.
“Just park up next to the post box there,” he said as he reached over and unclipped his seatbelt. I did as he asked without argument. At this point, my defiance wasn’t worth the effort, and I wanted to know why he’d brought me out to buttfuck nowhere. As beautiful as the village was, I couldn’t let myself forget that I’d come with a purpose.
“Get my chair out,” he added, no pleases or thank you’s to be found. Which wasn’t unusual, but still annoyed me more than it normally would.
Once I had his wheelchair at the passenger door, he lifted himself into it with some difficulty and I held back the urge to help him.
Out of one of the small ivy-covered cottages lining the road, a woman stepped out of a bright green door and folded her arms across her chest as though she were cold. She was around the same age as Thatch, but didn’t seem to have the same permanent scowl all of his other acquaintances had. Instead, she smiled knowingly while she tapped her bare feet against the rustic cobblestones.
“You must be Quintessa.” I watched with a frown as she opened the dainty garden gate and strode towards me with an outstretched hand. I stared at it with narrowed eyes as Thatch struggled to bump himself up over the curb behind me.
“Quinn,” I finally replied, taking the hand she had offered me and shaking it for a fraction of a second. Her skin was softer than her age should allow, only the finest wrinkles marring the back of her hand.
“Why have you taken this long to bring her to us?” The woman’s focus was now solely focused on Thatch, her bright blue eyes cold and somewhat disarming despite her airy appearance. I took the chance to examine her from head to toe. She was a lot taller than me and wore a flowing brown dress embroidered with small, colourful flowers. Her long limbs were thin, almost branch-like and her dark skin was a stark contrast to those bright eyes of hers.
She folded a long braid behind her ear as she waited for Thatcher to answer her question, and I gulped. As friendly as this woman had looked moments ago, she was now the exact opposite. An air of confidence and the promise of danger swelled from her.
Thatcher’s voice once again brought my focus away from the strange woman and straight back down to earth. “It wasn’t the right time. But you already knew that, Miranda.”
“Hm,” she huffed between pursed lips. “Well, come in. No point in standing around out here. You both look like you could use a cup of coffee.”
Miranda’s house was exactly what I had expected, clean but cluttered. Frames filled with pressed flowers covered the walls, and vases filled with lavender seemed to cover every available surface. As we made our way into the small kitchen, I struggled to imagine how she managed in such close quarters. The wooden cabinets lined the walls in shades of mahogany and beech, while an olive green aga sent waves of warmth spinning out across the chipped terracotta tiles. I followed Thatch’s lead as he wheeled himself over to the table in the corner and I sat down in the chair closest to the wall so that my back was at least safe from being stabbed. It gave me an ideal placement to watch Miranda as she glided from cabinet to cabinet, gathering cups and a cafetiere with ease. She took her head as she scooped freshly ground coffee into the pot.
“What makes you think she’s ready now?” She asked without turning her attention away from what she was doing.
Thatch cleared his throat before he answered. He seemed nervous around this woman. My instinct was that she was an old girlfriend of his, but that just didn’t seem to fit. There seemed to be too much tension building in this room. An old flame didn’t seem to be enough to account for that.
“I don’t, but she’s had a run in with Xavier Sallow.”
Miranda’s movement’s halted immediately. It felt like hours before she shifted, only to crane her neck to look between Thatch and I. Her previously steady hand trembled with the weight of the cup in her palm.
“He’s back?” Her voice was so low, I wasn’t sure if I was imagining it. The harsh, authoritative edge that had been there moments ago had dissipated. Which was honestly a bit of a relief. I was used to running with the tough guys but tough women, not so much. It made me strangely uncomfortable.
Thatch chuckled, as though Miranda had said something undeniably hilarious. “He never left, as far as I’m aware. Feel free to prove me otherwise, though.”
“He cloaked himself?” Miranda set the cups back down on the bench and ambled over to the table, leaning her hands on the wood to steady herself as she lowered herself down into one of the creaky chairs.
Thatcher shrugged, not looking nearly as confused as I was, which seemed to cause my annoyance to grow to an almost crippling level. “There’s no other explanation for it. Oh, except the reasonable one that perhaps he’s just ancient and very smart.”
Miranda rolled her eyes and turned her attention to me. I edged backwards in my seat when she shuffled herself closer. I wasn’t in the mood for getting comfy and cozy with some random woman talking in riddles.
“What has he told you? Has he hurt you? Threatened you?”
For someone who had all but ignored me since I had got here, she seemed far more interested in me now. That was just one more thing that did not sit well with me.
“Listen, I don’t know what your story is or what it has to do with Thatcher or Xavier, but I’m more than capable of taking care of myself,” I said. “I’ve dealt with my fair share of arrogant assholes. Xavier Sallow is no different. Trust me.”
Miranda stilled, as did Th
atch. Immediately, the only things I could hear were my own muffled breathing and the birds on the other side of the kitchen window, feasting of nuts and suet like there was no tomorrow. I could do with being one of those birds right now.
“She doesn’t know anything, does she?” Miranda’s long, braided hair swung from side to side in sync with her disapproving twitch of distaste.
If it hadn’t been for my curiosity getting the better of me once again, I would have stood up then and there and headed straight for the door. But I wasn’t able to turn down information, and Thatch knew that. It was why he was studying me with such intensity on the other side of the table. Warning me to keep my arse planted in my chair until we had everything we needed. He’d shot me that look more times than I cared to remember, and so far I had never questioned it. It all came back to that instinct thing he’d drilled into me from day one.
“Has Thatcher ever actually told you who it is he works for?” Miranda began, one eyebrow arching higher than the other as she concentrated on my expression. “I suppose I mean, who you both work for.”
“I work for him. He pays my wages. I don’t give a flying fuck who he works for.” My unsavoury tone caused Thatch to disguise a giggle beneath a cough like some disobedient schoolboy.
This woman was getting on my nerves, and she knew it. She allowed herself to look stunned by my reply. Her eyes widened in what could have been disgust, but I ignored it.
“How about we spare ourselves the small talk and you let me in on whatever dirty little secret you’re trying so hard to make sound interesting,” I added, unsure if I was disguising my desperation.
“Me and Miranda go back about twenty years,” Thatch interrupted, guiding my focus back to him with ease. “After I left the military and had my stint in the police, I’d just started up the office and started building up my cases.” He halted as though weighing his next words carefully, a strange thing to see in a man like him, but I resisted the urge to mention it., a strange thing to see in a man like him, but I resisted the urge to mention it. “I had this one case I couldn’t crack. It was the first in a long line of many, which you know, it comes with the territory.”
Silver Vein: Beneath the City Sleeps Book 1 Page 8
