by Sara Forbes
I've explained all this to Natasha.
For the entire ride, neither of us feels like talking. We sit silently the back seat of the taxi, each of us gazing out on the drizzly streets through our respective windows, thinking our respective thoughts.
When we draw up at the destination, I pay the driver, cash, step out of the car and go around to the pavement side. I open her door. She's sitting there, making no move to get out.
"Come on. It's OK," I tell her.
She snaps out of her trance and glances around nervously.
Mr. Kline emerges from the shadows across the street in a felt hat and black, padded coat. He looks like an older version of Leonard from The Big Bang Theory. It's mildly reassuring even if that's totally illogical.
Natasha doesn't linger with me as I'd dreaded she might. She whispers a quick "goodbye" and walks over to the man. I admire her guts.
Kline tips his hat to me. Then he cocks his head toward the black BMW parked several feet up the road. She follows him there, gets in the back and that's all I get to see of her before they drive off into the night.
I exhale the breath that I seem to have been holding ever since I got that phone call about Sergei. And yet, there's a knot of unease in my stomach that still won't untwist. Maybe it never will. Maybe this state of unease is my life from now on—the price to be paid for actually trying to help people in the real world.
At least she's in more capable hands than mine with people who know how to avoid any FSB entanglements which is priority umber one. Whether they truly can offer her the quality of life she deserves is another thing. First thing she needs is a psychologist who specializes in PTSD. I'm not sure if she'll get it, but this young woman needs a full psychological assessment by a good professional.
Part of the difficulty of handing her over is my doubt that any organization will care enough for her to go the extra mile. But at least she's alive and safe. My job now is to extend the same favor to the next guy on the list—Sean's man in Syria, Farhid. With any luck, I won't get emotionally attached to him.
Then begins my drive back to London. I badly miss my phone. Jess could probably do with a night off from all this drama tonight, so I won't bother her. It'll do her good to think about her own concerns and not just mine all the time. I'll tidy up the office and pack Natasha's stuff in storage. That might help me clear my head for the next project.
25
JESS
IT'S A SLOW MORNING, my thoughts full of Egan and Natasha as I go through routine tasks like book-keeping in the office. I'm hoping to hear from him soon, as I heard nothing from him last night. Then all of a sudden, things get loud.
"Is it true?" Martha storms in as I'm unpacking a new set of mop heads. She dumps her bag on the floor. Red-faced, her eyes bore into me.
"What?" I ask.
"The scholarship?"
"Wh-what about it?"
"How can you even ask that?" Her Glaswegian accent belts out stronger than ever.
A worm of unease twists in my belly. I'd been meaning to tell her about Egan's involvement there, but then...Egan's house happened. It went clean out of my mind. And I can't explain any of this to Martha. Just like I can't explain what's happening to me in general.
"I'm so sorry," I mumble. "I should have been more forthcoming but—"
"But what?" she screeches. "What, Jess? How is it that I have to hear it from Jake?"
"What are you talking to him for?"
"What is Harwood playing at? Is he trying to buy his way into your life, Jess? Control you? I thought you'd learned to stand up on your own two feet again."
"I have!"
"Not from where I'm standing. And is it true he's a Bitcoin investor?" She spits out the word like Bitcoin investor is like "people trafficker" or "drug dealer".
"So?"
"Jake says it'll collapse any day soon and the scholarship will be worth nothing. Then where will my kids be? They'll be forced to leave because I sure as hell won't be able to keep them at Wentworth without that scholarship."
"Hold on a second," I say hotly. "If Egan donated money for the scholarship then he'd have to have converted it already, so the money is sitting in the bank in dollars or Sterling. Jake knows this. He's clearly done a number on you. He's trying to drive a wedge between us. He's had it in for Egan ever since he saw us in the sandwich shop."
She slumps into her chair, her eyes still glued to my face. "So, he's Egan now, is he?" She throws up her hands. "And what sandwich shop? What else don't I know, Jess?"
I exhale a ragged breath. "It's been... busy the past few days, Martha. I neglected to tell you some things...but I was going to at the right moment!"
She shakes her head emphatically. "Look at you. We were perfectly happy running this business, you and me, before Mr. Bitcoin came along with his Rolex and pinstripe suit. And now you've not only got him dictating your every move, but my kids' moves as well! It's way too much, Jess. Someone's got to draw the line."
She's livid. As I've never experienced her before. I ignore the fact that Egan wears neither a Rolex nor a pinstripe suit and focus instead on the fact that's she's concerned, and rightly so, about her kids. She just doesn't understand the situation because Jake has warped the truth.
"Fuck his money, Jess, I will not be beholden to it. I've decided my kids will not be taking that scholarship exam."
"Martha, don't do this."
"Why not?"
"They've worked so hard—"
"Which is why I'm doing this."
"Yes but...he meant well. He apologized for not coming clean about it sooner. He said he didn't want to just dish out the money. I see the reasoning behind it."
She wheels her chair closer. "Apart from everything else, you promised yourself you wouldn't let this happen again, remember? After Jake. You gave up your college for him. Mark my words, you're going to give up this business for Harwood because it's just so much easier to rely on his handouts than to earn that money."
In the long silence that follows, she lets out a long breath. "You don't even know what he does, do you?"
"I see the result of what he does," I say quickly. True, I don't know every last detail about how Egan gets his vast sums of money, and the role of those other guys I've seen on his screen, but if saving people like Natasha is the end result of it, it's good enough for me.
She's eyeing me carefully. "And lemme guess, you're not going to tell me what that is, right?"
"I'm sorry, Martha. I would if I could."
I so desperately want to tell her but I won't break that trust Egan has in me. She's pissed off that I won't tell her and I'm sorry about it. It's a lot to put in front of her. All she sees is the influence of a man over me. Intellectually, she's right. I can see the pattern myself.
But I'm in this fog of infatuation that won't let me see Egan as a normal person. I'm choosing him over my best friend and business partner, something I would never have pictured myself doing. At some level, I hate myself for this. And yet, I can't do otherwise. It's this madness that's overcome me where I think he's just the best person in the world. I'm going to regret it someday, I know it. But my heart won't let me believe it.
"Let them take the damn scholarship," I say. "You're cutting off your nose to spite your face."
She shakes her head.
"Well, I wasn't perfectly happy running this business," I growl.
"What do you mean?"
"Scraping by?" I point at the old-fashioned desktop computers on our desks. "Barely making ends meet? Yes, I did it, and it had meaning. It was helping you and helping your kids. So, pardon me for accepting that a rich man comes by and wants to use his money to help us out and take some of that pressure off. If you had any sense, you'd accept his help... for the sake of your kids!"
"I'd forgive you," she says, white with fury. "If you'd kept me in the loop, as any friend worth anything would. And I never asked you to sacrifice your life for my kids."
A cold silence stretches o
ut between us.
"You're on your own today," she says, "which is the way you seem to prefer it."
"That's not the way I prefer it," I say, my voice shaking, "Martha, none of this was meant to happen."
"Just sort out what it is you want, Jess, because I don't see what that even is anymore. It's probably time I got a job anyway, and stopped clinging onto hope. That's what got me into this situation in the first place."
She heads for the door and goes out without a backward glance. It rattles shut behind her.
I sit, dumbstruck in the chair. Martha and I have had fights before. But never like this. She's never walked out on me, or suggested we give up. She knows I'm holding back. And that's something I can't fix right now.
The only person I want to talk to is Egan. At the risk of being the needy girlfriend, which is the absolute last way I want to think of myself, I take up my phone and gaze at his contact entry. I'd snapped a lovely shot of him as he stood outside the Platinum Star. His face is bathed in dusky sunlight and his eyes have that kind, mildly concerned expression that I've come to love.
Am I too reliant on him? Will it all come crashing down like it did with Jake? But it feels different than with Jake, hitting me in a place inside that's deeper, darker, and warmer. Yes, I am dependent on him but it's got nothing to do with money. It's far more serious than that.
I'm hyperventilating as my finger hovers over the button. It seems such a betrayal of everything I stand for, running to him looking for comfort and not fixing my problems with my friend first.
But I press the button anyway.
26
EGAN
JESS SOUNDS PRETTY DOWN on the phone so I ask her to come on over to the Platinum Star to meet me. That way, we can save time and travel to my place, or maybe even hers, if she prefers. She agreed readily, saying she needed a day off anyway.
God, this sudden freedom. I could definitely get used to it.
I'm dying to tell her about leaving Natasha with Kline—something I felt couldn't be discussed on the phone. She's the only person who truly understands what it means to Natasha and to me.
But mostly I just want to experience the joy of being able to go anywhere with Jess, do anything, unshackled from the chains of a Russian dissident. We could walk around here naked if we wanted to.
I give up on my work as I can't concentrate anyway. If I miss out on a juicy market opportunity then so what? I'm taking the day off too.
Half an hour later, Jess finally arrives. Seeing her car arrive already gets my heart thumping hard. I rush down to the door like a love-sick puppy dog.
"Hey," I say at the door which I've just opened for her. "Your code doesn't work anyway."
She gives me a wry smile. "Oh, you changed it again, did you? What's it been? A whole twenty-four hours?"
"Give or take," I say.
"Why the strict security? Natasha's gone, isn't she?"
"She sure is. So, get in here." I plant my hands on her hips and pull her over the threshold flat against my chest. Our mouths meet hungrily, our tongues reunite. My hands tunnel through her silky warm hair. It seems like an eternity since we last kissed and I've been tensed up all that time, ready to explode.
I maneuver her against the wall where our kiss deepens. She bucks against me and I grind into her belly with my erection. We are not going to last until we get to some more appropriate location. I want her now, even if it's up against this bare concrete wall.
She wants me too. Her hands grip harder, her nails digging into the skin on my neck, just enough to pinch. Her breathing quickens and she's gasping "yes, yes, come on." There's a desperation to her need and it's turning me on. She tugs at my waistband and I unbuckle really fast, helping her with her jeans.
As I slide the denim down her thighs, I'm overcome with the desire to worship her. I kneel and kiss her gently on her mound. She squirms. "No, stand up, Egan. You don't have to—"
"Let me do this," I insist.
She lets out a low growl and her hands clasp at the grooves on the wall between the blocks. With my tongue tip, I probe her folds, tasting her, remembering so vividly that scent from our previous night together. From the level of her panting, she's near to coming.
"Come on," she whispers hoarsely.
I reach around and cup her buttocks while my tongue makes jabbing contact with her clit. She tris to thrash but I tighten my grip. I want her to follow my tempo.
Her growl of impatience ends in a mewl as I lap her quicker and quicker, sucking and caressing. Her buttocks finally relax. She's letting me take control of her pleasure, trusting I'll give her what she wants.
"Yes, oh please," she begs, her fingers grappling with my hair, tightening her grip.
I suck and press into her, alternating with the ebb and flows of her sighs.
Her whole body tenses up and she lets out a ragged cry of release. "Oh, God, Egaaan."
I grin and rise. She pulls me in for a kiss that tastes completely of her. I'm intoxicated with her. And I'm very, very hard.
She grips my shaft firmly at the base making my breath come in caveman grunts. I'm bucking under her squeezes. I guide her hand so she pumps up and down the way I need it. She catches on fast, making me lightheaded.
"I need to be inside you," I gasp. She nods. I reach down to my pants, pull out the condom I've optimistically stashed there and sheath myself. She guides me to her entrance, now slick and swollen.
Holding her hip with one hand, I push inch by inch inside her warm, slippery core, the force making her jerk up against the wall. When I'm fully in, our foreheads touch, our sweat mingling.
"I need you so much," I say. "In every way, but especially this way."
"I know." She grips the sides of my head hard and zaps me with a piercing look. "I'm here. I'll always be here."
I'm hoisting her up by her butt. She leans into the wall for extra support but I'm worried the concrete surface will chafe her clothes.
"Come on." I carry her into a small meeting room to the side. She wraps her legs tight around my waist and squeezes, squealing, half in protest, half in delight. I sit her down on the edge of a table. She unwinds her legs and lets them dangle down, easing back with her arms propping up.
"You sexy vixen," I mutter.
She laughs, leaning back on her arms, tossing her head back. "No one's ever called me that."
"Has anyone even seen you before?"
Somehow, I doubt it. That ex of hers probably couldn't see far enough past his own sense of inadequacy to realize what he'd got. I move in, take her cheeks in my palms, massaging that soft flesh, plundering her mouth again while I thrust my cock deep inside her. She moans into my mouth driving me wilder. Her muscles clench around me, and it's glorious.
I climb and climb with every thrust, a ferocious need building in every cell. And when release comes, I blank out in a moment of mind-blowing nothingness. Another wave knocks me out before I can even open my eyes again. And when I do raise my heavy eyelids, I'm looking into her smiling, flushed face.
"You look very relaxed," she says.
"That's because I think I just died."
She chuckles. "Yeah, I know that one."
I pull out slowly and we clean up with tissues she produces from her bag.
Our breaths return to normal and the silence settles in around us as we huddle side by side leaning against the table.
"It's so quiet," I remark.
She laughs. "Empty nest syndrome, Egan?"
I grin at her. "It is weird that now that we're free to go anywhere ...we find ourselves here."
"I know. Or maybe not so weird?"
"True. Maybe I'm starting to like this place, quirks and all."
We head up to the second-floor kitchen to get some coffee. "So, tell me, how did it go with Natasha?" she asks, stretching out on the couch.
"Well, Kline showed up where and when he said he would. He looked friendlier than I imagined. It was hitch free, I'd say."
"Was she upset
?" she asks.
"She'll be safe now, that's what matters."
"I hope so," she says wistfully.
"What's wrong, Jess? You seemed out of sorts on the phone earlier."
She looks down and wrings her fingers. "You noticed that, did you? Well, the thing is, it actually concerns you."
She tells me about Martha's kids and the scholarship. I'm shocked at Martha finding out the way she did, but even more dismayed at the effect it's had on their friendship and potentially their business.
"Christ, I'm sorry. My heavy handedness has caused this," I groan. "I didn't even think."
Her chin tilts a little higher. "It does seem like quite a calculated move on your part, not something that just, you know, happened?"
I acknowledge this with a nod. "Busted. I do this kind of thing all the time. I get a whim and think 'well, why not help out here?' I suppose my respect for the value of money is warped. It's just meaningless numbers to me."
She sighs heavily. "Well it's certainly not meaningless numbers to Martha and me. We worked our butts off for years worrying about these figures. Martha thought the scholarship suddenly being available was the universe rewarding her for the hard work, in a karmic way. But turns out it was just my connection to you. She's taking it really badly...along with the fact that she knows I'm hiding our relationship from her."
"Which I appreciate." I put my finger under her chin and kiss her lightly. "It can't be easy. I'll make it up you."
"No, that's not the answer, it can't be."
"I wish I could make this easier. But my life is not normal, and now that we're involved, it's putting constraints on you too. I—I should have been more upfront about how it would be but—"
"But it happened so fast?"
"It certainly did." I grasp her hands and hold them tight.
"Tell me how it all started. You know, the Bitcoin thing. Your business."
"Well," I say with a chuckle. "It was 2009. I'd just graduated from college and was looking for my first job, dying to move out of home in the bad end of Brixton. My parents had low expectations for me. They were poor all their lives and were deeply mistrustful of the establishment. They wanted me, as eldest child, to pave the way for my three siblings by settling down with a local girl and getting an honest job, preferably as a mechanic or a shop manager.
