by A. E. Lowan
Far away from the corporate forest, Etienne finally felt comfortable enough to slow down, and pulled into a small neighborhood park. The close call with Cian had left him shaking, and he sat still for several moments, the engine running, both to get control and to cover his reaction.
“Etienne?”
Etienne took in a deep breath and let it out, then turned off the engine. The park was quiet, no children played. “Yeah?”
“What happened?”
He rocked himself out of the seat and turned to face Cian’s visor. “The guards saw you,” he said, never being one to coddle. “I don’t know if they recognized you… I don’t think so… hell, I have no idea.” He sighed, looking back in the direction they had come. He stayed quiet for a long moment, going over the morning’s brief events. He sighed again and surrendered. “But I do think that this is bigger than I can handle alone.”
“We can’t give up…” Cian began.
Etienne cut him off. “I never said that. But, your safety is paramount to me. I won’t risk you in exchange for Senán.”
“But he’s more important…”
“Bullshit!” Etienne put so much force in that one word that Cian rocked back slightly on the motorcycle seat. “Never, ever, say that to me. Even if your father never became a king, he was a prince, as are you, and most important to me he was the only person who gave two shits for me in the courts.” It was Prince Eoin, Cian’s father, who had helped him escape from those who had carved the spell scars into his flesh. He who had taken him to the dwarves. Who had been, in the end, his one true friend in the courts. “Your father was a man of honor. Senán’s father is a backstabbing lickspittle…”
“He’s your king, too.”
Etienne snorted. “He was never my king. And he’s only one king. One king among dozens. Don’t let his fat head fool you, Cian.” He paced away and then paced back. “But all that is neither here nor there. I’m not giving up, yet, but I do need help.”
Cian straightened. “I’ll do anything,” he said, eagerness making him breathless.
Etienne waved dismissively. “Not you. You’re still a child.” Besides, after what Midir the Proud had done to him… getting him directly involved would be cruel. No matter how eager to help the boy might be. Fear churned in his belly at the very thought.
Cian practically deflated.
“I need to look up my old friend. Arthur said you couldn’t swing an arm in his hometown without hitting one of his family members. I’m hoping he wasn’t exaggerating.”
Cian made a visible attempt at mopping up his sulk. “So, we’re going looking for your friend, then?”
Etienne took the brown canvas jacket off and dropped it to the ground. “What’s that movie line?” He pulled his helmet off the back of the Harley and tugged it securely over his head. “‘We’re off to see the wizard.’”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Jeremy sat on the edge of his large mahogany desk and watched her struggle to get back into her panties without raising her skirt. She looked confused. Less than a week on the job and already on her back on her boss’s couch. Must be tough. Jeremy smirked and lit up a clove cigarette.
The snip of the lighter made her jump a little and she turned towards him, pale green eyes wide and startled. She blinked several times and raised a hand to touch her pretty face. “Mr. Moore...?”
Jeremy leaned forward, taking a deep drag on the skinny little cigarette. “Is there a problem, Miss Johnston?” He exhaled the question in a stream of white smoke.
She looked down at herself; one shoe kicked aside, silky panties around her thighs. “I’m just...” her disheveled blonde curls danced as she took in her surroundings with more urgency “...not sure what just happened.”
Jeremy rolled his eyes. Not again... He just didn’t get women. One moment they couldn’t get enough of you, the next they were pretending they didn’t mean to do any of it. Like they accidentally had sex. How do you accidentally have sex? Why couldn’t they just admit they enjoyed a good screw and leave it? Now his girlfriend, Lana, knew how to party. The woman had no shame. “Well, you seemed pretty sure while you were giving me head.”
She blanched, then flushed hard enough to make her neatly sculpted and, he knew for certain now, dyed eyebrows stand out in pale relief. “Oh, my god,” she breathed, her eyes getting even wider as panic began to set in. She grabbed her panties, and then froze, obviously torn between the need to pull them back on and a desperate reluctance to stand up and risk exposing herself.
“Oh, please... I’ve seen it already.” Jeremy was beginning to get pissed and disgusted and he let all of it leech into his voice. “Just pull them on and get out.” If she hadn’t wanted to have sex she could have said something. It wasn’t like he’d raped her or anything.
That would have pissed off his father for sure.
As if on cue, his office door swung open and in walked the great man himself. Terrific. Jonathan Moore, founder of Moore Investments, and his boss, strode into his office like he owned it. And he did. Jeremy groaned, but did not move from his perch on the desk.
“Oh my god... Mr. Moore...!” If Miss Johnston blushed any harder she would begin to bleed from her ears. Her eyes began to glimmer with unshed tears. Jeremy looked away, sick envy welling up in his throat. No one at MI called him “Mr. Moore” like that – awe and reverence and respect mingled with her embarrassment. They called him “Junior” when they thought he couldn’t hear.
Jonathan’s ice blue eyes swept the room and took in the whole scene – disheveled secretary, tousle-haired son with his shirt unbuttoned and untucked, languid smoke rising from the smoldering tip of the cigarette – and fixed Jeremy with a look of cold rage. A little spring of fear bubbled in Jeremy’s belly, but he clenched his jaw in defiance and took another drag.
His father turned to Miss Johnston and like a light his eyes brightened, the look in them warm with sympathy and concern. He slipped a silk handkerchief from his pocket and offered it. “It’s alright, young lady. Please, take a moment to put yourself together.” He then stepped in between Jeremy and his secretary, his back to the trembling girl, using his own body as a dressing screen.
Jeremy avoided his father’s cool gaze. He finished his cigarette and lit another, promising himself some quality time with his stash after this was all done. Behind Jonathan the girl dried her eyes and slipped her panties back on and he turned back at just the right moment, as she finished straightening her stylish little suit. “If I may have a moment, Miss Johnston?” His father gently laid his hand on her arm and led her from Jeremy’s office.
Jeremy sat on his desk, smoking the skinny little cigarette, wishing it was something stronger, and watched the master at work. He couldn’t hear what his father was saying, but she hung on his every word, eyes wide with fervent attention while he spoke in quiet tones and stroked her cheek. She nodded several times, and finally a smile broke like sunlight over her face. His father finally slipped his handkerchief from her fingers as she thanked him profusely enough for Jeremy to hear, and then practically skipped away. A moment later she ran back for her purse, laughing lightly at her forgetfulness, and left again, brimful of smiles.
It was always amazing. Jeremy had no idea how his father did it but he could charm anyone into doing anything. He’d once seen Jonathan walk into a rival company’s board room and announce his intent for a hostile take-over, then leave with them cheerfully signing the papers and offering to break out champagne. Jeremy grimaced. He admired his father’s incredible charisma and hated himself for it.
Jonathan walked calmly back into Jeremy’s office, closed the door behind him with exaggerated care, and strode towards his son. Jeremy took one more drag on his cigarette and rested it on the edge of his desk. “So, to what do I owe the hon...” Stars burst behind Jeremy’s eyes as his father’s backhand took him across his right cheek, rocking his head to the side. Blood blossomed against his teeth in a hot, coppery burst, and Jeremy spat it out onto the l
ush white carpet. He had learned early that swallowing would only make him sick.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The cold rage was back, joined by seething contempt.
Jeremy slipped off the desk and sneered, baring blood-rimmed teeth. “What... develop chivalry since this morning?” He spat out more blood. His face throbbed and he could feel his cheek beginning to swell. “I screwed my new secretary. Isn’t it executive privilege or something?” Jonathan reached out to grab his son but Jeremy danced out of his reach, laughing, and put the leather couch between his father and himself.
“While I care very little what you amuse yourself with on your own time,” his father began, his cold, cultured voice leaving no doubt in Jeremy’s mind of how very little his father cared – and thought – about his amusements, “you cannot help yourself to the staff. It is inappropriate.”
“Oh, please... Don’t try to tell me you don’t. You’ve never brought the same piece of ass home twice.”
“It’s called discretion, and I believe it is time you learned it. None of my interests work here.” Jonathan looked carefully at the back of his hand and pulled his handkerchief again from his breast pocket. Some blood spatter had speckled his perfect skin. “It would put undue pressure on our business relationship.”
Jeremy snorted. “What? Some social climbing slut has second thoughts about spreading her legs, so I should...what? Feel bad?”
His father’s eyes narrowed, the blue darkening with his anger. “Surely you have heard of a sexual harassment suit, you idiot.” He began to stalk slowly towards his son, and Jeremy moved away from him, the two circling around the couch.
“She’s just an admin... what’s she going to do?”
“All it takes is one complaint to the right ears...”
Jeremy retrieved his cigarette and he took a long, thoughtful drag. His eyes never left his father. “She can’t. She jumped me, not the other way around.”
“Oh, and now you are a lawyer?” Jonathan’s voice dripped with scorn. Jeremy flinched a little around the eyes, and his father smiled. “But, no, she won’t sue. She is going downstairs to work with sales.” He moved away from his son and looked around the office. “She won’t mention it and you will not seek her out again.”
Jeremy let out a long breath of exhaled smoke, not quite in his father’s direction. “Why would I want to? She wasn’t that good.” He watched Jonathan idly examine the lavish decorations, the paintings and sculptures tastefully displayed in lit niches and on pedestals. As richly decorated as the office was Jeremy kept nothing personal in it, nothing that made it his own space. It was just a hole his father shoved him into during the day. It was supposed to help “build his character.” Instead, he passed the time listening to his music and screwing his way through the secretarial pool.
His father turned his back, taking a moment to admire the sensuous lines of an abstract sculpture near the door. It wasn’t Jeremy’s style. The decorator hadn’t cared. “You disappoint me, Jeremy.”
Jeremy rolled his eyes. “There’s a big surprise.”
“So like your mother.” He reached out and stroked his long fingers over the cool, smooth stone. “She was a great disappointment, too.” He looked casually over his shoulder, to where Jeremy had frozen in the middle of raising his cigarette to his lips. His dark blonde hair had fallen over his eyes, but Jeremy knew it could not hide his burning rage. Jonathan gave his son a cruel little smile. “But, I have mentioned that before.”
“Leave her out of it.” Jeremy’s voice shook a little, the cigarette forgotten between his fingers. He could not remember his mother, could not remember many things, but there was a flickering image of her in his head, like a glorious angel. He was very possessive of it, even as his father loved tearing at it with his years of insults.
Jonathan’s smile grew wider, mockery glittering in his eyes. He let the moment stretch, and then released it. “As you wish.” He turned away again and rubbed his thumb thoughtfully against the underside of a sculpted curve. “I don’t know what disappoints me the most about you, Jeremy. Is it that you sit up here all day and do absolutely nothing productive? No, I expect that of you, now. I had hoped you would find yourself here... but I know now that there is nothing to find.”
Jeremy’s cigarette had extinguished from neglect, and he relit it, hands shaking with impotent anger. He said nothing.
“Perhaps it’s that you host illegal activities on my company’s servers, hoping to destroy everything I’ve built here?”
Jeremy took an angry gasp and choked on sweet smoke. How the hell had he known? The guy who set it up said he was the best...
“But, no, if it had been well done, at least I could be proud of your cleverness and initiative. But it wasn’t. It was sloppy and stupid and you didn’t even have the skills to do it yourself, so now your little friends are being arrested as we speak.” Jonathan twisted and looked directly at his son. “No, I know what it is.” Faster than thought, his father flung the sculpture through the air, striking Jeremy in the chest and knocking the breath out of him in a sudden cloud of expelled smoke. He was always so damned fast! Jonathan was right behind it, left hand catching his son by his hair, the right deftly snatching the lit cigarette from Jeremy’s suddenly slack fingers. He dragged his son to the ground, one knee digging into his stomach. Jeremy writhed as he fought his spasming diaphragm for breath. Jonathan leaned forward and said in that calm, reasonable voice, “It’s your complete lack of self-control.”
Jeremy managed a gurgling inhale, followed by a retching cough as his diaphragm found its rhythm again.
“I have told you, repeatedly, to keep your hands to yourself, but no... It seems you must continue to take so much after your faithless slut of a mother that you will rut with anything that crosses your shadow.”
Jeremy struggled against Jonathan, who only ground his knee in harder, until he collapsed back down to the floor from pain and exhaustion. Jeremy felt his mouth stretch into a defiant grin, felt himself begin to slip into the quiet place where he went when his father hurt him. When he wanted his father to hurt him. “What? Can I help it if the ladies can’t get enough of me?”
Jonathan bounced Jeremy’s head once on the thickly carpeted floor and Jeremy saw him frown. He really needed a harder surface to do it right. He laughed at the thought, the sound a little too high. His breath rattled a bit on the inhale.
Jonathan leaned back a little, and Jeremy felt, more than heard, a creaking in his chest. A broken rib, maybe? It wouldn’t be the first time. His father fiddled with the clove cigarette, smoke still rising from the tip like a delicate white exclamation. “Between the sex, the drugs – the blatant stupidity – one lawsuit, one news story, and all I have built will be destroyed.” His father looked down at him, eyes dark with carefully controlled rage. “I am too close, now, to risk you destroying all with your antics. I have worked too hard, for too long...”
Jeremy narrowed his half-mad eyes. Close? “Close to what?”
Jonathan smiled and it was humorless. “Oh, no, my boy. You’re not in a position to question me.” He tightened his grip on Jeremy’s hair and pressed the side of his face to the carpet. “All I want from you are promises, and apologies.” Jonathan took the little cigarette between his lips. The scent of burning cloves grew stronger as his breath coaxed the ember hotter and brighter. “And this time, you will mean every… single… word.”
Jeremy’s eyes widened with the first blossoming of true fear.
Aodhán heard a scream as he touched the office door and looked behind him to the cube farm. No heads popped up over the fabric walls in fear and curiosity, which was a good thing. Apparently, the boy had angered his father again. He waited patiently until the sound died away and slipped quickly into the office, shutting the door quietly before another scream escaped into the open behind him. No need to frighten the employees on a Friday. He stepped closer and watched Jonathan press the branding tip of a tiny cigarette into his son�
��s cheek. Jeremy let out another shriek and writhed in pain against his father’s hold, to no avail. Aodhán waited for the noise to dissipate before he cleared his throat. “Excuse me, Jonathan?”
Jonathan shifted his weight to settle it all onto his son’s chest and looked up at Aodhán. “Good morning, Aodhán,” he said pleasantly as Jeremy struggled to breathe beneath him. “How are you today?”
Aodhán thought a moment and gave him a small smile. “Intrigued, actually.”
“Oh, really?”
“We have something downstairs you’ll want to see.”
Jonathan looked down at his son and sighed. “I suppose I can put off the rest of our conversation until later, then.” He ground his knee viciously into Jeremy’s chest and pushed up to his feet. Jeremy rolled to his side with a groan. Jonathan stepped over his son and joined Aodhán. “Shall we?”
Aodhán waved courteously for Jonathan to precede him and the two men left Jeremy’s office.
Aodhán leaned in slightly as they made their way to the elevators. “Out of curiosity, what did he do this time?”
Jonathan frowned tightly. “His new secretary.”
Aodhán twisted his lips in mild disgust. “Is he ever going to get control over that?”
“Apparently not.”
The elevator opened obediently – Jonathan Moore did not wait for elevators in his own building – and they headed down. “So,” said Jonathan, “where downstairs are we headed?”
“Security. We had some interesting visitors to the building this morning.”
Jonathan frowned again. “It’s too damn close to Allhallows for ‘interesting,’ Aodhán.”
Aodhán slid his eyes toward Jonathan. “‘Interesting’ is why I am here, if you recall.”
