Completion (The Kane Trilogy Book 4)

by Fantome, Stylo

  Before he could argue, Tate jogged up to the net, scooping up the ball as she went.

  “Oh, thank you, Tatum,” Isadora gushed in her syrupy accent, running up to the net as well.

  “No problem. Say, Ang has never been to Hong Kong before, you should totally show him around after this,” Tate blurted out, not even trying to be subtle.

  “Really? I was hoping to catch up with Kane a little more. So little chance to talk during the game. I would be very glad to keep him company while you show Angier the sites,” Isadora offered.

  Hmmm, I’m not the only one lacks subtlety.

  “See, I kind of had plans with Jameson,” Tate lied. There weren’t any set plans, but she figured she didn’t need them. He was her boyfriend. If she said he was busy, then he was goddamn busy.

  “Yes, of course! The party!” Isadora exclaimed. Tate blinked in surprise.

  “What?”

  “The party! Kane told me all about it, thank you so much for inviting me!”

  “Are we gonna play, or fucking chit chat all day?” Jameson yelled from the back line. Tate stepped to the side.

  “Your lovely partner was just telling me all about our party!” Tate shouted back, shielding her eyes with her hand. His own eyes were hidden by the bill of his hat, but the set of his jaw was ominous. He wasn’t happy.

  “My partner should learn to keep her mouth shut. Let’s finish this game,” he called back.

  “Oh, I’ll finish this game, alright,” Tate grumbled, stomping away.

  “Something up?” Ang asked, walking up close to her. Tate leaned into him, pressing her face against his chest and letting out a mock scream.

  “What the fuck is going on?” she breathed, turning her head to the side and resting all her weight against him. “First dinner with my parents. Then fucked up tennis. Now a party? Jameson hates parties, he hates any kind of physical activity that isn’t sex, and he hates my parents.”

  “Maybe he’s trying to turn over a new leaf,” Ang suggested, but she could feel him trying not to laugh.

  “When you’re done dry humping, some of us would like to keep playing!”

  Tate glared as Jameson’s voice carried across the court. Oh, so he could let some hoochie Brazilian rub her ass all over his crotch, but Tate couldn’t hug Ang!? Oh, it was on. It was soooooo on.

  “Ang, could you do me a favor?” Tate started, running her hands up and down his sides.

  “Hmmm?”

  “Just go with anything I do.”

  “Huh?”

  Tate ignored him and peeled her top off. She wasn’t being scandalous, she was wearing a sports bra – there were plenty of women running around the courts wearing the same thing. No, that wasn’t enough to get the reaction she wanted. But turning around and pressing her back to Ang’s front and doing a toe touch stretch, she was pretty positive that would inspire a response.

  “Does he look upset?” Tate asked, not even trying to hide her smile as she pretended to stretch from one leg to the other.

  “Murderous. Are we trying to piss him off?” Ang questioned.

  “Just having some fun, messing with him. He made me sweat with all his flirting, now it’s his turn,” Tate laughed.

  “Then let’s make it count.”

  Ang smacked her on the ass, hard enough to cause her to fall forward and place her hands flat on the ground.

  “I’m not fucking around, Tate. You have two seconds to knock it the fuck off!” Jameson yelled.

  “Ooohhh, feels like a challenge to me! Game!?” she yelled back, slowly standing up and stretching her arms above her head.

  “Don’t push me – you won’t win.”

  “Pffft, I always win.”

  Tate spun around, facing Ang as she stretched her arms back, forcing her chest out. Ang didn’t even hide the fact that he was staring at her tits.

  “I’m not really sure what kind of game you’re playing, but I gotta be honest, I like it,” he joked. Tate snorted and lowered her arms, coiling them around his neck. He rested his hands on her hips.

  “Does he look mad?” she asked. Ang glanced behind her.

  “Hard to tell. He always looks mad,” he pointed out, walking backwards and forcing her to follow.

  “If he’s standing still, he’s not mad,” Tate explained.

  “Oh, then he’s definitely mad.”

  “Is he moving?”

  “He’s right behind you.”

  Before Tate could respond, she was grabbed by the arm and spun around. She let out a shriek as Jameson bent forward, throwing her over his shoulder before standing up right. She laughed and waved goodbye at Ang as she was carried off the court.

  “Why are you always fucking pushing me?” Jameson demanded, kicking open the fence door and heading towards the main building.

  “Because it’s so much fun,” Tate snickered and snorted, trying to push herself upright.

  “I don’t find it fun,” Jameson told her.

  “You certainly found Ms. Brazil fun,” Tate countered.

  “Jealousy isn’t attractive,” he reminded her.

  “Ms. Brazil rubbing her ass all over your crotch wasn’t particularly attractive, but I got through it.”

  He slapped her on the ass.

  “You probably enjoyed it.”

  “Not even a little.”

  “Well, I enjoyed it, and that’s what counts.”

  “Jameson, put me down,” Tate urged.

  He dropped her abruptly and she stumbled on her feet, grabbing onto his arm to find her balance. She glared up at him.

  “I was going to tell you about the party,” he began slowly. He’d always been a little bit psychic – she’d just been about to ask him.

  “Oh really? What, right after people started showing up? What party, Jameson?” Tate demanded, folding her arms across her chest. He sighed.

  “That real estate deal. Turns out Isadora is trying to go in on the same hotel property. Everyone thought it would a good idea to have a party for investors, introduce everyone. I offered the suite,” he said quickly.

  “Why!?” Tate whined. “Why did we have to have it at our place? And tonight! Is there a fire!?”

  “Just how the chips fell, baby girl. Gotta roll with it,” Jameson suggested. Tate sighed and rubbed at her forehead.

  “I swear, I’m not being a bitch, Jameson, but after last night, I just don’t think I have the energy to watch sexy-pants out there flirt with you all night while I socialize with a bunch of people I don’t know and will never see again,” she explained. Jameson rolled his eyes and pulled her close.

  “Shut up. You’ll look sexy and find some guy of your own to flirt with,” he pointed out, guiding her towards the lounge.

  “You hate it when I flirt with other men.”

  “Flirting is fine. Acting like a whore is another. That will get you slapped.”

  “Promises, promises.”

  Tate was laughing, so she wasn’t really paying attention to what was going on – they were walking past the main entrance, heading towards the lounge where Sanders would be waiting. Before they could make it, though, a man scurried away from the front doors and blocked their path.

  “Kane! Kane! What are you doing in Hong Kong!?” the guy practically screamed in their faces. Two other men appeared out of nowhere and suddenly camera flashes were blinding her. Tate held her hand up, blocking her face.

  “Guys, c’mon, we just got done playing tennis. Fuck off,” Jameson snapped, moving so Tate was mostly hidden behind him.

  “What can you tell us about the new super resort!?” one of the other camera guys yelled.

  “Nothing. Security!” Jameson shouted, keeping one arm around Tate while trying to side step the paparazzi.

  “Is it true you met with Mathias O’Shea last night!?”

  That caught Tate’s attention. Normally they never bothered with her, only harassed him about business issues. Why would they care about her father?

  “Seriousl
y, fuck off.”

  “Is it true Kane Holdings just forced O’Shea out of his position on the board of -,”

  “Shut the fuck up, right now!”

  “- and Kraven Brokerage is moving to block the trades being made by O’Shea’s firm!?”

  What the hell are they talking about!?

  “Tatum! Tatum!” camera guy number two shouted, grabbing her by the shoulder and spinning her around. “Is it true your own father thinks you’re Jameson’s personal prostitute?”

  “What!?” Tate shrieked, stumbling backwards.

  She never got an answer though. Jameson’s fist slamming into the guy’s face pretty much shut everyone up.

  I bet Hong Kong prison won’t be very fun …

  8

  At the beginning of their relationship, if it could be called that, Jameson played a lot of games with Tate. She had started it all, he had just wanted to finish it.

  For one of his games, he had taken her home to visit her estranged family. Not a very funny game, it turned out. He thought the estrangement had been just that; a group of people who had gotten used to not talking to each other. They would get together, have some drinks, then go back to being the same as any family – still dysfunctional, but at least in the same room together.

  He had been very wrong. Jameson could actually admit when he was wrong, it just didn’t happen very often. It turned out the O’Shea issues ran much, much deeper than just Tate sleeping with Jameson when she was eighteen. No, there was a lot more. Mrs. O’Shea had a serious alcohol and prescription drug problem. Ellie was holding a grudge to the point she was almost delusional. And Mathias O’Shea …, well, Jameson may have been a sociopath, but Mr. O’Shea was closer to being an actual psychopath. Violent, mean, no empathy. Very strange.

  It was no wonder Ellie wound up in an abusive relationship. Had Tate’s life gone according to plan, she probably would’ve found herself in a similar situation. Her family cutting her off had probably saved her life, somewhat. Sure, the relationship Jameson and she’d had at the time hadn’t exactly been normal, but she had been a fully functional partner in it, complete with her own opinions and free will.

  Up until that little vacation, their relationship had been very casual. Sure, Jameson had somewhat realized that Tate meant more to him than just sex, but he hadn’t delved into it too much. Figured it would just run its course.

  He had come out of the shower one morning to discover Tate gone from his room. Which was fine, he didn’t care too much what she did with herself. He had just started to pull clothing out of his luggage when he’d heard shouting from the room next door. Ellie and Robert’s room.

  Jameson didn’t know why, but he’d had a bad feeling. He yanked on a t-shirt and some track pants, sighed, and headed out of his room. He hadn’t wanted to deal with real family issues, didn’t want to be the person to break up a family fight. But he had heard Tate’s voice in the fray, and as always, she had piqued his curiosity.

  When Jameson saw Robert hit her, saw Tate go down to the ground, the first emotion he felt was shock. Utter shock, that someone could hurt Tate. The second emotion was rage. Pure rage. He hadn’t even thought about it, just slammed through the bedroom door and pinned Robert to the wall.

  Jameson knew Tate wasn’t exactly a wilting flower. She was a tough girl who had gone through some tough things, not to mention the fact that she had probably experienced more aggressive behavior from Jameson himself, while in bed. But in his mind, it was completely different. He was allowed to touch Tate that way because she was his; because it was consensual. Because she asked him to do it. Because she liked for him to do it. Because he would never, ever, hurt her. No one else was allowed to touch her like that, treat her like that.

  Should’ve ripped his fucking head off.

  That had marked the change. When Jameson looked back over the years, that moment was the true defining one. That’s when he knew it was something different, that it was something more. Any other girl, he would’ve ended the trip, ended the relationship. Too much drama. Jameson wasn’t about drama, he was about sex. But for Tatum, he wanted to grind Robert into dust. Wanted to pick her up and carry her away from it all. Shield her from her horrific family. Do bad things to her in bed, so she could forget about the bad things in real life.

  I wanted to save her. Took me all these years to figure it out, but even back then, I wanted to be her prince on a white horse.

  *

  Tate sighed and leaned back against a wall. Jameson was smiling and mingling around the party. No one seemed to notice the bandage wrapped around his knuckles. When he had punched the photographer, he had clipped the camera. Sliced right through his skin.

  Of course he hadn’t gone to jail. Bribes went pretty far in Hong Kong, and by the end of the whole ordeal, the paparazzi were the ones being carted off in a police car. Jameson sent a bell hop to tell Ang and Isadora that they would need to find their own way back to the hotel, then he carted Tate outside. Sanders appeared not long after, snapping his fingers at the valet.

  “Why would he say that?” Tate had asked, leaning over Jameson’s hand, trying to judge whether or not he would need stitches.

  “Because people are assholes. Maybe he’ll think twice before asking questions like that again.”

  “You shouldn’t have hit him.”

  “I should’ve hit him harder.”

  “What was all that stuff they were saying, about my dad?”

  “Stuff you don’t need to worry about.”

  “Jameson -,”

  “Don’t push me on this, Tate. I’m not in the fucking mood.”

  Tate hadn’t pushed him on the matter, but she didn’t want to let it go, either. But after they got back to the hotel, she didn’t have time to grill him. He immediately hopped in the shower to get ready for his party. So Tate followed suit and picked out an outfit. Took a shower as well. Made herself look as good as possible.

  What a fucking waste.

  Just like she’d predicted, she didn’t know anybody, and just like she’d predicted, she had to watch Isadora pour herself all over Jameson. Tate wasn’t jealous, per se, she just didn’t appreciate the blatant disrespect. Ang showed up and blew a raspberry on her neck, promising to distract the Brazilian goddess for her. But before he could make it across the room, he got distracted by a different pretty girl.

  Men. What a bunch of fuckers.

  “Are you alright?”

  Tate smiled as Sanders moved to stand next to her.

  Okay, not all men.

  “I’m fine. Just bored. How are you? Feels like we haven’t gotten to spend any time together,” Tate said, pouting her lip out. Sanders cleared his throat.

  “There’ll be time later, I’m sure,” he replied, adjusting his tie.

  Hmmm, awfully early to be twitching. He’s nervous.

  “Sandy,” Tate started. “Is there something going on that I should know about?”

  “Why would you ask me that?”

  “Because of this party. Dinner last night. Ang. Isadora.”

  “The party is because of the resort property he is investing in, Mr. Hollingsworth is for you, dinner was a matter of right-time-right-place, and Ms. Silva just happened to be an investor in the same resort,” Sanders prattled off quickly. Tate turned to fully face him.

  “One thing I’ve learned about you – when I really want to know the meaning behind an action, you feed me all the obvious points. But I know you know what I’m really asking,” she called him out. He swallowed thickly, didn’t quite meet her eyes.

  “Then the question is why do you keep asking me, if you know I’ll always respond that way?” he countered.

  “You’d tell me, wouldn’t you? If he was planning something bad?” Tate asked in a quiet voice. Sanders’ eyes finally met hers.

  “Of course I would,” he assured her, his voice very serious. She smiled and reached out, squeezed his arm.

  “And what will it take to convince you to move home f
or good? I miss you,” she decided to change the subject.

  “And I miss you, as well. But you know it’s not that simple,” he replied. She snorted.

  “It is. There’s plenty of -,”

  “Sanders!”

  Jameson had a voice that could carry when he wanted it to, so there was no mistaking who was calling. Sanders gave a tight-lipped smile to Tate before making his way across the room. She watched as Jameson laughed, clapped Sanders on the back. Introduced him around.

  This is so fucking boring.

  Tate groaned and pushed away from the wall. A glance at her watch told her it was only five in the afternoon. The party would go on for a while, but she was over it already. She wound her way through people, smiling politely at everyone. When she finally got to the other side of the room, she slipped into the bedroom, shutting the door softly behind her.

  Her phone was at one end of the dresser, plugged in and charging. She could see the notification light blinking on it, so she made her way over. Turned on the screen. It was from Rusty, her old roommate. Tate laughed as she scrolled through pictures of the other girl at a bachelorette party in Vegas. Tate had been invited to the same party, but had turned it down because she’d thought she would be busy with the bar. Turned out she was busy on the other side of the world.

  Well, not technically busy.

  Tate didn’t know how long they texted back and forth. Long enough that she made herself comfortable, bending over the dresser and resting her elbows on top of it. She told Rusty all about her own trip, about Jameson dragging her from one odd incident to the next. Rusty and Jameson had met, several times, but the other woman had always been a little afraid of him. So Tate sent some embarrassing photos of him, hoping to humanize him a little.

  “What are you doing?”

  Tate glanced up to see Jameson standing in the doorway, his hand still gripping the knob.

  “Talking to Rusty,” she explained, going back to her phone.

  “There’s a party out here, you know,” he pointed out. She nodded.

  “I know.”

  “Full of people.”

  “Yes.”

  “In person, that you can talk to.”

  “Got it.”

  “Tatum. Get the fuck off your phone and get out here.”