by Nicole Snow
“Can we go to bed?” she says abruptly, eyes as big as saucers.
“Of course, Bekah. Let me show you the room.”
I stand up, helping her, but she grabs me as soon as we're on our feet. “No. I don't want to sleep alone.”
We share a long look. I give her more than ample opportunity to change her mind. When she starts moving again, I tighten my grip on her hand, guiding her up the black marble stairs to the best floor in the house, my master bedroom.
She slips into a robe when we're inside, and I lock the door. Here, my bed is a lot less historic and overbearing than my plush Victorian playmate in Maine, a sleek modern slab of leather and memory foam from a Swedish designer.
Bekah tucks into it, flattening herself on my bed with a satisfied sigh. I lay with her, unbuttoning my shirt, kicking off my trousers. Dragging a blanket up high over her shoulders, I wrap her in one arm, holding her to me while she closes her eyes, and makes her silent prayer to the Sandman to take her.
“Shit,” she whispers, turning toward me at the last moment, her eyes a little panicked. “I just realized I should leave early, shouldn't I? Otherwise, everybody at the office will see us coming in together.”
“Relax, moscato. It's none of their business, and they're my employees. You'll ride with me, especially with Monsieur Fuckface trolling around. They'll turn their heads and they won't say a word. You've got a place here as long as you'd like. I'm not sending you home unguarded if it isn't safe.”
My answer seems to satisfy her. Before I know it, she's got her soft green eyes closed again, and her breathing slows.
I won't lie: before, this was about sex. Hot, unbridled, tongue lashing sex, and nothing more. The howling animal need to mount her, take her, fuck her, pump my seed inside her as deep as I possibly can.
Now, I don't know what this is.
It's alarming. Electric. Exhilarating as it is the sweetest, most human grace in the world. In my arms, she feels right in a way no one else ever has, and I don't know what the hell to do. I can't translate what it means.
I hold her long into the night, pondering the painful questions.
I see the past, when my fucked up father set me down the road to never having a normal relationship. I think about mom's funeral, after the plane crash took her in the Alaskan wild, my little brother Hayden crying on my shoulder, while the baby, Luke, sat mercifully oblivious next to us. After that, our old man took to drinking, nearly running his empire into the ground, chasing so much skirt he must've went through at least a hundred nameless sluts before he landed his final gold digger.
I wasn't meant to have a woman. Not after his chaos. I laid off the booze, avoiding his mistakes, and drowned myself in the same distant, disposable pussy he did.
Just a couple years back, we were all the same, me and my brothers. Last couple years showed me the unthinkable can happen to a Shaw: happiness, marriage, kids, family.
I'm older than my brothers. I should be wiser. More cautious than they were when love drama hit them in the face, and almost cost them everything.
Damn if I'm not heading down the same road, conscious it's happening, but it doesn't even phase me.
I don't care if Bekah threatens my fortune and reputation, like what Hayden went through.
I don't care if it sends me to jail, same as Luke chasing after Robbi.
I can't let up.
Not now.
Not ever.
This beautiful, troubled sweetness dreaming in my arms is too good to relinquish. She's an addiction, and quite possibly a fatal one, but damn if I don't feel whole every last second I'm drinking in her presence.
When she stirs in her sleep, I'm drifting off, but I find the energy to lean in one more time, brushing my lips softly over hers.
I'll see them smile again before we're through. I'll set them free.
If Corbin is worried about his daughter, or knows she's run to me, so far he isn't showing it. I spend the day with legal going over last minute details. The merger rolls on, unaffected by recent happenings, secretly knifing my guts as I contemplate making the call to say, fuck you, it's off.
But Bekah doesn't know what's driving her old man to be a bigger prick than usual. Nobody does except him and Fabius. If I want answers, I need to hold my fire, and my tongue.
I pace the office angrily between work all day, waiting for three p.m., when I'm due to head down to the yacht for a private meeting with Corbin himself.
If anybody noticed me and Bekah coming up, they haven't said anything. I don't even see the usual signs of underhanded gossip flying around when I look down on the cubicles through the glass. The boys in trade keep themselves glued to the day's transactions, only breaking for coffee when Wall Street slows around noon, ribbing each other about sports and new Manhattan eateries.
My eyes won't stay off her, of course. They're no less obsessed than they were a week ago.
Hell, it's worse since we've spent another night together, without even getting my dick wet.
My phone rings at 2:30 sharp. Driver's waiting, Nina tells me. I thank her, and remind her he's supposed to come back here when we're done to take Bekah home.
My secretary doesn't ask me why, she just says she'll get it done. Knew I made the perfect choice when I hired her.
Later, at the docks, I'm on the boat, sitting in a thick leather seat on the yacht's main deck, a dry scotch in my hand. Corbin shows up a few minutes late. The ship untethers, beginning its short cruise up the coast, just as he sits down across from me. His aides hang back, ready to jump in if he needs to cross-check details.
He snatches a whiskey sour from the waitress' hand and plops down across from me, without so much as a hello or a handshake. It's a fitting drink for a man who's always sour, perhaps rotten, straight to his fucked up core. Knowing how he's walking on Bekah, and letting that creepy Fabius asshole do the same, forces me to cap my rage before it explodes all over us.
“Shaw.” He sizes me up, turning his nose skyward.
“Mr. Corbin,” I say his name, skipping other pleasantries, locking eyes with the jackass who shouldn't be more than my new business partner if everything hadn't gone insane.
He isn't much to look at. Same expensive suit I'm wearing, tailored to fit an older, skinnier man. His salt and pepper mustache twitches when he lifts his eyebrows, draining half the drink in his glass before he even looks at me with his dull green eyes. On the surface, they're a lot like my moscato's, but without the warmth, the energy, or the beauty.
“Before we get too deep, I'm curious about Fabius,” I begin, setting my drink down next to me. “Specifically, I'm wondering about their role with the arms contracts overseas, and whether or not –“
“Shaw, did my daughter come to work today?” he cuts in, heading off the info I'm trying to get the easy way.
“Rebekah? Of course. I saw her this morning, doing her job like she's supposed to.” I try not to let too much ice creep into my voice, or give the bastard the satisfaction of catching me off-guard. “Why? Is there something I should know?”
“No matter, no matter.” He waves it away with his hand like it's nothing. “I'm simply checking up on the girl. My daughter has a nasty habit of not following through. However, I'm pleased to hear she's working out for you.”
“She's perfect,” I tell him, wondering if he'll sense the other ten layers of meaning in those two words.
“Perfectly unpredictable, you mean, but we didn't come here to piss away our evening on her antics.” He scoots to the edge of the chair, folding his hands in a neat triangle, staring me down like dinner. “What is it you'd like to know about Fabius? You told me your people ran the numbers last week and approved the bond purchases. Surely, there aren't any last minute concerns? Corbin Financial doesn't second guess. I trust Neolithic is the same.”
“We prize accuracy. When the consultants we hired to go after the pending contracts wrote their reports, I noticed a striking lack of detail about fulfillment profit strategy.
Plenty of high tech supplies going straight to NATO, but it seems they're making a lot of money outside the standard buyer chains, too. I'd like you to enlighten me.”
He turns his face up. “What are you implying? Illegal arms trade? You think I'd do business with some messy fucking greenhorns who'd get themselves slapped with sanctions from half the civilized world just to make a quick buck?”
“Nothing of the sort. I asked for details, Corbin, I didn't accuse.”
He's silent. Then he raises his hand, asking for another drink, and mutters something under his breath about getting the damned team over here, stat.
A minute later, I'm surrounded by half a dozen seasoned lawyers and corporate ballbusters. Half of them have gone white in the face, sipping nervously at their drinks. They know things can't be going well if he's waved them over.
“It seems our new partner would like more detail about the inter-workings of Fabius and their arms contracts.” He looks at a tall man with wiry spectacles who's clutching his briefcase. “Watson, tell the gentleman what we know about our French business partners and their buyers. Also, very kindly remind him he's already signed off on his risk assessment, as have I, and any cold feet at this stage will be very, very costly.”
The fuck doesn't even soften his tone when he threatens me. There's poison in every word, and what's worse, he isn't wrong. I could kick myself today for speeding through the process last week, before I knew Bekah's Ethan problem was a hell of a lot more than a clingy, desperate little shit.
“Pardon me, Shaw. I'll let you sit down with the nice man while I refresh my drink and enjoy the Atlantic breeze. Simply marvelous out here on the high seas, and I don't get a chance to enjoy it alone often.”
He leaves me in a den of wolves. I spend the next half hour poking at questions the suits will never give me a straight answer to, couching the details in legalese, always implying I'm out of my mind if Fabius is doing anything underhanded.
Of course Corbin Financial doesn't associate with black market arms trades.
Don't I know they've never been sanctioned even once by the SEC or the FTC, much less any other alphabet agency?
And surely, I realize the consequences of implying they've been anything less than boy scouts here, right?
Particularly, when my name is now attached to theirs in legally binding ink, and it's merely a matter of weeks before corporate accounts are fully merged.
I knew it was a long shot, finding out anything that would help Bekah, and I expected to walk away empty handed at the worst. Now, I remember how dire this is, marrying myself to Corbin without anything more than the standard legal courtship.
Whatever Ethan has to flog him into fucked up liaisons with my girl, it's my problem, too.
Whatever Fabius' strings are, they're tangled up in Neolithic now.
Whatever it means for my company, I decide then and there I don't give a damn.
She's worth more than this merger. Immeasurably more than the bruises my ego takes as they circle me with their passive-aggressive threats and nasty wink-wink reminders about how I'd better get comfortable with our agreement, and fast.
Oh, I'll be comfortable one fine day. Mainly, the day when I'll see Jeremiah Corbin on his knees, begging his daughter for forgiveness, watching as my company purifies his dirty deals with fire.
The yacht stays out past sunset. I keep my distance from the jackals enjoying themselves on the upper deck, watching New York's endless lights coming into view as we make our final course correction into harbor. Lady Liberty has never looked so fierce, a sentinel in the night, immense and unflinching, no matter what changes around her.
I wish I could be so cold.
When Corbin comes up behind me, I don't even turn. I just stare out the window clenching my fist, desperate to keep my hands where they belong before I try to end him right here.
“Don't make me regret this deal, Shaw.” He's next to me, glaring, his mustache twitching angrily when I refuse to look at him.
“You don't scare me,” I growl, staring into the city's lights, growing closer by the second. “I'm not another flunky you can push around, Corbin. If this is the way it's going to be, then I already know I've made a huge fucking mistake.”
“Wrong. Sticking your nose where it doesn't belong is the real error here, Shaw.” He puts his hand on my shoulder, and I shoot him a dirty look. It takes every ounce of discipline in my soul not to put my fist through his face. “It's too late to turn around, the same as this ship. I suggest you keep on with exactly what you're doing here – eyes straight ahead, no looking back. Only forward. We're first mates, and so is Fabius.”
When I hear the name, muscles I wish I didn't have swell. My ears throb, wishing they could hear the satisfying crunch of his bones.
But they won't. Not as long as he has me by the balls in ways I don't fully understand.
“Start acting like a partner, Shaw,” he says, his voice a hoarse whisper. “Keep your nose up, and we'll make a lot of money together. Stick it in dark, scary places, and you'll sink us both.”
“Bullshit, Corbin!” I rip myself away from him, ramming my finger into his chest. “I'm not playing games. If you thought you'd bring me here, surround me with sharks, and tell me it's too damned late to back out before I cut my own throat, you're wrong. I'll rip yours out first, nice and clean.”
He puts his hand on my wrist. Too weak to push it away. He's twice my age and half my size, but damn if he doesn't have a wicked power that helps him lift my hand off him, before I'm ready.
“Clean? I don't think you know the meaning of the word. You're young, I get it. You're a hothead. So I'll cut you a teensy-tiny break. Just this once. You've done amazing things with your company and your life to get where you are now, partnered with one of the oldest, most prestigious firms this city has ever seen. Be careful your piss and vinegar doesn't consume you, Shaw. Let it bring you to productive places, and learn to keep a lid on it when it tries to bring you elsewhere. Because if you don't, if you decide to second guess, if you try screwing me over – and this, I promise – I'll fuck back ten times harder. I'll send you home to Chicago, picked cleaner than you can fathom, blacklisted from making more than a trifling salary.”
My veins are about to burst with the hot blood I'm holding in. Somehow, I keep staring through this thug, without splitting his skull clean down the middle.
“Again, don't make me regret this. I know you already do, Shaw, but you're a partner. You're not important. I want to work with you while we both understand the lay of the land. I still want you pretending you're King Shit of Fuck Mountain while I sail off for some well deserved peace and quiet. But if you make me regret this, if you make me start doing what I hate more than anything else – second guessing – I'll deal with you. What happens when I do won't be pretty for you, or anybody else at your firm who takes the Bastard Axe schtick seriously. Axes can be broken, Shaw. Melted down to make whatever I'd like.”
I've done a lot in my life, but I've lived more than three decades without choking on hatred until now. I'm barely breathing, trying not to gag on my own helpless rage, when he steps away, shooting me one last savage look over his shoulder.
I let him exit the ship first, running for the bathroom. I take my sweet time, splashing cool water over my face. Corbin and his associates need to be gone by the time I'm finished dousing my face, my only defense against losing the bile building up inside me like a bomb, or else I'll do the unspeakable.
Frankly, I still will. Tonight, I'm letting him go in peace, get in his limo, and put as many miles as he cares between us.
His threats don't scare me in the way he thinks. They chill my blood because he's shown me that if I want to save Bekah and cover my own ass, I have one choice, and one only. There's no more doubt.
I have to destroy this man.
Burn him to the ground.
Him, his company, and the all the demons he's sacrificed himself to. I'll torch my way through them until there's nothing
left.
8
Can't Go On (Bekah)
I ignore another call from mom and let it go to voicemail. I'm sitting by the window, arms folded, staring out across the city. It's a magnificent view from his palatial condo, a sleeker and more modern display of wealth than the rustic mansion I grew up in, tucked outside the city proper.
Here, it's easy to see everything. The blinking lights stretching from Manhattan to Jersey. New York's famous landmarks gleaming in their majesty, world symbols of trade and liberty, neighbors in their towering heights.
I've always appreciated good scenery, but when I'm alone in his place, I can't. It can't take the edge off. My eyes keep returning to my reflection in the window.
I barely recognize myself. There's a tired ring around my eyes from crying. New grooves in my face thanks to the incessant fear and confusion.
Disgusted, I look away, sighing as I bring my phone to my ear. I tap the button to hear her message, wanting to get this over with.
“Rebekah, where are you? We're worried sick about you, honey. Your father, too...” I hold it away as she drones on about how sorry he is. So is Ethan, supposedly, profusely apologizing to dad up and down for his 'untoward behavior.' “Listen, if you can't come home, please tell me you're all right. I have to pack for Dubai. I'd still love it if you'd step away from that silly little job and join me. A nice vacation will do wonders for your stress.”
I briefly consider chucking my phone off the balcony. Too bad I need it since I'm effectively a pampered nomad now, living with a man who also leaves me guessing, but hasn't yet dealt me the same painful blow as the others I used to care about.
I'M FINE, I text back. Then I silence it, refusing further questions, stuffing the little black box into my pocket.
I'm just in time to see a vision walk through the door that's a thousand times more pleasant than anything on my screen.
