Wicked Truths (Hunt Legacy Duology Book 2)

by Jodi Ellen Malpas

  I smile tightly. ‘We left our bags on the bar. Would you be so kind?’

  ‘No.’

  My neck retracts, insulted, and my battle to keep hold of my temper gets a little trickier. I can hear Becker behind me yelling my name, getting more and more irate with each shout. I don’t have time to fuck about.

  ‘Oh, screw you, ape-boy.’ I dip between them stealthily and leg it to the bar, hearing the delayed sound of hard strides hitting the floor behind me. I spot my purse, but Lucy’s huge clutch bag is nowhere to be seen. ‘Crap.’ I grab mine and scan the floor.

  ‘Hey!’

  Whirling around, I clock ape-boy coming at me, his huge feet stomping angrily. ‘Oh shit.’ I abandon my search and dart for the fire exit, flying out of the doors like a hurricane. I take a precious moment to remove my heels, before speeding off across Covent Garden, checking over my shoulder for the doormen, finding them in hot pursuit. Jesus, for colossal beasts, they’re fucking fast. I return my attention forward and power on, seeing Becker up ahead, still holding up Lucy.

  His eyes go like saucers when he sees me barrelling towards him. ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ he blurts out, his eyes following my sprinting form as I sail past.

  ‘Run!’ I shout, starting to laugh, the absurdity of the night suddenly hitting me like a brick.

  ‘I’m gonna spank your arse until it fucking bleeds, Eleanor!’

  ‘Okay!’ I call, thinking my agreement might get him shifting quicker.

  Taking a swift glimpse back, I see him tossing Lucy’s hysterical and useless weight over his shoulder before breaking into a sprint that defies reason with a woman sprawled all over him.

  I make it to Becker’s BMW only a second before him, puffing and panting like a loser, whereas Becker has hardly broken a sweat. The door opens and he practically chucks Lucy into the back before throwing himself into the driver’s seat. I join him quickly, falling into the passenger side and slamming the door. But Becker doesn’t speed off like I expect. He’s staring in his rear-view mirror, eyes narrowed somewhat. I look over my shoulder out the back window and see the two gorillas standing in the road, bent with their hands braced on their knees, but that’s not what has Becker’s attention. There’s a car parked nearby, and once I’ve seen who’s in the driver’s seat, I shrink. Stan Price. He’s watching Becker’s car, and something tells me he’s seen the entire crazy episode outside the bar. And me. Has he been following me all night? I don’t say anything, mindful that Lucy is with us. I don’t want her asking questions, so I just look at Becker and wait until he looks at me. When he does, his lips are straight, his nostrils flaring, and he shakes his head mildly as he starts the car and pulls off quickly.

  ‘What’s he doing here?’ I ask quietly.

  ‘Not now,’ Becker warns, looking up to his rear-view mirror to Lucy.

  Looking back, I find her still crying, her head limp and bobbing with the motions of the car. Not now? So what’s he got to tell me? I return my attention to Becker, eyeing him suspiciously. I hope he doesn’t think this is the end of it. I want answers.

  ‘Well, that was a pleasant evening,’ he says seriously, keeping his attention on the road. ‘We must do it again sometime.’

  Despite myself, I laugh, falling back into the seat. ‘Anytime.’

  He shakes his head mildly, looking across to me.

  ‘What?’ I ask.

  ‘I’m so in love with you, princess,’ he says quietly, probably to save Lucy’s ears and remind me of why I’m caught up in his wild world. ‘You’re fucking chaos, but I love you so damn much.’

  I’m chaos? He’s hilarious, but I say nothing and place my hand on his thick thigh, squeezing.

  ‘Perfect,’ Lucy squawks from behind us, springing to life, telling us that Becker’s attempt to be sensitive has fallen flat on its face. ‘My life is over and you two are drooling all over each other. Don’t mind me. I’ll just curl up into a ball of despair and rot. Where’s my bag?’ she asks, a hive of activity breaking out in the back of Becker’s car – mutters, curses and jerky movements.

  I stiffen in my seat, feeling Becker looking at me. I bite my lip and face him, and he frowns, cocking me a questioning look, only briefly before returning his attention back to the road. I know what he’s thinking. He’s thinking I risked delaying our escape and had us chased down by London’s finest cavemen in order to retrieve that bag. And I haven’t got it. ‘I couldn’t find it,’ I whisper, for what reason I don’t know. I’m going to have to tell my rankled friend that sacrifices had to be made, and her bag was one of them. ‘You left your bag on the bar. It was gone,’ I say over my shoulder.

  Lucy shoots forward, wedging herself between the two front seats. ‘What?’

  ‘Yes, what?’ Becker mimics, his head turning from the road to me.

  ‘I didn’t exactly have all the time in the world to crawl around searching the floor,’ I grate through clenched teeth. ‘Thing One and Thing Two were quite speedy.’

  ‘Oh, this is marvellous,’ Lucy cries. ‘My purse, my keys, my phone.’

  Purse. Keys. Phone. Oh my God. Stupid, stupid, stupid! I swing around and nearly head butt Lucy. ‘My phone, keys and purse were in your bag.’

  She huffs her displeasure, looking up at the roof of the car. ‘And your phone, keys, and purse.’ She adds my losses to her list like it’s a genuine inconvenience for her. ‘Why didn’t I stay at home?’ she asks the ceiling.

  ‘Because you’re a paranoid twat,’ I mutter moodily, throwing myself back around.

  ‘I am not.’

  ‘Yes, you are,’ I retort childishly, waving my bag in the air, unwittingly poking her.

  ‘Oh, so you managed to save your bag?’

  ‘It was still on the bar.’

  ‘And my make-up,’ she blurts out, another loss coming to her. ‘It was Chanel.’

  ‘Nothing could sort your face out right now,’ I retort. ‘Not Coco, not Estée, and probably not even Photoshop.’

  Lucy gasps and launches forward that little bit more, dislodging some drops of foam from her hair that spray my cheek. ‘Why are you being such a heartless cow?’

  ‘Because you’re—’

  ‘Enough!’ Becker slams a fist into the steering wheel, abruptly interrupting our petty row. ‘Just zip it, the pair of you.’

  We do. We’re not stupid. Becker’s anger is palpable, rolling off of him in waves. But something tells me it’s not me or Lucy who’s got him rankled. What the hell is Stan Price doing following me? ‘You just made me hit my car,’ he yells, smacking the wheel again before putting his foot down aggressively and flinging us back in our seats. Lucy, being far forward, almost sitting on the dashboard, has a greater distance to be flung than me, resulting in a shriek of shock as she catapults back. I know better than to laugh, despite it being hilariously funny watching her squirming around on the back seat, trying to sit up.

  ‘Super,’ Becker seethes. ‘So Lucy’s bag containing your phone, keys, and purse, are somewhere in that bar, assuming someone hasn’t stolen them?’

  ‘The barman might have picked it up,’ I say quietly, suddenly comprehending where he’s heading with this.

  ‘Your keys to The Haven and your purse, which I’m assuming contains your access card, are lost?’ He turns a tight look onto me. ‘And . . .’ He takes a breather before finishing, but he doesn’t need to finish. I mind read the rest. And Stan Price is loitering around.

  I shrink in my seat. ‘Or maybe the barman picked them up,’ I repeat in an attempt to pacify him.

  ‘Fucking brilliant.’ He laughs coldly. ‘And I’m heading towards Lucy’s apartment, but she doesn’t have her keys to get in?’

  Oh. I hadn’t thought about that little issue. My only concerns were the millions of pounds worth of Becker’s treasure at The Haven, my lost key card to his sanctuary, and the fact that Stan Pri
ce has clearly been following us. But again, why? Just because of Lady Winchester? I’m becoming increasingly suspicious.

  Becker looks up to the rear-view mirror. ‘So what am I supposed to do with you?’ he asks Lucy’s reflection seriously as he takes a hard left, sending me and Lucy sailing clumsily into the side of the car.

  I’m vehemently trying not to ask Becker why no keys to Lucy’s apartment would be a problem, since he managed to break into mine just fine without any. But that wouldn’t be smart, not even when he’s in a good mood, so it definitely wouldn’t be my brightest move now, when he looks like he could strangle me and bite my friend’s head off.

  ‘She’ll have to come back with us,’ I say calmly.

  His horrified expression tells me what he thinks to that before he can vocalise it. ‘No.’

  ‘Then drop us off at a hotel.’ I realise the problem. It’s called Becker’s circle of trust and Lucy is not in it. ‘The Stanton will do.’ I chuck in his face in pure spite. There are millions of hotels in London, and I just named Brent Wilson’s. I’m deplorable.

  ‘You’re pushing it, princess.’

  Lucy remains quiet, aware of the sudden elevated animosity, and I look back, cringing when I realise her silence is more likely because she’s looking a little green. I pray to every Greek god that she holds her nausea in check. Her eyes begin to roll. Then she slumps back in the seat.

  Becker looks up to his rear-view mirror and shakes his head. ‘I’m going to thrash your arse, Eleanor,’ he promises quietly, spinning the wheel as he slams on the brakes, making a quick about-turn in the road. ‘So, so fucking hard.’ The tyres screech, the BMW turning smoothly, before we’re racing off in the other direction.

  Jesus Christ, if he ever fancies getting out of the art world, then he could head straight to Hollywood where I’m certain he’d make a killing as a stunt driver. I grab my seat and hold on. ‘Looking forward to it,’ I fire back impertinently, turning in my seat. I find Lucy sprawled across the back, front down, her face squished in the leather. I frown at her sorry state. ‘She’s passed out.’

  Becker grunts, putting his foot down when a traffic light up ahead turns to amber. He whips his phone out and slams his thumbs across the screen, bringing up a map. I crane my head to see it, spotting a red blinking light in the centre. He mutters under his breath and rids the screen of the map before dialling and taking the phone to his ear. ‘Percy, the CCTV footage I told you to get from the bar,’ he begins, piquing my interest. ‘There’s a bag containing Eleanor’s iPhone, her keys, and purse.’

  He pauses, and I hear the muffled voice of Percy down the line. ‘Oh dear.’

  ‘Yes,’ Becker chucks me a glare. ‘Don’t fuck about. Stan Price is keeping close company.’ He hangs up and drops his phone into his lap.

  The mention of Price brings back my suspicions. And since Lucy is now sparko . . . ‘Stan Price can’t just let himself into The Haven without a reason,’ I point out.

  ‘Stan Price has never needed a reason for anything, Eleanor. He doesn’t exactly play by the rules. I’m not taking any chances. The last thing I need . . .’ He tails off and looks up to the rear-view mirror again to check Lucy’s still out for the count.

  ‘Are you saying Price is corrupt?’

  ‘He’s old-school. Doesn’t like all the red tape, so tends to ignore it.’

  My heart thrums a little harder. ‘And what does he hope to find at The Haven?’

  ‘Who the fuck knows. All I know is some of my clients pay good money to maintain anonymity. The police sniffing around won’t be good for business.’

  ‘And what if my bag isn’t in the bar?’ I ask. Will he have to change all the locks?

  ‘Don’t wor . . .’ Becker fades off, glimpsing at me briefly, nervously. What was that? ‘I’m sure it’s there.’

  I sit back in my seat, studying him. Then I rewind to a few moments ago. The map on his screen. The red blinking dot. The fact that he turned up at the bar out of the blue and I never once mentioned where I would be. ‘You’re tracking my phone,’ I blurt out, outraged.

  ‘Good fucking job, too,’ he spits in return, no guilt or embarrassment evident.

  How dare he. ‘You can’t keep tabs on my every movement.’

  ‘I can, I am, and I always fucking will.’

  The arrogant bastard. ‘I’ll get my own phone,’ I declare, before he can hit me with it being a work phone, so technically he can do what he likes. He might own the phone, but he doesn’t own me.

  ‘Shhhh,’ Becker hushes me, and I look moodily out the corner of my eye to see him holding a finger to his lush lips. ‘It’s standard GPS tracking, princess.’

  I scoff. ‘Sure it is.’ Standard my arse. I’ll be taking my phone to pieces at the first opportunity. I signed up for corruption. Not being tailed.

  We zoom through the lights, just as they turn red.

  ‘Careful,’ I mutter, looking out of the passenger window. ‘Don’t want to give the police a reason to pull you over.’

  I hear him laugh under his breath. ‘Careful,’ he counters, reaching over and squeezing my bare knee. The skin on skin contact nearly has me bursting into flames, damn him. ‘Don’t want to give me reason to slap your arse silly.’ Smoky eyes, hooded and filled with sinful promises, hold me still in my seat.

  I’ve given him plenty of excuses to slap my arse silly in the past hour. What’s another transgression between me and my gorgeous sinner?

  Chapter 20

  Becker isn’t taking any chances. We don’t enter The Haven via the factory units; we pull up to the kerb outside the alleyway on the street instead. Apparently, he’s not risking taking the back entrance in case Lucy wakes up. I don’t think he has anything to fear. She’s totally sparko on the back seat.

  I watch as Becker wrestles her from his car, holding my tongue to prevent me from blurting out something snarky. He’s cursing and muttering under his breath. The urge to enflame his irritation is overwhelming. ‘You’re doing a stellar—’ I physically slap my hand over my mouth to halt the flow of my condescending encouragement.

  His jerky string of movements falter for a few worrying moments, and I brace myself for a barrage of abuse, but after taking a loud, calming intake of breath, he continues to wrestle my dead weight of a friend from the back seat. ‘I have never, not once, let a perfect stranger into The Haven.’ Once he’s unbent his body and has Lucy’s floppy body in a fireman’s hold, he turns and hands me a security card.

  I accept, my smile unstoppable. ‘You let me in.’

  One of his lovely eyes narrow on me, his lips twitching. ‘Best stupid move I’ve ever made. You going to open this door?’

  I oblige quickly and push the door open, holding it for him to pass. ‘Certainly . . . sir.’

  ‘Oh, girl, you know how to push my buttons.’ He paces past me and disappears into the dark alleyway, leaving me to follow with a huge grin on my face. ‘Where are you going to put her?’ The lights activate and the first thing I see is Lucy’s mouth hanging open, dribbling. I grimace.

  ‘In Winston’s bed.’

  ‘You can’t do that.’ I laugh, though it’s tinged with nerves because I know he probably would.

  ‘Watch me.’ He marches on, determined. ‘She’s going to have a stinker of a headache in the morning.’

  ‘She needs a shower,’ I say as we breach the end of the alley, breaking into the courtyard. The sensors detect us and spring to life, illuminating the outside space.

  ‘She’s taken up enough of your time this evening,’ Becker gripes uncharitably as he lets us into the Grand Hall. ‘I want my girlfriend back.’

  When I should be telling him off for being so insensitive, I find myself smiling like a prat instead. I . . . God, I just want him to gobble me up, the delicious, scandalously, handsome crook. ‘At least you still have a girlfriend.’ I say, wonder
ing how Mark’s doing. I’ll call him in the morning.

  Becker negotiates Lucy down the corridor, and I worry all over again when he stops by the kitchen door. He wouldn’t? He can’t. I’ll never be able to pick her up out of Winston’s bed.

  I wait with bated breath, ready to stop him. But after a few worrying moments, he shakes his head and continues on to the end of the corridor where his granddad resides, opening the door opposite Mr H’s suite. I rush past him and pull back the covers of the spare bed.

  Becker lowers her to the mattress. ‘My God, she stinks.’

  I laugh, thinking Lucy is going to be absolutely mortified come morning. ‘You’d better go before I undress her. She’s got enough to be embarrassed about.’

  He shakes his head in despair and backs out of the room. ‘Your arse looks amazing in that dress, by the way.’ He grins cheekily and pulls the door closed.

  I’m smiling as I start the task of peeling Lucy’s damp clothes away. It proves trickier than expected; the playsuit is like the Rubik’s Cube of outfits. ‘How the hell do you get out of it?’ I ask myself, forcing her dead weight onto her side with effort. I find a zip, but quickly figure that even by undoing it, I’ve still got to get the thing over her head, and with shorts attached that’s going to be pretty impossible while she’s unconscious. I give up. ‘I’m sorry, Lucy, but you’re going to have to sleep in it.’ I try to compensate by tucking her in, all cosy and warm, before leaving her snoring. I shake my head at her on a fond smile. She probably won’t even remember our row in the morning.

  Closing the door behind me, I follow my senses to Becker’s office and spend a while staring at the depiction of Adam and Eve on the huge wooden doors. The Garden of Eden. If only I’d known when I first clapped eyes on this door. The temptation I’d be faced with, just like Eve. The irony of the wooden carving has never escaped me.

  I suddenly feel a little sleepy as I push my way in and yawn, coming to a stop when I see Becker sitting on the edge of his desk with a tumbler in his hand.