“Of course I’ll marry you!” I squeal.
From the back of the bar, Irish and Markus and Nat let out a cheer.
Maddox springs to his feet. “You had me worried there,” he admits.
He takes the ring from the box. It’s a huge diamond; a diamond I can’t imagine will really fit on my slender finger. But when he slides it on, it fits wonderfully. My hand feels heavier. It’s a comforting heaviness.
Then Maddox leans down and kisses me on the lips. It’s a soft kiss at first, but the engagement, the way he did it, and the kiss . . . they all combine to awaken something in me. What does Maddox call it? Oh, yes, my wildcat side. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and jump up, wrapping my legs around him, hardly caring that we’re being watched. Maddox grunts and grabs my ass, holding me up, and he dances across the clubhouse like this until we hit a table. We kiss like this for a few long minutes, and then Maddox breaks it off, his face red.
He turns to the bar, where the three of them are looking anywhere but at us. “Out, lads!” he shouts. “And lock the door! Go make yourself busy for an hour!”
“Two!” I giggle. “Make it two hours!”
They don’t need further encouragement. They file out of the clubhouse and lock the door, leaving us alone.
Maddox turns back to me. “Thank fuck for that,” he says, and then kisses me again.
I reach down, rubbing my hand down the leather of his jacket, and then grab his cock.
As always, it’s rock-hard for me.
***
We lie on the floor of the clubhouse on a bed on tablecloth and napkins. I rest my head on his chest as he toys with my hair.
“You’re crazy, you know that?” he says, and we both laugh.
I hold my finger up to the light, looking at the way my ring shines. “It’s beautiful,” I say. “But I’m surprised.”
“Surprised?” he says.
“That a man like you wants a wife.”
“Oh.” He massages my scalp with his strong fingers. “Well, I don’t just want a wife, do I? I want you to be my wife.”
“Go on,” I urge.
“You just want me to say nice things about our engagement.”
“Well—yes.” I pout up at him. “Is that such a bad thing? Tell me how you feel, you animal.”
“Horny,” he grunts, looking down at my naked body.
I grab the edge of the tablecloth and whip it around, so it’s covering me.
“You will never touch me again,” I say solemnly, “unless you tell me why you want to be married. I will withhold sex from you for our entire marriage. We’ll become one of those cold couples who scarcely look at each other.”
“Goddamn, I love you,” he smiles. “So much. Fine, fine . . . It’s like this. I don’t just want a wife. I don’t just want to be married. But I want you, forever, ’til death do us part. And I never want any other man to touch you. And I never want to touch any other woman. And I want us to be known as a married couple. I want to introduce you as my wife because people will understand how serious it is then, much more serious than my girlfriend. I want to marry you because the idea of not marrying you makes my belly hurt.”
I lean up and kiss him on the underside of his chin. “I think I’ve made you a little soppy,” I say. “But I love you,” I say quickly. “I love you more than I ever thought I’d love any man. Before you, my relationships were boring, passionless. Now . . .”
“Move that cloth,” Maddox says, a deep growl in his voice. I know him well now. He’s not just horny; he’s starving. Like a wolf in the wild, he needs to hunt.
“Maybe I won’t,” I say, nudging him. “Maybe I’ve had enough of a big scary man like you.”
“Don’t forget how well I can read your body, my sweet fiancé.” He trails his fingers down my neck, stroking my skin. My hairs stand on edge. “Don’t forget I know exactly how to please you.”
“You’re an infuriating man,” I giggle, and then whip the tablecloth away,
When he sees my naked body, it’s like he’s seeing it for the first time. He takes in a deep breath. “You truly are an amazing woman, you know that?”
And then we’re lost in a sea of pleasure once again.
Chapter Fifty Nine
Maddox
The Biker: I need the funds.
Socrates: How soon?
The Biker: As soon as I can get them without suspicion.
Socrates: Tomorrow. Can I ask, what’re you going to do with all that money?
The Biker: Build a life.
Socrates: Okay, consider it done. Thanks for the cut.
The Biker: Thanks for not stealing from me. It’d be a shame to hurt any of you. You did me a world of good with leaking the you-know-what about you-know-who.
Socrates: Anytime.
Socrates has left the chat.
***
I stand up from the computer and stretch out my arms. It’s been three weeks since I proposed to Eden, and she’s thrown herself into the planning like a crazed woman. I stay out of her way, mostly, for fear of having an invitation whipped at my head. She’s moved into my apartment, turned it into a war zone of dress and cake and catering and invitation magazines. Often, I will wake up to her and Nat sitting in the living room. When I ask them what time they got up, they laugh. They’ve been awake all night more often than not.
I don’t need to wait until tomorrow to start making preparations because Socrates – one of my many hacking friends – will deliver. He always has.
I pace up and down the office, a small smile on my lips.
Foolish Mason, I think. Silly, silly man.
He didn’t have his finances secured, and that’s his mistake. When I was doing the research into his and Cassandra’s embezzling scheme, it opened up for me a backdoor into his finances. His bank accounts were laid out like Christmas presents. I won’t rob the man of all he has. That would be too difficult to hide. But what’s twenty million out of two and a half billion, siphoned to a friend, lost on the Internet, and now to be transferred to an anonymous account tomorrow?
Mason being in prison (four months) is a plus. But even if he wasn’t, there is no way he could trace it to me. The money will never be in my name. When I withdraw the cash, it will be under a pseudonym; and the next time, a different pseudonym. Over and over at different banks with an ever-changing bank account courtesy of a few hundred lines of code.
I can’t wait to see Eden’s face, I think. I imagine it now: the way her eyes will light up; the way she’ll lean across and kiss my cheek; the way her hands will stray down my body. But it’s not the fact of the money itself I can’t wait to tell her about. It’s the other thing . . . They’ll survive, they always do. And now they’ll have a tax haven, to boot. But I know I’m kidding myself if I think it’s going to be that easy.
I bristle, already nostalgic.
I have to tell Markus. I have to break the news to the men.
***
“Everything okay, Boss?” Markus asks.
He knows something’s up. I can tell by the way he looks at me, his kind open face more inquisitive than usual. He sits in the chair opposite, his palms laid flat on the desk.
“Yes—and no. I don’t know how you’re going to take this, big man.”
“Uh?”
Part of me wishes that this isn’t what I want, but it is. But more importantly, it’s what I want for Eden. I don’t want her to have to live with the fear that I’m going to drop dead one day, catch a stray bullet and have to leave her, deserted, alone.
“I’m turning over control of The Miseryed to you,” I say, the words coming out fast. “I’m leaving the life. I’ll still be a silent partner, and I have an idea about a tax haven I can give you. A sort of two in one. But from now on, you’ll be the leader.”
Markus leans back in the chair, mouth hanging open. “Me . . .” He whispers the word, and then squints at me. “But why? You’re the best boss The Miseryed has ever had. All the men agree. None o
f us would want you to go.”
“That means a lot, it really does, but I’ve made my decision. I want to be a decent husband to Eden, and this is the only way I can see to do it properly. I’ll always be your friend,” I finish because he looks like I’ve just told him I’m leaving his life forever. “You’ll still be my best man at the wedding.”
“Uh,” he grunts. He pauses, and then says: “It’s a lot to take in. When are you going to tell the men?”
“Tonight,” I say.
“So that’s what the all-hands meeting is about, then?”
“Yes,” I say.
I stand up and walk around the desk, put my hand on his shoulder. “I was scared when I first became the boss, but you’ll grow into it. In a month, two months, you’ll hardly be able to remember what it was like just being one of the guys.”
“I doubt that,” Markus says. “I really doubt that. You leave a long shadow, Boss—dammit, what do I call you now?”
“Maddox,” I laugh, taking my hand from his shoulder. “You call me Maddox.”
“Maddox,” he says, tasting the word. “I’ve always known you as Boss.”
“Now you’re Boss,” I say.
I pace to the other end of the room. Markus stands up and faces me.
“You really love her that much, then? That you’d leave all this behind?”
“I love her more than that,” I smile. “You haven’t asked me what the tax haven is yet.”
“Well, what is it?”
I tap my nose. “That’d be telling. But you’ll know soon enough. I’m sure Natalie will chew your ear about it for days and days when Eden tells her.”
“Can I tell people?” Markus asks. “I mean . . . or shall I wait for the meeting?”
I shrug. “Why are you asking me? You’re the boss.”
Chapter Sixty
I kick the stand on my bike and climb off outside the office complex: a squat building of shining steel and shinier glass. As I walk toward reception, I think about the men. Irish had come right up to me as I was leaving and patted me on the back. He wanted to say something; I could see it on his face. But in the end, he’d just laughed. “I’ll still see you around, eh, Boss?” All of the men had called me Boss when I left, despite me telling them that they didn’t need to anymore. They’ll get used to it eventually.
At reception, a tall, sleek woman wearing a business suit with an open white collar greets me. Her hair is blonde and tied back in a ponytail, and stylish glasses perch on her eagle’s nose. “Mr. Owens!” she squeaks.
“You must be Miss Andrews,” I say.
I hold out my hand. We shake. And then she turns on her heels and leads me through reception toward the elevators. The floor is marble, and towering plants sit in the corner.
She presses the call button, and we wait, Miss Andrews tapping her foot. “I bet you’re excited. This is very coveted office space, you know.”
“I am excited,” I agree.
“What do you plan to do with it?” She looks at me uncertainly. I’m not wearing my leathers—it makes the split seem more final—but what I’m wearing instead doesn’t exactly make me look like a high-flying office-buying businessman. A denim vest, jeans, and workman’s boots. “A biking business, perhaps?”
I laugh. “It’s not for me,” I say. “I’m looking it over for a friend.”
“Oh, so are you not the buyer—”
“I’m the buyer,” I say. “But I’m not the one who’s going to be using it.”
“Ah!”
We get into the elevator, and Miss Andrews presses the button for the third floor. Awkward elevator music plays. I look over at Miss Andrews and see that she’s biting her lip nervously. This one’s no Eden, I think. Terrified by my presence. But can I blame her? Look at me. I smile to myself. Eden—I’ve finally found someone who isn’t scared of me, who doesn’t see me as some kind of trophy, and who wants to spend the rest of her life with me. People often say: I’m the luckiest man alive! But, dammit, I really do feel like the luckiest man alive.
The elevator doors slide open revealing a wide open office. The desks and chairs have been moved, but the office space is large. Miss Andrews skips in and I walk after her. “As you can see, you have a lovely view of the hills.” She waves to the left window, where the Hollywood Hills sit. “There is complimentary internet access, of course. And power outlets in the floors and walls. Will there be many staff?”
“Two, at first,” I say. “But then it’ll grow, in time. A video game company.”
The question is in her eyes, so I answer it for her.
“Ooh, a video game company, how lovely!” She claps her hands together. “Well, there is no better place than this. Lovely natural light and ample room for terminals. Internet access—oh, and there are some lovely restaurants around here. Italian, Chinese, pizza . . . anything you like!”
I walk around the studio, feeling the space of it. It could easily hold fifty employees. I imagine Nat and Eden here, sitting in the corner, tapping away at Angels of Death. Over time, they’ll hire employees, and soon this place will be a bustling office. Every so often I’ll take a look at the code and help out. And any tax-deductible mumbo jumbo The Miseryed needs to magic up, they can use the office.
“I’ll take it,” I say.
“Ooh!” Miss Andrews cries. “How brilliant!”
“I’ll be by with the payment tomorrow,” I say.
“All of it?” Miss Andrews says. Maybe she had expected some bargaining of payment-plan negotiations.
“All of it,” I say. “Cash. Does that suit you?”
“Suit me?” She giggles. “That suits me amazingly!”
“Glad to hear it.”
The next day, Socrates deposits the money into my account. I go into the bank as a Mr. Clive Hitchens, withdraw the money – after security checks, all of which I pass – and then I return to the office space.
I’m carrying a briefcase like someone in one of those gangster films. As I approach the office, I imagine myself screaming: Say hello to your little friend! And then I flip open the suitcase to reveal a machine gun, goons jump from the windows, and I pepper the air with bullets.
I must be excited; I haven’t let my mind wander in such a childlike way in years.
Miss Andrews leads me through to an office. On the wall hangs a picture of a man walking down a lonely, dark road. The caption reads: Never give up! Similar posters hang all around the room, their captions invariably telling you to keep going, never give up, don’t stop, etc.
“Here are the deeds,” Miss Andrews says, sliding them across the table. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a lawyer?”
“Of course not.” I smile at her. “You’d never screw me over, would you, Miss Andrews?”
A chill runs through her. It starts at her face – she winces – and goes down her body as she taps her fingers against the desk and I hear her feet tap against the floor. “Never,” she says.
I sign the deeds and then slide the briefcase across the table. Miss Andrews opens it with wide, Christmas-morning eyes.
“That’s it, then?” I say.
“That’s it! You can move into the office whenever you like!”
I fold the deed and slide it into the pocket of my jacket.
I can’t wait to show her, I think. It’s morning; two hours ago Eden and I woke to each other’s passion and fell upon each other like hungry animals.
I wonder if she’ll still be naked when I show her the deed.
Chapter Sixty One
Eden
I sit with folded legs in a battlefield of wedding paraphernalia: invites and magazines and brochures and fabric samples. They spread around me like I’m a detective trying to solve a particularly difficult crime: a mad detective you see a lot on TV nowadays. And maybe this is a particularly difficult case, if not a crime. Planning a wedding is no easy thing. I’ve discovered that over the past few weeks.
Nat emerges from the kitchen with two cups of steaming
coffee. She comes over often in the mornings. Her shift pattern has changed at work. I’m sure it’s because Markus often comes by in the mornings, and she wants to be there to see him.
She places my coffee next to me. “Did you take him grocery shopping?” Nat laughs as she sits on the floor opposite me, on the other side of the battlefield.
“Oh.” I grin ruefully when I remember the state the kitchen had been in when I first moved into Maddox’s apartment. The cupboards and drawers had been bare. There had even been cobwebs in some of them. Cobwebs! Like this is some kind of Victorian mansion! I guess Maddox never ate at home much before we were engaged.
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