Finch (Kindred #6)

by Scarlett Finn

  They got all the way to the hotel, out of the car, and through the lobby before it hit her where they were actually headed. They hadn’t taken four steps into the grand ballroom, that was brimming with people and littered with champagne, when she stopped.

  Devon’s hand nestled in his elbow, and it curled tighter. “If you want to leave, we can,” he murmured when he turned toward her.

  But she could already see the faces around them registering who they were. Some people smiled, others waved. Zave didn’t reciprocate at all and when she tilted her head, she saw that his concern was on her. He hadn’t even noticed that there was anyone else in the room.

  “No,” she said, touching his lapel.

  Then she wondered if she was allowed to do that because she’d never been to a party where there was decorum and protocol to worry about. As usual, he read her mind, and when she faltered and tried to remove her hand, he caught it, and pressed it against his chest.

  “I don’t care what these people think, shy.” He let go of her hand to elevate her chin. “Your happiness is all that matters to me.”

  Devon took that to mean that she couldn’t go wrong in his eyes, that she could act in any way and do anything, and he wouldn’t let himself be embarrassed by it. But that didn’t mean she was comfortable with drawing negative attention.

  She was his wife, a reflection of him, and a conundrum as far as these people were concerned. Xavier Knight marrying at all was headline-worthy news, but marrying a strange woman who had no breeding, no money, and no standing in the business world, they had to wonder how she’d come to be in this coveted position.

  Devon knew that Zave was rich, successful, and brilliant, but when she thought about him, she remembered the man she’d seen on the shore, so intent and dedicated to his task that his focus was complete. He’d been aware of everything, of where the cliff met the shore, of the wind, of the device he held in his hand, and somehow he’d been aware of her, peeking through the narrow space of the open window, staring down at him.

  “Devon?”

  The depth of his concern snapped her out of the memory, and she smiled. “I don’t want to drink too much.”

  “You don’t have to drink at all,” he said.

  Although they should probably be schmoozing by now, talking to him relaxed her, so she embraced this chance knowing that it may be the last one she had tonight. The faces around them were coming closer, and although they didn’t speak yet, Devon could hear the questions, the sycophants and their compliments, fawning, pandering, all things that Zave would hate. So, for this moment, alone as husband and wife, she kept the conversation genuine.

  “You never do.”

  “I don’t,” he said. “I gave it up like everything else.”

  “You think if you drink, you’ll return to your partying ways again?” she asked, and he lowered to kiss her hair.

  “The only parties I’m interested in are the private ones I have with you.”

  Cedric came over before she could respond, and although Zave had told his colleague that they would be attending, Cedric seemed surprised that they’d actually come. He introduced them to a dozen people and then a dozen more. It was like being married to a rock star. Everybody wanted a moment of Zave’s time, either to request a favor, or to tell him how wonderful he was.

  Those from CI were a little more hostile, tenser, but no one was outright rude. What surprised her most was although Zave kept his responses to everyone brief, he was sympathetic and much more patient than she ever thought he could be.

  Devon lost count of the number of times he mentioned his uncle who had started CI. He spoke of his great respect for Grant McCormack Senior and how he planned to keep the company great. Perhaps it was conspicuous to her, but he never once mentioned his cousin Grant McCormack Junior, the man everyone in this room considered dead, but whom she’d stood in front of and listened to as he recounted his plans for world domination.

  The man in jeans with the unkempt hair hadn’t struck her as a consummate professional businessman. But she’d also sensed something lacking in what he tried to project. He didn’t carry himself as a hooligan, like Caine did. Caine pulled off the thug act without giving it a thought, with him it was effortless. He told the world he didn’t give a fuck, and she believed that he meant it.

  Leatt was genuine, which in itself was odd. He didn’t try to be cool or to exude apathy. Leatt hadn’t tried to make himself seem any more or less dangerous than he was. These were all things that Grant McCormack seemed to be trying to make himself out to be.

  Grant wanted her to fear him, he wanted to seem dangerous, edgy, to seem like the world should get out of his way or risk his wrath. But Devon didn’t get that sense from him.

  “You don’t mind, do you?”

  Devon had again been lost in thought, as she had been frequently tonight. The group of men she’d been standing with were talking about projects she was unaware of and so she’d fazed out because the technical specification was too detailed for her to follow.

  Cedric smiled, and then the men were moving away, Zave included.

  This was it. The test.

  Devon was near the edge of the room, but not in a corner, which made her vulnerable. Zave had held true to his word, she’d stuck to non-alcoholic drinks all night. There were so many people here, and she’d only met some of them. It was a wonder to watch them all conversing and smiling.

  She had never been in a room full of so many perfect people. Every item of clothing was tailored and from high-end designers. Apparel was complemented by shoes that looked brand new and jewels that sparkled when they caught the light of the crystal chandeliers that hung high above.

  The ballroom was immaculate, there weren’t empty glasses lying around, used napkins, or cardboard beer mats. All of these things would be found at any of the bars she’d gone to on nights out before. Until now, that was what she considered a party—going and sitting in some dimly-lit corner bar, surrounded by sweating bodies and faded tee shirts. But not this.

  These people were from different levels of Knight Corp and Cormack Industries. There wasn’t an eyelash out of place. The men’s hair was gelled, and handkerchiefs stuck from breast pockets. Devon couldn’t imagine that any of these people could understand what she had been through. But the Kindred proved that not everything was as it seemed.

  TWELVE

  Most of the people here probably thought that Xavier Knight was eccentric or selfish. He’d shut himself away, hundreds of miles from the building where the hard work was done and conducted himself from a distance, like these people were somehow beneath him and he could do whatever he saw fit to do and they were expected just to put up with it.

  But he wasn’t like that. He was generous and risked his life completing missions to save others. Devon couldn’t dislike or resent anyone here because as she looked at the beautiful women with their shining hair and flawless makeup, she found herself trying to identify the youngest, most vulnerable ones, considering that they may be candidates for one of the cartels metal boxes.

  These unsuspecting women could find themselves just as she had. One day they could be going about their business, living their lives, and then boom, everything changes.

  Devon wondered if any of the voices she’d heard on those nights she spent in her box belonged to anyone that these people might know. Could they have been a daughter to one of these people? A cousin? A friend?

  Her belly grew tighter, and her breathing became shallower as the voices around her seemed to get louder. She knew it was an illusion and that her anxiety was growing with each second that she stood here alone without a distraction or protection, without her husband.

  “Uh,” she yelped, and her hand flattened on her stomach when a zing of pleasure fired between her thighs.

  Right there on her clit, it was warm and the stimulation began to grow. What had been nothing but a sea of faces a few seconds ago became a blur. When her gaze lifted to the right, it landed on her
husband, who stood clear on the other side of the room. But his eyes were on her. This was it. The warm, tingling grew, and although he stood with others and his expression didn’t change, Devon was sure the others were as blurred to him as they were to her.

  Any thought of anxiety was gone, just like before they got here, because he could feel the way he caressed her. The pulsing on her clit seemed to circle counterclockwise in a slow, deliberate move that fired down towards her opening and return before reaching it. Zave was touching her, pleasing her, and she couldn’t ignore the enlivening effect of what he was doing.

  Retreating toward the wall, she came up against a square column and was pleased of the physical support at her back. While others sipped champagne and exchanged small talk, a whisper of contact tickled her opening, and she could feel herself growing more ready for the man controlling her emotions from the width of a room away.

  It became more difficult to focus on his gaze when the sensations grew. A weight sank through her body into her core, pushing and contorting her hormones from within. This wasn’t as intense as the vibrator or invasive as the egg; it was subtle, but stimulating enough that it was like hearing the whisper of his words and the promise of what lay in her future.

  Licking her lips, Devon took in a breath and saw a couple of people nearby peering at her. Did they know what her husband was doing to her? Did they recognize what the flush in her cheeks and the obvious pulse in her neck meant? Could they sense her arousal, or was she being paranoid? Party-goers had been examining her all night, just as she’d known they would.

  Devon was the woman who’d stolen Xavier Knight. To them, she was enigmatic and mysterious, two things she’d never been before in her life. But she was a stranger intriguing those who were a part of Zave’s circle or at least felt they were entitled to be.

  She wasn’t one of those people and never would’ve been if it wasn’t for the Kindred and her brother. The vibration stopped, and her quiet inhale was almost a squeal. She took two steps forward when she saw a tray of champagne passing and snagged a flute.

  Devon needed something cold and immediate to cool her. She’d just finished the glass when her husband appeared in front of her. “Did you enjoy that, shy?” he asked and took the empty flute from her fingers to discard it on the nearest table.

  There was a light in his eyes that invigorated her. He was a serious man in a place he didn’t want to be, and she didn’t know if he was referring to the champagne or his previous act. “It was incredible,” she whispered. As much as she’d tried all night to restrain herself from being too affectionate, Devon tucked her hands under his jacket onto his ribs. “It’s incredibly dangerous, though.”

  “Dangerous? You felt pain?” he asked, and his worry made her wish she could kiss him.

  “No, nothing but pleasure, I promise.” Glancing around, she made sure that no one was standing too close, but she lowered her volume even more anyway. “What would you have done if I came?”

  “I’d have been incredibly disappointed to miss it,” he said. “Because your pussy squeezes me so tight when you climax, I’d have missed out on a treat.”

  He was flirting with her in the most explicit way, in the most public of settings. He had to know that it wasn’t just the media who were scrutinizing him, it was all of his corporate colleagues and peers, as well. But he didn’t care, he was focused on her, distracting her, making her feel good to distract her from her apprehension.

  She smiled. “Talking like that doesn’t help to cool me down.”

  “I kept it brief and the intensity low. I wanted you to feel it before I took you to the edge.”

  Anticipation ticked her heart. “There’s more?” she asked. It had been about all she could take in this public setting to feel like his fingers were caressing her in the most incredible way that usually only took place when there wasn’t another soul in sight.

  “A lot more,” he said. “And you should get used to it. I like turning you on, shy. It tests my control to do it in a place like this.”

  So that was what he was doing. Control turned him on, and knowing that she was ready for him, craving him, while he was forced to restrain himself. It gave him back some of that excitement. She hoped it wasn’t punishment, she hoped he didn’t use these people as a way to constrain himself.

  “We could go somewhere,” she said, sliding her hands up his chest to link them at the back of his neck. “This is a hotel. I’m sure you could afford a room. Did you bring your credit card?”

  “I think they’d spot us,” he said. “We’re supposed to be networking, making connections.”

  Pushing onto her tiptoes, she knew she couldn’t taste his mouth, but that didn’t stop her from getting close. “I’m thinking about making a deep connection, lord,” she murmured. He wasn’t the only one who could play with innuendo. “Connecting with you in the most complete way.”

  He began to lower and she thought he might kiss her. If he broke the rules of decorum, she wasn’t going to argue.

  “You do make a beautiful couple.”

  The voice to their left startled them both. People had been approaching all night, and given their current proximity, they were probably still the focus of a lot of eyes right now.

  “You bastard,” Zave said and began to turn.

  Devon tightened her grip. “Not here. He’s shown up here like this because it’s so public, right, Thad?”

  He was wearing a tux and was as coiffed as everyone else here. He would probably have received an invitation before the Mexico mission. Technically, he was family, so no one would have refused him entry.

  “You’ve got some nerve showing up here,” Zave said. “What is it you want, turncoat?”

  Arousal became panic; Devon didn’t know how to control this confrontation. “You were warned,” Thad said and took a flash drive from his pocket. He didn’t even try to offer it to Zave, he just reached over and popped it into his pocket.

  “What the fuck is that, some virus to eat our system? You think I’m dumb enough to—

  “Instructions,” Thad said. “It’s instructions. I was told to come here and deliver it.”

  “You’re running Saint’s errands now? That was worth shitting all over the rest of us for?” Zave asked. “I should’ve put Rave on a rooftop tonight. If we thought you’d be so stupid to—”

  “If we thought Raven was on a rooftop, I wouldn’t have come.”

  Zave sneered. “Don’t you get it? That’s why they sent you. You’re expendable. Saint can’t come. Mitchell can’t come. Fuck sake, this room is swarming with CI employees, and they’re both supposed to be dead. Leatt’s a nobody, but he’s shown he has abilities. He can think on his feet. Caine was a good get, how did you manage that?”

  It wasn’t anger alone that flavored Zave’s words. There was a disgust and a resentment that made Thad’s betrayal all the more potent. “Caine’s worked for Saint before, when he was legit.”

  Her husband was tense and angry. Devon hated what this unexpected argument had done to their night. “I know that,” Zave said. “I was in the same fucking meetings that you were. Did you forget sitting around Rave’s dinner table the night you met Zar? You fucking prick.”

  “Yeah, and you all hated Caine that night,” Thad said, arguing back, showing some fire. “Raven was ready to take him out, and how many months later was it that they were working together to take down Cuckoo? People switch sides in this game, Falcon, it’s what they do. Everyone’s out for themselves.”

  “Not the Kindred,” Zave said. “No one has ever walked away, except you. Is that what you want to be remembered for? Trailblazer betrayer? You will taste Maverick’s rage, you know that. I don’t give a fuck who you are.”

  Thad lunged forward. “And is Rave gonna tell my mother what he did? Is he?”

  Zave lowered his head and without blinking he returned the rage radiating from Thad. “Yes, he will and I’ll be standing next to him, Zara too, and we’ll tell her how we took y
ou down, and Saint, and your fucking Daddy, and I bet she’ll be proud of every fucking one of us.”

  Thad looked at Devon as if she should calm Zave or tell him to temper what he was saying, but she wouldn’t. Bess would never be happy to see her son die, Devon just knew it, she didn’t need to be told. But there wasn’t a chance in hell she was going to make Thad feel better or reassure him in any way. There may come a time when they had to take him down, and it would be on Raven to do that.

  “You shouldn’t have got in our way,” Thad said, moving a few inches back. “Dempsey was ours.”

  “And instead you stole a kid, a kid who worked for Sikorski, a kid who’s useless to you. Swift never taught him shit. You want to do what you’re doing then do it, I don’t fucking care. But Saint’s a fucking idiot if he thinks he can mimic the Kindred and achieve more than us. You don’t need to fill every Kindred position. All you need is focus and determination.”

  “Giving us tips?” Thad asked, disbelieving and snide. “You think we need your instructions? Typical fucking Zave, you think you know so much better than everyone. You and Raven and your little secret talks and Swift, always swooping in there to save everybody’s asses, doing all the leg work while the rest of us just sit back and watch, waiting to be handed out grunt work. All of you are arrogant fucking pricks who deserve to be shown you’re not all that. You’re nothing special. You’ve just had a run of luck.”

  “A run of luck?” Zave asked. “It’s called hard work and like I said, focus, determination. We never thought we were special. We never thought we could rule the world. We made a difference where we could—”

  “Thinking small,” Thad spat back. “Fixing one problem at a time. One man. One job.”