Bastard. Ori would grit her teeth, her eyes filled with tears, and shut off the television. She hid her despair as best she could from Maceo, but it had been a subdued homecoming.
She and Lucia went to grab something to eat, but Ori was nearly asleep by the time Lucia called one of Maceo’s security guards to take her friend home. Ori dragged her feet as she walked into the large, luxurious penthouse she called home. Maceo had called her and told her he would be home later; he was meeting with some prospective buyers at an artist’s studio across the city. So Ori drew a hot bath and soaked in it, her head resting against the cool tile of the bathroom.
Her phone rang just as she was getting dressed. Pulling her robe on, she grabbed it and, without checking the caller ID, said hello.
“Hello, Orianthi.”
Ori frowned. She didn’t recognize the voice. “Who is this?”
“You’ll find out. Orianthi, would you do me a favor?”
Ori sighed. “Look, whoever you are, I’m not in the mood, so….”
“I thought you looked lovely tonight, at the restaurant with your friend.”
The shock slammed into her. “What?”
“You heard me. I was close, Orianthi. Very close. But not as close as I was in San Francisco.”
Him. Ori’s knees felt shaky, and she sat down on the bed. “What do you want?”
He laughed. “You.”
Ori drew in a breath. “You can’t have me, whoever you are. I am not a possession for you to acquire or whatever the hell it is you want. Get help, freak, and don’t come near me again.”
A small pause. “The favor I ask is this. Go to this website and see.” He gave her a short web address. “You should see it, Orianthi. You’ll learn something about your future.”
The line went dead. What the fuck? Ori closed her eyes and let out a shaky breath. She had enough to deal with Tyson and now someone else? Or was it someone playing a sick joke?
Reluctantly, she grabbed her iPad and brought up the website her caller had mentioned.
And she froze.
There were two photographs on the website’s only page. One depicted a dead woman, a crossbow bolt buried deep her belly, her blood spilling from the wound. If Ori hadn’t known for sure it wasn’t herself, she would have sworn it was a picture of her. Viola. Under her photograph was one word: Dusk.
The other photo was of Ori herself in the hotel room in San Francisco, unconscious, her T-shirt pulled up and a knife placed on her stomach. Underneath, it read: Eventide. The message was clear. Someone had murdered Viola, and now he was telling the world that Ori herself was next.
Ori dropped her iPad and ran for the bathroom, only just making it before she threw up again and again, sobbing all her fear out.
Maceo found her still hunched over in the bathroom a couple of hours later and when he picked her up and cradled her in his arms, it was all he could do to make out her garbled words. When he understood, his blood turned to ice.
“He’s going to kill me,” she said, defeated. “He’s going to kill me, and I don’t know how we’re going to stop him.”
Tyson Janek had expected the police to question him about the attack on Ori in San Francisco but no one had contacted him. He was a little pissed—whoever had attacked Ori hadn’t been in his employ, but he wanted to have the opportunity to talk to the police so he could try and glean some clues to who it might have been and who was infringing on his territory. It was bad enough that that bastard Bartoli was fucking his angel; now someone else wanted to kill her? No. This would not be borne.
Despite this, he talked to every one of his staff, asking them if they had gone rogue and attacked Ori. They all denied it. Good. They were aware that only he, Tyson Janek, would put his hands on her. The consequences of their disobedience, he told them, would be catastrophic. They got the message.
He’d had Maceo Bartoli followed and knew they were now back in Venice. Good. Being at home granted them some complacency, and at least Tyson knew where Ori would be. He would have to postpone his plan to kill her; doing it now would only endanger the fragile platform he was building. He had the press’ sympathy about AJ –best not risk that. Quietly, some of his party faithful were talking about bringing him back into the fold, and today he would fly to D.C. to have closed door meetings with them.
Yes, at last, his career was beginning to resurrect itself and he would not risk that. Yet.
He was lost in thought when his aide came to find him. “Boss, there’s something you need to take a look at.”
Tyson took the iPad from his hand and glanced at it. For a long moment he studied the two photographs, then glanced up at the aide with anger in his eyes. “Call the media team. I want them here. Now.”
Despite herself, Shiloh was enjoying working with Benoit more than she wanted to admit. Yes, he was an arrogant S.O.B., but he was also a good listener. They would argue, but it was always about substantive things, never petty or small-minded. Shiloh would give her opinion and then Benoit would pick it to pieces for good and bad points and vice versa. And from the ashes of their arguments, a solid ethos, an ideal, was created.
Shiloh conceded that the apartment block on Boulevard Coutances was ideally placed, but she talked Benoit into making it low-price housing for the Parisians who needed to commute into the city center for work, rather than more luxury penthouses for the uber-rich. They spent days together planning new green spaces for the city and even Shiloh’s implacable boss, Miriam, was pleased.
One particular Thursday, Shiloh had been working late when Benoit knocked at the door of the office he had loaned her. “Come, let’s go eat.”
Shiloh shook her head. “I have to finish this; I’m not in tomorrow.”
“Playing hooky?”
Shiloh grinned. “Kind of. Moving house; I finally have my own place.”
“Congrats. Look, what is it you’re working on?”
She showed him and, smiling, he shook his head. “We won’t even close on that land for three weeks. Come, let’s go eat, and you can tell me about your new place.”
Shiloh realized she was actually starving. And so, twenty minutes later, they were seated at her favorite burger joint. Shiloh sipped her soda, feeling the cold wash of the liquid on her tongue and the sugary rush hitting her system. “This was a good idea, Benoit.” She studied him. He had pulled his tie down and opened his collar, and had shrugged out of his jacket.
As Shiloh had gotten to know him, she had wondered how she had ever thought he could be soulless. She was ashamed now of accusing him of being something so generic. She had Googled him and found a wealth of information—not least that his band of brothers, The Midnight Club, were the most important people in his life. She had scrolled through pages of photographs and never had he looked more animated or happier than with his friends. There were women, of course, of all types but only one woman had cropped up on more than one occasion, a woman called Marcella. She had looked regal and intelligent, and Shiloh couldn’t help but be a little envious. She seemed like an important person to Benoit. Her curiosity got the better of her now, and she smiled at him.
“Who is Marcella? She seems important to you.”
Benoit looked surprised and then, hiding a grin, he nodded. “She is a good friend, a very good friend. She is traveling at the moment.”
“So, she and you …?.” She let the question hanging. Her face was burning, but Benoit shook his head.
“No, it’s not like that. Well, I mean, it is, but we are not a couple, just friends.”
“With benefits?” Shut up, Shiloh told herself sharply. It’s none of your business.
“If you like. There is no commitment between us, but she will always be important. How about you? Are you dating?”
Shiloh shook her head. “No time.”
“Come on, now.” Benoit leveled his gaze at her. “You are a beautiful woman. You must have admirers?”
Shiloh shrugged. “If I do, they’re not known to me.”
Shiloh’s flush deepened and to break the tension, she glanced at her watch. “Hey, look, this has been fun, but I have a really busy day tomorrow.”
Benoit smiled. “What time do you need me there?”
Shiloh blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“I’m offering my services; I’ve moved house more times than most.” Benoit held up his big hands. “Plus, you know, I have that buff thing going for me.” In anyone else’s mouth it would have sounded arrogant and ridiculous, but the playful gleam in his eyes made her laugh.
“Then how can I refuse, Mr. Buff?”
“I am strong like bull.” And he flexed his biceps. Shiloh burst out laughing.
“See you at eight a.m., then.
The next morning when her doorbell rang, Shiloh felt a thrill go through her and she yanked the door open to see Benoit waiting with a smile on his face.
“Good morning.”
The soft growl of his voice made her heart beat faster. “Come on in,” she said, covering her sudden shyness. His big frame seemed to fill the small apartment. Liv stuck her head out of her bedroom and said hi to him, while giving Shiloh a conspiratorial look, and Shiloh suddenly remembered what her friend had said about Heloise having dated Benoit back in the day. Shoot. She didn’t have time to react though, as Heloise came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, and stopped, gaping at Benoit.
“Benoit … what are you doing here?”
Benoit covered his shock well. “Just helping out Shiloh with her move.”
Heloise turned unfriendly eyes on Shiloh. “Really?”
Oh, dammit. Shiloh smiled brightly at her. “He’s a good friend.”
Heloise gave Benoit a long look which he returned coolly. “Nice to see you again, Benoit.”
Shiloh felt like she was intruding and moved away to give them some privacy. She could hear them talking quietly, from her position in the living room.
“You look good, Heloise.”
“You too, Benoit … a little more gray than when I last saw you.”
Shiloh heard Benoit laugh. “You’re not wrong.”
“How did you and Shiloh meet?”
“Believe it or not, she came to my office to yell at me. It was the start of a beautiful friendship.”
Shiloh smiled to herself. That was sweet. She strained her ears, trying to hear what Heloise was saying.
“I always regret our break-up—how painful it was.”
“Was it? I seem to remember us both deciding that we weren’t suited as lovers, just as friends.”
Heloise sighed. “Still, it was a wrench.”
“You’re a beautiful woman, Helly. I’m sure you have no trouble finding lovers.”
“Hmm. Well, I’d better get dressed.”
“Good to see you.”
Shiloh pretended to be absorbed in packing her stuff when Benoit came into the living room. She looked up and smiled nonchalantly. “The movers will be here soon, so most of the stuff I need shifting is just some private items that I don’t trust them with. Like this fella.” She indicated her beloved dog, Beau, who was lying on top of a pile of boxes looking sulky. Benoit mussed his silky ears and Beau licked his hand.
“Beautiful animal,” Benoit said admiringly, and was rewarded by Beau rolling onto his back and showing Benoit his furry belly.
Shiloh laughed. “My dog is a slut,” she said with mock sadness.
The move went off easily—and Shiloh was sure that Benoit had slipped the movers some extra money because all of her boxes reached her new apartment in record time and in pristine condition. Once there, she set Benoit to work unpacking her kitchen things while she dealt with her personal items.
The apartment was tiny, her queen-sized bed seeming to take up a lot of the studio, but it was compact and homey. Beau dragged his dog bed to a corner of his choice, much to Benoit’s amusement.
“I bet that dog is the most spoiled pooch in Paris,” he said, and Shiloh laughed.
“Try in France,” she said, but stroked Beau’s silky head. “He is the love of my life, though.”
“Lucky dog,” quipped Benoit, and she flushed. “Look, shall I go grab us some take-out and bring it back? If we keep going, you could be settled in by tonight.”
Shiloh smiled at him gratefully. “That would be wonderful, thank you. But are you sure I’m not keeping you from a gala or a benefit, or one of your concubines?”
Benoit grinned. “Oh, definitely, but I still prefer to be here with you. Give me an hour and we can eat.”
While he was gone, Shiloh took advantage and grabbed a shower in her little bathroom, letting the hot water stream through her hair, feeling the dust and grubbiness wash away. A feeling of satisfaction had lodged in her stomach; she was home now.
Benoit came back with fresh, warm bread and cheese, a bag of sweet, juicy peaches, and a bottle of cold white wine. They picnicked on the floor of her living area, leaning back against her bed and chatting. Shiloh was amazed that it seemed like the most natural thing in the world for this billionaire to be scooched down on the floor with her.
By the time they had finished unpacking all her stuff, it was way after one a.m. Shiloh suddenly felt shy. “Look, I feel bad that I can’t offer you somewhere to sleep,” she said, nodding at the couch which Beau had decided to sleep on. Benoit shook his head, grinning.
“Don’t worry, my place isn’t far.”
“Thank you so much for today. I’d still be doing this next week if you hadn’t helped.”
Benoit smiled at her. “It was no problem. I had fun. Hey...” He grinned as she looked at him askance. “Better than sitting in money meetings all day.”
Shiloh had to concede that. “Well, anyway … look, are you free for dinner tomorrow? I’d like to cook you a meal to say thank you.”
Benoit nodded. “That sounds wonderful.”
She walked him to the door and he kissed her cheek, lingering only a beat too long. “Get some sleep, Shiloh. You look exhausted.”
A few minutes later she was crawling into bed, Beau jumping up to snuggle next to her. She fell asleep almost immediately, but soon the dreams came, and in each and every one of them, Benoit Vaux was making sweet love to her.
Alex had flown over from New York as soon as Maceo had called him about the website. Maceo had already called in the police, who were working with their American counterparts.
“Miss Roy,” they had asked Orianthi again and again. “Do you know who would wish you harm?”
Maceo had barely believed it when she refrained from telling them about her stepfather and it had been the cause of their first and only row to date.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell them about Janek?” Maceo had demanded, his green eyes flashing with disbelief and anger.
Ori had stood her ground. “Because we both know this isn’t him. It can’t be. How the hell would he have known about Viola before I even met you?”
Maceo had no argument for that, but he wasn’t mollified. “They could have at least questioned him.”
“And given him another opportunity to play the concerned stepfather card? No, thank you.”
Ori sighed to herself. But three days later, now it seemed, that Tyson had found out about it anyway. His statement to the press was full of platitudes and nauseating homilies, and Ori pushed away the newspaper in disgust.
Since their row, she and Maceo had hardly spoken, but now she felt his hands on her shoulders and she looked up at him. “Let’s not fight.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m just scared.” He came to sit next to her, sliding his arm around her shoulders and kissing her cheek. “Ti amo.”
She nestled into his arms. “I was thinking … whoever is doing this, I don’t think it matters who I am to him. It’s not really me who is the target. You are. Or at least, you and the others. The Club. It’s too obvious.”
“I agree. So does Alex; so do the police. The thing i
s … we’ve all obviously made bad decisions at one time or another, or had enemies. None of us think we’ve collectively screwed anyone over. So why target us?”
Ori sighed. “Jealousy? The Midnight Club is a well-oiled machine.”
“The Midnight Club is five friends who thought—back in their twenties—that they could rule the world. Some of us still think like that; some of us are happy with what we have.” Maceo smiled at her. “The club isn’t a club, Ori. It’s just us five brothers. There’s nothing to be envious of.” He kissed her gently. “But I can understand someone being jealous of what I have….”
Ori smiled, but her mind was still racing. “Is it because I look like Viola?”
Maceo’s smile faded. “I don’t know, bella.”
“But I’m not her,” she said quietly. “Anyone who spent five minutes with me could tell.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Me neither. Hey, look, let’s go meet Alex for dinner and forget all this bullshit. Are we going to let one asshole ruin our happiness? I’ll tell you a secret, mio caro.”
Ori chuckled at his cheeky grin. “And what’s that, Mr. Bartoli?”
“I have a lot of money. A lot. Which means the best protection in the world. No one’s getting near you, or us. So we can go on, live our lives, and enjoy what we have.”
Ori kissed him. “I wouldn’t change a thing about what we have, Maceo. I only wish I had thought to bring AJ back here with us.”
Maceo nodded, his eyes sad. “I know.” His arms tightened around her. “The police will find out who did this, mio caro. Alex is like a dog with a bone with the investigation. In the meantime, we won’t let it affect our happiness.”
“Agreed.” She pressed her mouth to his. “I love you, Maceo. Take me to bed.”
Grinning, he did as she asked and as they made love, Maceo’s huge cock driving into her, Ori knew that, together, they would be able to defeat any problems that came their way.
The Midnight Club Page 9
