Anything He Wants: The Betrayal (#5)

by Sara Fawkes

  Jeremiah turned away before I could get a good look at his face; disappointment churned in my belly at the subtle snub but I set it aside, dressing myself quickly and following after him. He had moved toward a far wall, and as I approached he pulled aside a thin rug covering a pair of rings in the door and hauled open a trapdoor in the floor. The hinges didn’t make any noise as the hatch swung open. “This will take us to the house.”

  I stared wide-eyed down into the darkness. Steep concrete steps led down into the underground passage, and a chilly damp wind blew from somewhere at the other end. “Is it safe?”

  “This is how I came in here unseen. It’s safer than going outside, at least until we figure out who’s behind all this.”

  Still I balked. “Why do you have a trapdoor to the boathouse?”

  Jeremiah’s lips thinned but he answered, “There were incidents in my childhood that necessitated…additional measures. My father was a paranoid man, but in some instances he had good reason to be afraid. The house has a panic room and this exit in case of an emergency, but we’ve never had to use either since he died.” He held out his hand. “Come on, Lucy,” he said, his voice gentler than before, “let’s get you to the house.”

  I tentatively took his hand, still unconvinced whether it was a good idea, but nevertheless took that first step down into the dark passageway.

  2

  I found out very quickly that I didn’t like secret passages.

  There was little light along the narrow tunnel. We passed lightbulbs spaced several yards apart but only two worked along the entire corridor. The main light came from a flashlight phone app, reflecting dully off the slick wood floor. I kept a firm grip on the back of Jeremiah’s shirt to keep from slipping on the rotting planks.

  The passageway’s proximity to the ocean left everything covered in moisture; I didn’t dare touch the walls glistening in the low light. The tunnel was warmer than above ground but humid, a cloying darkness I was desperate to escape. It seemed to go on forever, the walls pressing ever closer. Right as I was readying myself to push Jeremiah aside and flee the rest of the way we came to a stop and the light shone up at a trap door above. Jeremiah twisted a metal ring and pushed, but the door didn’t budge. He heaved at it twice and it finally ripped free, making a sound like wood splitting. There wasn’t much light streaming in from the new room, either, but definitely more than in the dark tunnel which was a welcomed relief.

  “Climb up,” he said, and I noticed a metal ladder against the far wall. The chill from the rungs bit into my hands as I scaled the short distance into the new room. There was a marked difference in the temperature and ambient humidity as I realized we were back in the house. I had only a moment to recognize the kitchen pantry, shelves lined with cans and packaged goods, before the door was wrenched open. Blinded by the sudden light, I gave a surprised squeak and raised my hands in surrender as three guns were pointed in my face.

  “Stand down,” came Jeremiah’s order from below. After a moment’s hesitation the guns were lowered, and I sat back on the floor, my feet still inside the hole. The guards stepped back as Jeremiah pulled himself from the dank opening. I scooted sideways to make room, not trusting my jelly-legs after that scare, but Jeremiah lifted me effortlessly to my feet and escorted me from the tiny room.

  The living room and kitchen were full of people, mainly guards, so Lucas stuck out among the group. He was flanked by two men, and as I came into view he gave me a quick once-over. I thought I saw relief flash across his face briefly before the smirking mask settled back in place.

  Jeremiah fixed his brother with a glare, striding toward the smaller man. “If you don’t tell me what you—”

  “Archangel.”

  Jeremiah paused. “What’s Archangel?”

  “Archangel isn’t a what, but a who.” Lucas shifted uncomfortably, a petulant look on his face. “Can’t we lose the cuffs?” he asked, rattling the thin chain. “My poor shoulders can’t take much—”

  “Lucas,” Jeremiah growled, cutting off his brother and ignoring the request, “who is Archangel?”

  “An assassin, and a very good one at that. Pricey as well.” He rolled his eyes. “Contrary to what you may think, I wasn’t the one to hire his services; I even tried to warn you as soon as I heard about the hit.”

  “When?” Jeremiah asked sharply.

  “The night of the charity gala in France. I tried to call your cell but there was no answer.” Lucas snaked a look at me, a twinge of regret in his eyes. “I should have left a message but instead I decided to contact you directly. By the time I reached your room, however, it was too late.”

  Jeremiah spoke first, his voice suspicious. “The caller was a blocked number.”

  “A hazard of the profession.” Lucas’s lips rose into a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. I got the impression the grin was an automatic response, an oft-used professional mask, because something flickered in his eyes and the smile disappeared. “I decided to contact you directly but I was only a minute behind the medical team dispatched to your room. I saw you raging about and knew something had happened.”

  That bit of information got Jeremiah’s attention. “You were there?”

  Lucas nodded once somberly. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me if I approached you then and didn’t want to cause a scene—in the state you were in, you would have throttled me—so I stayed back.” Lucas snuck a look toward me. “I apologize for not being faster.”

  “I’m alive.” As far as forgiveness went, the words were a paltry expression of gratitude, but I saw another brief flash of relief across his face. My mind was having trouble equating this man with his chosen career; I couldn’t see Lucas as an arms dealer. I guess even bad guys can have a heart.

  “What about Archangel?”

  Jeremiah’s question recaptured Lucas’s attention. “He’s new in the professional circuit but rapidly working his way up. I know of at least twenty confirmed hits but am certain there are dozens more. The man is a master of disguise and uses any tools necessary for the job. He’s good enough to leave no evidence, even so far as to hack surveillance cameras.” He jerked his chin toward me. “She’s the only one who’s seen his face and lives to tell the tale.”

  I went cold. “So he really is after me now, too?” I whispered. The room suddenly spun and I clung to a nearby countertop for support.

  A frown flickered across Lucas’s face and he took a step toward me, but Jeremiah was already there, an arm hugging around my shoulders and pulling me close for support. I appreciated the much-needed gesture and gave Jeremiah a smile, even as Lucas was held back again, the guards on either side grabbing his arms.

  “Who hired him?” Jeremiah asked, his eyes on me and not his brother.

  “It doesn’t matter, only that the assassin’s coming after you.”

  The nonanswer drew Jeremiah’s full attention. “You don’t know, or you won’t tell me?”

  The deadly note in the billionaire’s voice shivered through me, but Lucas merely shrugged it off as if he heard similar threats every day. Maybe he did in his line of work, I thought as Lucas replied, “We can worry about that after the fact.”

  “We can worry about it now. What are you hiding, Loki?”

  Consternation flickered across Lucas’s face at the use of his other name. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that,” he said, the jovial mask slipping for a moment.

  “Why not?” Jeremiah shot back. “It’s your name, isn’t it?”

  “That name was given to me, I didn’t create it myself.” Indecision warred on his face, as if he wanted to say more, explain what he meant, and Ethan chose that moment to come into the room. If the bald bodyguard noticed or cared about the increased tension in the room, he gave no indication. “We have a visitor.”

  Jeremiah’s lips thinned at the interruption. “Who is it?” he asked.

  Ethan glanced over at Lucas. “Anya Petrovski.”

  I was watching Lucas when Ethan spoke so s
aw the spasm of anger across his face. He saw me looking and tried to cover it up, but his eyes still burned with emotion. Just like his brother, I thought. It’s all in the eyes.

  “There’s no need to involve her,” Lucas said, his voice smooth and dismissive. If I hadn’t grown so accustomed to reading Jeremiah’s stoic expression, I might have been taken in by the words. “She’s probably here to plead my case to you, which is entirely unnecessary.”

  I glanced up at Jeremiah and saw him studying his brother through narrow eyes. “Would she know anything about this?”

  Lucas snorted. “Definitely not, other than the fact I came here to warn you.”

  He sounded flippant and uncaring, but Jeremiah seemed unconvinced. He turned back to Ethan and said, “Leave her car outside the gate. Search both it and her thoroughly, then bring her to the house.”

  Ethan nodded and whispered instructions to a nearby guard who disappeared from the room. For all of a second, Lucas’s lips pursed and his eyes flashed, then the jovial mask slipped back into place. “I do love drama,” he said, his lips turning up into a tight smile.

  “What is the meaning of this?” came a woman’s voice from the entryway, her strident tones bouncing off the wood and stone. Lucas’s smile froze, eyes widening as his head snapped around toward the voice.

  Jeremiah glanced at Ethan, jaw tightening in annoyance. “Why isn’t she gone?” he demanded.

  “She hadn’t left the gate yet when you ordered the lockdown,” Ethan said just as Georgia Hamilton swept into the room. She was flanked by two more guards who faded back toward the front door, escort duty done. The older woman fixed her eyes on Jeremiah and marched straight up to him angrily. “What is the meaning of this?” she snapped, glaring up at her son. “You throw me out of my own home, send your police force to escort me off the property, then force me back in when I’m obviously not wanted?” She drew in a shaky breath, covering her mouth with the knuckles of her hand. “Haven’t you any concern for my feelings?”

  The overwrought performance was sublime but, given my experience with the woman, I couldn’t dredge up any sympathy for her imaginary plight. Nor, apparently, could Jeremiah who replied coldly, “Rest assured, Mother, you’ll be gone from this house as quickly as we can manage.”

  Annoyance wrinkled her nose briefly, then the waterworks started. “How can you dream of keeping me away from my…”

  “Well, hello, Mother. Did you miss me?”

  Lucas’s snide words stopped the older woman in midtirade. Clearly shocked, she turned around to stare at her eldest son, who stood glaring at her from the center of the room. “What is he doing here?” she demanded, all traces of her previous grief disappearing in an instant.

  “Lovely to see you, too.” Gone was the professional nonchalance Lucas had maintained throughout the conversation with Jeremiah. Sarcasm now laced everything, the bitter sneer across his face angled toward the thin woman who’d just entered the room. The scar across his cheek stood out as the skin around it darkened in repressed anger.

  Georgia looked as though she’d bitten into a lemon as she rounded on Jeremiah. “Don’t listen to anything he says,” she spat. “He’s nothing but a liar and a cheat.”

  Lucas threw his head back and barked a laugh, then bowed toward his mother, a mocking smile on his face. “I learned from the best. Inherited from both sides, in fact.”

  Puzzled by the exchange, I looked up at Jeremiah for some clarification but he, too, seemed confused. “What’s going on?” he demanded.

  “Nothing,” Georgia spat, then lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. “I’d like to leave now as it appears family means little in this house.”

  “Oh, Mother, no. Please. Stay.” The sarcasm dripped off Lucas’s every word, but the woman merely crossed her arms without looking at her eldest son. A cruel smile tightened Lucas’s face but the wounded look in his eyes didn’t quite jibe with the expression. “Wouldn’t you like to know what happened to that thirty million dollars I was accused of stealing?” Lucas asked. “Surely curiosity had been eating away at you about how I spent it.”

  Georgia flinched ever so slightly, the sign little more than a momentary purse of her lips. “I don’t need to hear this, it’s not my business,” she said, sniffing in disdain and pivoting toward the entryway. “When you’re little argument is over, I’ll be in my car.”

  “Stop her.” Jeremiah’s command was immediately followed as the two guards along the doorway closed ranks, blocking the exit. Georgia squawked in outrage but Jeremiah ignored her, his attention on his brother. “I don’t like secrets,” he said, voice low.

  “Yet you’ve helped perpetuate one for almost eight years now.” Lucas never stopped watching his mother, even when she refused to return the favor. His eyes were a cauldron of emotions, flickering and changing so fast it was difficult to decipher anything in particular. “Come now, Mother, should I tell him or would you like to do the honors?”

  Giving an irritated groan that sounded childish coming from the older woman, Georgia turned her back on her eldest son. Suddenly realizing that she had an audience scrutinizing her every move, she smoothed her features and waved her hand airily. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Now if you’ll excuse me…”

  Lucas’s eyes narrowed at the display, then he turned to Jeremiah. “Have you ever wondered where Mother gets all her money?”

  The question seemed to startle Jeremiah. He gave his brother a long, hard look before turning to glance at his mother. I followed his gaze and wondered if he was thinking the same thing as me. Georgia Hamilton wasn’t a good an actress; she avoided anyone’s eyes, her head swiveling from one exit to another as if pondering which one would get her away quicker. Finally, she met Jeremiah’s look and rolled her eyes. “Come on, you don’t actually believe him do you?” she snapped.

  “Believe what?” Jeremiah looked between his family members, confusion mixing with annoyance. Neither his brother nor his mother seemed inclined to do more than glare at one another, so he raised his voice and asked again, “I’m not to believe what?”

  A cell phone rang, the sharp sound piercing the terse atmosphere. Ethan melted out of the room as the answer to Jeremiah’s question hit me like a ton of bricks. Oh, my God. “Your mother was the one who stole the money.”

  I hadn’t meant to vocalize my thoughts, it was only a theory, but the words electrified the audience. “That’s absurd!” she snapped. Georgia rounded on me, face contorting in anger. It was an odd sight to behold, as much of her face had been deadened by Botox injections and their near-tranquility didn’t match the obvious rage in her eyes. “What would you know anyway? You’re just the trollop my son brought home.”

  “Wasn’t that how you, too, started out this life?” Lucas practically cooed as my hands curled into fists. “Didn’t Father find you in a Vegas dance hall? Come now, Mother, projecting your issues on her doesn’t forgive you your own sins.”

  A spasm of pain cracked across the older woman’s face at the memory, which she tried and failed to conceal. “I don’t need to hear this,” she repeated bitterly, but much of the fire had gone out of the words.

  She turned away, only to have Lucas block her path and snag her arm. Despite the cuffs around his wrists, he held her firm. “Do you know what you’ve done to me, Mother?” he murmured as she turned and glared. He leaned in close, their gazes locking, but neither seemed willing to budge first. “Do you know what your lie reduced me to?”

  I stared at them, still shocked by my own revelation, then looked up at Jeremiah. He was as still as I’d ever seen, and it was difficult to tell what he was thinking. Part of me wanted to know more about Georgia—had she really been a Vegas showgirl?—but now was definitely not the time for questions. There’s so much about this family I don’t know.

  “Don’t blame me for what you chose to become,” Georgia spat, glaring up at her eldest son.

  “How was anything that happened
to me by choice?” Even from several feet away I saw his body trembling as he released his mother’s arm, his hands curling into fists. “Everything I was, everything I had, was locked up in this company. Then that was taken away, I was accused of stealing thirty million dollars, and I took the only option available to me that didn’t include jail time.”

  “Selling weapons to the highest bidder?” Jeremiah interjected in a wooden voice. “That was your only recourse?”

  Lucas blinked at the interruption then stepped away from Georgia. He looked shaken, his eyes hollow as he looked back at his brother. “It didn’t start out that way. I needed to get out of the country and a man I once considered a friend needed a skilled negotiator to broker a deal on some cargo. I didn’t know until I was in the air what that ‘cargo’ consisted of or I swear, I’d have walked into the jail myself.”

  Georgia snorted. “And you want to lay the blame at my feet?”

  “Take some responsibility for what you’ve caused,” I said, unable to contain myself any more. Every face in the room held varying degrees of disgust and astonishment at the older woman’s behavior and words but nobody was willing to speak out.

  She rolled her eyes and casually inspected her nails. “The reason doesn’t matter. He is what he made himself—I’m not the one who should live with the shame.”

  I sputtered, unable to control my own anger. “He’s your son,” I exclaimed. “They’re both your sons! Don’t you care for them at all?”

  “Of course I love them,” Georgia snapped, giving me a haughty glare. “Keep your opinion out of matters that don’t concern you.”

  I wanted to throttle the sanctimonious bitch but at her words Lucas’s face shut down. “You’re right, Mother,” he said, chin coming back up. I recognized the moment his familiar mask snapped back into place. He gave the woman a tight-lipped smile even as she ignored him. “We each have to live with our own mistakes, don’t we?”