Fifty Days 3

by Taylor Shade

  He laughs. “No, just thirty-one. Haven’t you wondered how someone so young built a law firm in such a short period of time?”

  “Good point.”

  “But unfortunately, the United States Government discovered my skills first. Despite my intelligence, I was a troubled young man who was drawn to crime at an early age. I’m not proud of that now. I was young and stupid.”

  “You? A child delinquent?”

  “I robbed banks. I was good at it. I was a millionaire by the time I was sixteen. Then they nabbed me.”

  “What did your parents think of all this?”

  “I never knew who they were. I grew up moving from foster home to foster home. So I lashed out.”

  “By robbing banks.”

  “Among other things. It made me feel alive to know I could con people out of money so easily... all because of my gift.”

  “But they caught you.”

  “Yes, and then they recruited me. It was either that or go to Federal prison. So I helped them catch criminals... a lot of them. Then, I ended up joining the elite of the elite.”

  “What’s the elite of the elite?”

  “Something very bad. It’s a group of people... who... we did... who do... very bad things. Things that need to be done to preserve the Republic, but very bad things indeed.”

  An eerie silence fills the room.

  “But you got out?”

  “Yes, I tricked my way out. I located some information about some very important people and blackmailed my way out. It was the only way. I was motivated by a new dogma. By this time, I had seen enough of the pain and suffering in the world so I decided to do three things... one, get rich so I have enough money to... two, teach others to get rich.”

  “You said three. What’s the third?”

  He looks right through my eyes. “Train beautiful women in the deviant art of submission.”

  I gulp. “You’re pretty good at that.”

  “How would you know? We haven’t started yet.”

  FOURTEEN

  Drake

  I want to tell her everything. I want to confess all my sins.

  But all that would send her running out onto the street. Which I don’t want her to do.

  The one thing I don’t like about all this is losing my grip on control. I always control. I dictate, I command, I control.

  But right now two people are wresting control away from me.

  The first is Sloane Kenner. I could stare at that face for a lifetime, maybe two. When she looks at me, I melt.

  As we eat dinner and she questions me, I even try to focus on tiny details of her physicality such as the soft round spot where her shoulder meets her neck. Or her little finger, elegant and soft as she lifts her fork to her mouth.

  Even these parts of her are endlessly fascinating to me. Heaven would be spending an entire year traveling all around her body with my tongue, immersing myself in the language and culture of each destination on the continent of her skin.

  Can I seriously let this happen to me? I never thought about love, falling in love, finding “the one,” blah blah blah. I always considered that stuff for lesser people.

  Or is it about control?

  Is it that I must always be in control? And when one is in a relationship with another, one is not completely in control.

  The other person attempting to wrest control of my life is Electra. Enticing me back. Blackmailing me the way I blackmailed the top brass to let me go so long ago.

  All of this is related to Sloane Kenner and her little spy job, Ronson’s murder, and Trish’s murder.

  But how?

  None of it seems to make any sense.

  As Sloane and I finish our meal, rush-hour traffic now replaced by the Manhattan nightlife crowd, I work on a game plan in my mind.

  “I want to go back into work tomorrow,” says Sloane, smashing into my thoughts.

  “No! You’re in danger. Two people have been killed. I want you to stay at the hotel. Nobody knows you’re here so you’re safe.”

  “But I need this job!”

  I grab her wrist and squeeze. “No, you don’t. I don’t know if you noticed but the name on the door is Concord Hamilton Dandridge. I think you know Concord, who will vouch for you. Plus, you don’t know who you’re up against. These people are professionals.”

  Sloane puts on a pouty expression and folds her arms.

  “That won’t work with me,” I say.

  “I want to help! I’m not staying cooped up in a hotel room all bored out of my mind. Plus, I’ll be afraid of every sound I hear. At least at the firm I’ll be surrounded by people.”

  She has a point there. Plus, we do have the best security systems installed anywhere. I scratch my head and take a sip of wine.

  “Maybe you’re right,” I say. “Plus, maybe you could figure out who stole the envelope with the piece of paper. I need to see that.”

  She smiles. “I knew you’d see things my way.”

  I glare at her. The smile drops.

  “Counsel,” she says with another smile.

  FIFTEEN

  Sloane

  D rake kisses me and I get out of his limo on 53rd. We’ve decided to go in separately. No need to advertise our relationship.

  I feel like I’m on a different planet as I walk in the warm morning sunshine. We just passed into December, but the temperature rose overnight to a balmy fifty.

  Thursday. Day four. Not that I’m counting anymore. The whole fifty days thing has fallen into oblivion somewhere.

  I’m wearing a silky purple blouse and a black skirt with new black shoes.

  All sent to me by express delivery last night.

  When you’re Drake Concord, you make things happen. Including a Kors outfit on demand.

  And paid for.

  I smile to myself in the morning sunshine as I walk into the building. Then I think of poor Sam Ronson and Trish and my smile fades.

  I approach the security man at the turnstile.

  “Good morning, Miss Kenner,” he says with a big smile.

  “Good morning, Carl,” I say as I breeze past and walk to the banks of elevators.

  Amazing how being seen with Drake Concord changes the world around you.

  It’s hard to believe that it was only three days ago that I first walked into this elevator, the tall handsome stranger in an overcoat stepping into my space.

  I ride up with an assortment of morning people, wishing I could replay the first moment I spent with that sleek face. Such forcefulness. The way he invaded my space, made me uncomfortable, and yet didn’t care.

  God, I loved that. If I could get that on a virtual reality tape, I’d instant-replay it every day of my life.

  The doors open on 50.

  As I step into the law library, Glen appears out of nowhere, causing me to jump.

  “Sloane!” he says with a big smile.

  “Hi Glen,” I say, “you scared me there.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Are you feeling better?”

  “Yes, much better.”

  “Sloane, I was just heading downstairs, but I... uh... wanted to talk to you... you know... for a second.”

  “Sure.”

  “Can you step over here?”

  He motions me to a small alcove behind the first row of stacks. I look over at the room. Most of the girls are in. I see Kayla. But nobody notices me. I keep an eye on all of them as I move toward Glen.

  “What’s up, Glen?” I say.

  “I just want to warn you about something.”

  My stomach churns.

  “Okay,” I say.

  Glen clears his throat and bites his lower lip. “I overheard your friend Kayla and another girl talking yesterday. They weren’t saying very nice things about you.”

  My heart skips a beat. “Really?”

  “Yeah, Kayla seems to think you’re involved in something bad.”

  My breathing goes slack and all the hairs stand up on the back of my neck.
r />   It was Kayla! She’s the one who took the paper! She must have done it when I went to the ladies’ room.

  “What did you hear?” I say.

  “She just told Thanuja that she doesn’t trust you anymore. That you’re here to cause trouble. That’s all I heard. Just thought you’d want to know.”

  “Yes. Well, thanks, Glen,” I say.

  “Oh, one more thing. I got this for you.”

  He hands me a mini-pack of three highlighters.

  “Thought you could use them seeing as you break one every day.”

  “Aw, thanks.”

  “Highlighter breaker,” he says in a teasing tone.

  Suddenly I like him a whole lot better than before.

  Don’t get me wrong... not Drake Concord-like. He has a million years to go before that. Just like.

  “Thanks, Glen.”

  “No prob.”

  He gives me the Robert DeNiro “I’m watching you” gesture and I laugh.

  His score goes up another two points.

  Then I walk into the room. Matt Hamilton is pacing back and forth in front of the tables.

  I put my things down. I notice Kayla shifting in my peripheral vision. She doesn’t look up at me.

  I sit, trying to avoid Hamilton’s stare.

  “Good morning,” I say to Kayla in a flat tone.

  “Good morning,” she replies without looking at me.

  I’m about to sit down but Matthew Hamilton’s shrill voice stops me.

  “Miss Kenner,” he says. “Don’t put your things down.”

  “Okay...” I say.

  Here it comes.

  I don’t know what to feel. I sense a rebellion in this room. All the other paralegals are staring at me except Kayla, who has her head down staring at nothing.

  I should feel fear, or embarrassment, but I know I have a trump card up my sleeve that nobody here knows about. An invisible sheath of protection. I can’t help but giggle a little to myself.

  “Miss Kenner, take your things and go down to Conference Room A on forty-four, please.”

  “Sure,” I say, picking my things up again. Then I smile at everyone and head back out.

  I’m walking differently. My head is high and my footsteps are sure. Something has changed in me, a sense of power and strength coming from the inside and spreading outward.

  SIXTEEN

  Drake

  After dropping Sloane off, I tell Henry to drive around the block. I have him pull over on 54th, where I get out. He pulls back out into traffic.

  I’m about to round the corner to the front of my building when a large black man in a suit steps directly in front of me.

  “Mr. Concord,” he says.

  My old training kicks in immediately as I assume a fighting stance. I notice two other large men come up from behind me.

  Then a limousine comes to a fast halt next to us.

  The large black man opens the door.

  “Please, Mr. Concord,” he says. “Get in.”

  I look around me. These are professionals. There are three of them and one of me. I could put up a fight, but it would be pointless.

  I get in the limo as the black man slams the door shut. The car moves, blending into the morning traffic.

  Sitting next to me is a man I don’t recognize. He’s medium height, about fifty, a bit of a paunch, wearing a gray suit.

  “Sorry about the theatrics,” he says in a flat even tone, “but it’s time for us to talk.”

  I recognize the bulge of a gun under his suit jacket. In one swift move, I pin his neck to the seat and have his gun in my hand. I point it at his face.

  Oddly, he doesn’t resist me at all. He even puts his hands up as he gasps for breath.

  “Who are you?” I say through gritted teeth as the limo pulls out into traffic.

  “ID... in... pocket,” he gasps.

  I pause, looking deep into his eyes. He’s no threat to me. If the limo driver even noticed what I did, he didn’t let on.

  I reach into his pocket and pull out a billfold, reading his two IDs. The top one is United States Armed Forces. Navy Commander Oliver Vance. The bottom one is Central Intelligence Agency. They both look legit.

  I ease up on his throat and put the billfold back in his suit jacket. I keep the gun pointed at him, just in case.

  “What do you want with me?” I say.

  “I currently run Valhalla.”

  Shit. Valhalla was our old code word for V-14, the elite killer squad of which I was unfortunately a star member many years ago.

  “I’m done with you,” I say. “All of you. I left that world, that identity, behind me years ago. I have a new life now and I’m not going back. So either kill me or let me out at the next intersection.”

  Commander Vance’s face contorts, a frown forming. He reaches into the cabinet in the door and takes out a bottle of water. He opens it and sips.

  “No offense, Mr. Concord, but we really don’t want you back. In fact, it is my sworn duty to protect all former members of Valhalla, seeing as we’re currently disbanding the unit.”

  “Disbanding?”

  “Yes. V-14 has been deactivated.”

  “Thank God. The government finally got something right.”

  “No, thank a committee that uncovered the tactics you and your team used in the field.”

  “Those were our orders!”

  “I understand. Don’t worry. We’re not prosecuting anybody. But someone is.”

  “Someone?”

  “Electra,” says Vance. I flinch at the name spoken out loud.

  I get a flash of my handler. Those steely eyes. That tall frame. That ravishing figure decked out in leather, carrying a hot poker. The dungeon. My training.

  She is the only woman who ever got the better of me... and in the worst ways imaginable.

  “Yes, we know what she did to young men who were recruited for Valhalla. We found the dungeon. We were as shocked as anybody. As soon as our new President saw the photographs, he ordered V-14 to be stricken from the history of the United States immediately.”

  I can still feel the cold dampness of the main cavern where she kept us, the sound of water trickling down the walls from the world above, the stench of the rotting flesh of her... our... victims.

  “On behalf of the United States Government, I would like to apologize for Electra, Mr. Concord.”

  “Nobody can ever apologize for Electra!” I spit out. “What she did was–”

  Vance puts a hand up. “We have the pictures. No need to say it out loud. I will say, Mr. Concord, that of all the former members of Valhalla, you cleaned up the best. Top-notch corporate lawyer, big firm you founded yourself. Impressive.”

  “I had a skill that nobody else in Valhalla had.”

  “Yes, I read it in your file. You have an eidetic memory. You see something once and you remember it forever. That’s how you were able to breeze through Harvard Law School so quickly and be top of your class. Now, do you think I can have my gun back?”

  Slowly, I turn the gun and hand it back to him barrel first. He checks it, then returns it to his holster.

  “So, again, what do you want from me?” I say.

  Vance bites his lower lip. “There were fourteen members of Valhalla, but only twelve when you were a part of it. Two new recruits came after you left. In the past two weeks, eight of them have been killed.”

  My heart sinks.

  “Eight?”

  “Yes. Klyde, Jana, Vox, Perry, Hanger, Joko, Wilma, and Bert.”

  I put my head in my hands. I knew them all.

  “Bert?” I say, incredulous. “Bert was the best of the best!”

  “Yes. But there’s a new best of the best.” Vance opens up his briefcase and pulls a photograph out from a manila folder. “This man.”

  A tall blond man smiles up at me. Good-looking, square-cut jaw, large neck, blue eyes. Wearing a suit.

  “I’ve never seen him before,” I say.

  “He’s
new. The final recruit before word came down to disband. The problem is, however, he was also trained by Electra and is apparently... loyal to her.”

  My stomach wretches. Electra loved torturing us. She called us her “little princes” in sessions of sexual torture combined with military training. She forged an elite group of depraved killers.

  I truly was the luckiest of the group. I was born with a strong mind that allowed me to compartmentalize the memories of what happened back there and return to the real world.

  Most members of V-14 weren’t so fortunate, unable to return to any kind of a normal life. I reached out several times to help my teammates, but they all refused my help.

  Now someone is killing them.

  Electra.

  She won’t let go. She can’t live without the power she used to wield over us.

  When she said “I have you by the balls, Jared”, she believes it. I should have killed her right then and there.

  She may know Jared, the man I used to be. But she doesn’t know Drake Concord, the man I’ve become.

  “So what are you asking me to do?” I say.

  Vance turns and looks out the window. The East River drifts by, gray and silent.

  “Nothing officially,” he says with his hand up to his mouth, “because it is my mission to disband V-14. But Electra must be stopped. And three of my own unit have died trying to track her. I can’t allow any more of them to be killed. They don’t deserve that. You don’t deserve that.”

  I look into Vance’s eyes. I’m the best judge of people I know, and he radiates a hard steely sincerity.

  “I agree,” I say. “I’ll handle it.”

  “I thought you might say that.”

  We turn in at 55th and then left onto Lexington.

  “This is everything we know,” he says as he hands me the briefcase. “I’m trusting you to use it well, and then discard it. I wouldn’t do this with anyone else, but you have a stellar reputation.”

  The car stops in front of my building.

  I nod and take the briefcase, getting out of the limo into the morning sunshine.

  SEVENTEEN

  Sloane