Now I start to feel guilty because as I mentioned before, Jake is a good guy, and he’s helped me out of a few tight spots before. Having said that, I would never ask him to get tortured on my behalf. Mind you, I’ve never been in that position before. What if I was? I’d need someone to have my back, and there is no one better qualified than Jake. If I do this for him, he owes me big style, and that’s always good to have in the bag. Especially when you’re trying to kill a Middle Eastern Dictator, or you’re knee deep in Chinese state secrets when the execution van comes calling. They have those in China. Little white vans that pluck people from their homes and whisk them away, so they are never heard of again. It is estimated that a thousand Chinese people will find themselves in one of those vans this year. Mind you, the Chinese didn’t come up with the idea. The Nazis adapted vans as mobile gas chambers, and we all know what they did with those. Anyway, apparently, it’s big business. The Chinese don’t just kill their victims. Oh no. They harvest all of their organs in their makeshift operating theatre, bar the heart which they’ve just poisoned, and then sell them to hospitals for somewhere around five thousand to thirty thousand pounds. The thought still makes me queasy. I’ve come close to being executed in one of those vans, and it wasn’t a pleasant experience. Being executed by Adrien Dumortier is no less of a worry.
The trouble is, refusing Jake will be hard. We go way back. I am going to feel guilty if I say no and that will simmer nastily in my stomach for days. With it, there’s the knowledge that if I accept this assignment, I’ll be in close quarters with Adrien Dumortier for several hours, if not days, and that part isn’t wholly unpleasant. The man gives me an unfamiliar buzz, but it’s a good one. There is something about him. I can’t put my finger on it, but I find him one of the sexiest men I have ever laid eyes on. By all rights, I should have killed him already – but I didn’t. It wasn’t because Jake didn’t want me to, either. I didn’t kill him because I wanted a taste of him. If I accept this assignment, it’s possible that I might get one, and the thought is appealing. Yes, I’ll have to play the simpering, scared witless sister and scream at the slightest provocation, but you can learn a lot about a person while they’re at work. Maybe I’ll even learn some new techniques. My God, Mel. Are you really trying to talk yourself into this madness?
“I’ll do it on one condition,” I say. I then resist the urge to clap my hands over my mouth and slap myself. Holy fuck. Did I just say that out loud? What is wrong with me? I must have a death wish. Mind you, I can still get out of this with a bit of quick thinking.
“Anything,” Jake says looking up at me, and his eyes are once again hopeful. I’m about to stamp the light right out of them, though.
“If I do this for you, I want you to sleep with me.” Yeah. That’ll kill it. He’s newly married with a baby on the way. No way is he going to say ‘yes’ to that. As I expected, the room goes deadly silent. There is a long pause. It’s strange because I expected him to say no outright. That’s what he’s said every other time I’ve asked him over the years, and the response has been quick and immediate. Yes, I’ve been half in love with Jake for years, but he has never responded to my advances. Not once. The man is a fucking robot. The fact that he’s even considering this is shocking. What does he know that I don’t?
I watch him purse his lips, as a haunted expression comes over his features. I’m such a bitch. He’s obviously desperate to even consider this, and I’m taking advantage. Mind you, he is asking rather a lot of me. I’ve already decided I’m going to do this for him, whether he says ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to my request, but I still want to know the answer. How important is this to him?
When he puts his head in hands and sits there despondently for a few seconds, I know exactly how much this means to him.
“Yes,” he whispers quietly. He then stands up, obviously shaken, and leaves the room.
I sink into the chair he’s just vacated, equally as shaken, and wonder what the hell I’ve just agreed to.
Elizabeth
I have to call in a lot of favors to get to work this morning, and I mean a lot. What I really need is a goddamned jet, but even I have my limitations. My first problem is just getting out of the house. If I was in central London, I’d be sprinting for the tube about now. Alas, that is not an option available to me. I am too far away from anything for that to work, aside from the fact that I only have five-inch heels to wear and a very tight skirt.
The first thing I need to do is find my handbag. Then I can call the taxi firm I usually use at RLL Solutions. If I offer him a horrendous amount of money, there is a chance I might just make it to work on time. There is one small snag to that problem. I can’t find it.
I distinctly remember leaving it beside the front door last night, but this morning it has disappeared. If this is Adie’s way of toying with me, I am unamused. Amongst plenty of other important things, it contains my house keys and my security pass for work, so without it, I can’t even get near the office. Has he hidden it? If he has, I am going to have him killed at the first opportunity. Incredible orgasms or not, this is not my idea of fun.
After a good ten minutes of searching around the house on my hands and knees, opening every cupboard I can find and scouring bedrooms and countertops for a flash of black, Louis Vuitton leather, I eventually find it. Adie has placed it on the coat hook above the front door, which is as sensible place as any, I guess. I didn’t see it at first because there are coats all around it, and it blended in with them almost perfectly. I wonder if Adie did it on purpose? It wouldn’t surprise me.
Grabbing my bag, I ring the taxi company and offer them an obscene amount of money if they can get to me within five minutes. Thankfully, they are up for the challenge. So, that’s one problem sorted. Unfortunately, it is not my only problem. I have no makeup, no hairbrush, no panties and absolutely no time to shower. There is no way I can enter the office looking like I do now. Shit, shit, shit.
Rushing to the bathroom which is one of those ‘his’ and ‘hers’ variants, with two of everything, I take the basin closest to me and splash water on my face. This won’t make me look any better, but I may be able to erase some of the mascara tracks I made last night with a bit of tissue. At least I won’t look like something out of Dawn of the Dead. When that is done, I try to run my fingers through my hair as best I can, doing my best to separate the tangles. It still looks like a bird’s nest, but I think I’ve removed the ‘just got out of bed’ look.
Heading back upstairs, I pull yesterday’s clothes on with a grimace. I’ll just have to hope that nobody at work notices. Thankfully, they don’t smell too bad. Pulling a mini can of antiperspirant from my handbag, I spritz it around liberally, hoping it will mask the fact that I’ve been in them for around twenty-four hours. I scowl again. When I see Adrien, I am going to take his head off.
The doorbell then chimes, distracting me from my thoughts of murder, and I rush downstairs with my bag. I hope his place has a self-locking door because I have no idea where the key is, nor am I going to waste time looking for it. The time is now eight twenty-five, and I’ll be roaring into London on a wing and a prayer if I want to get there on time.
Sprinting out of the door, my handbag flying behind me, I open the car door and say, “Drive as fast as you can, and I’ll pay you ten times the fare.”
The driver takes me at my word, and with a nod, he roars off before I’ve even fastened my seatbelt. When I’ve accomplished that task, which isn’t easy through all that acceleration, I pluck my phone out of my bag once more. I need a rescue package. It needs to be delivered from someone who can keep their mouth shut and not tease me about this mercilessly for weeks to come. It also has to be female. Scrolling down my list of contacts, I settle on ‘Dina.’ She is always the best-presented of all the women in the office, and I’m fairly confident she’ll have exactly what I need. She also lives close to the office. Let’s just hope she answers my call.
On the third ring she picks up, and I breathe an
inward sigh of relief. “Dina,” I say, “I have no time to explain, but can you meet me at the entrance to the office in half an hour with a mirror, an arsenal of makeup, a hairbrush, a sweater, and a hair tie?”
“Yes,” she says simply. Never one to waste words is our Dina. Today, I am very appreciative of the fact.
“Thank you,” I say. “You’re a life-saver.” I then hang up. So far, I have been lucky, but I am not out of the woods yet. If we get stuck in traffic, I can kiss my reputation and job goodbye. Who will take over from me? Adrien Dumortier, of course. He is the mostly likely candidate for the job. He has everything to gain from this little stunt and nothing to lose. I have probably played right into his hands. What was I thinking last night? Uh… you weren’t thinking. That was the problem. Right. Tears of frustration begin to prickle at my eyes, but I hold them back. I am a strong and independent woman. I have been through worse than this. Or have I? Whatever. I will get through this one way or another. Dumortier will not have the last laugh. If he pulls a fast one on me, it will be the last move he ever makes.
My eyes are glued to my watch the whole journey. Every minute that ticks down feels like a bomb exploding in my head. My hands are shaking on my lap and I feel sick to my stomach. I have not got this far to lose it all in an instant, just because I fell for a pretty face. Yes, it was a stupid mistake, but I failed to take into account just how devious Adrien would be with someone who works on the same side as him. I’m his boss, for crying out loud. Where is the fucking respect I deserve? I call myself all sorts of names, berating myself for ever having employed him in the first place, when the car comes to a shuddering and shaking halt. Up until now we have made fairly good progress through the backstreets of London, and my driver knows all the shortcuts, so he’s worth his weight in gold. No one, however, can tackle rush hour in London and hope to come out the victor. This city spends most of the morning grid locked, and today isn’t going to prove any different. This isn’t news to me. How am I going to solve this? I have fifteen minutes and counting to get to my destination, and I am not prepared to fail now. Think, woman, think!
Just then one of London’s bike hire stations comes into view and I have an idea.
“Stop the car,” I yell. Tossing a wad of bills the driver’s way as we come to a screeching halt, I thank him profusely while my ass is already halfway out of the door. I am already clutching my credit card tightly. This is possibly going to be one of the worst plans I have ever had, but I have no time for public transport queues. It’s this or nothing.
Punching my details into the machine, I unlock terminal number thirteen (an omen to be sure) to discover I am now the proud owner of a bike that weighs a ton. All I have to do now is figure out how I’m going to cycle in high heels, whilst wearing a very short skirt with no underwear. I hadn’t considered that in the taxi, but there is no time to back out now. Another immediate problem is where the hell am I going to put my handbag? There is no basket on this bike, like the ones you find in Paris. Who designed this thing, anyway?
After scrabbling around in the bottom to see if the shoulder strap is still there, I find it and give the air above me a fist pump. Then I clip it on and shove the thing around my neck. Breathing deeply, I decide I’m about to show London what I’m made of. It’s not going to be an attractive look, but for once, I don’t care.
Peddling is not the easiest thing in heels, whilst your hair is flopping about all over the place, but I do a tolerable job of it. My ass groans as soon as it comes into contact with the seat after yesterday’s spanking, but I ignore it. There are bigger things to worry about.
It doesn’t take me long to discover my bike has two speeds: Sloth, and Nearly Asleep Sloth. It is not designed for racing, much to my chagrin. If I had a decent bike, I’m willing to bet I’d have given Geraint Thomas a run for his money today, but it feels as if I’m driving a double-decker bus – with my feet. I bet they do this on purpose. Santander Bank is plastered all over my bike in bright red. I am now slowly marketing their brand all over London, so there’s a good reason they don’t want anyone to ride about too fast. No one would be able to read it, right? Gah.
To add insult to injury, my chain likes to slip just before I’m about to go around a corner, and five minutes into my ride it begins to spit with rain. You couldn’t make this up. I am riding in a cream silk blouse, which when wet will be almost see-through. I want to look up to the sky and ask someone if I’ve not been punished enough, but I don’t dare because my eyes need to be on the road. My bike handling skills are dodgy at best. Apparently, people steal these things. What moron would want a bike like this? You’d have to be clinically insane to steal this hulking monstrosity. The car behind me then starts honking his horn repeatedly and I can’t decide if it’s because I’ve flashed him part of my ass, or if it’s due to the fact I’m holding him up by pedaling so slowly. Hey, I am doing my best, buddy. You try cycling in heels. The bastard flies by me at the next intersection, still honking his horn while he nearly knocks me off my bike. I ring my bell in protest. That’ll scare him.
When I finally get to the office, I fling my bike against the entrance and look at my watch. Two minutes. I have two fucking minutes to stop those pictures going viral.
“Here you go.” Dina pops her head around the corner and flings a carrier bag full of stuff in my direction. Thank you, God.
“You are my favorite person right now,” I whisper with genuine affection. I then spoil it by saying, “You were never here, you never saw me like this, and you will never speak of this again.” She nods, almost as if she expected this. Dina’s a good girl.
“You owe me,” she says, as she passes by me, clicking her security pass against the turnstile entrance.
“I do,” I confirm. I am not looking at her as I say it. I am busy scraping my hair back into a bun, whilst trying to apply foundation and lipstick at the same time. It’s not as easy as it looks.
When I get to Adie’s office, I have seconds to spare, but I look almost presentable. There are a few scuffs on my heels and I’m missing my stockings, but it could be a lot worse. Barging into the office, with a frightening frown upon my face, I get ready to yell at him.
Before I can do any such thing, Adie turns his computer around to reveal naked video footage of me, tied up and snoring my head off. My eyes goggle. Adie is quite the cameraman, too. There are plenty of close-up shots of my more ‘delicate’ anatomy going on. Even though I haven’t had much of a breakfast this morning, I feel the contents of my stomach take a dangerous surge upwards.
“Delete that this instant,” I hiss, turning the laptop back around in case anyone chances to drop in on us.
“No fucking way,” Adie says. “I’m just about to hit send, and I’m going to enjoy this moment immensely.” He picks up his cell and his fingers hover over it.
“No,” I wail. “I got here in time. Do not touch that phone!” I’m ready to clamber over the desk if necessary and wrestle him for it, when he holds out his hand in front of him, warding me off.
“Well, you failed, sweetheart. The message said you had to beat me here, and you didn’t. It all seems very straightforward to me. You lose. I win. Bye-bye nice office, bye-bye big fat paycheck. Bye-bye, private medical care. Blah, blah, blah.” He looks almost gleeful as he says this.
“If you hit that button, you will never get the information you need,” I growl. It’s the last card I have, and I’m more than happy to use it. Adrien Dumortier has hit the top of my shit list with impressive speed, and he is going to pay for what he put me through this morning.
“Is that right?” he purrs. The man doesn’t look at all bothered by my threat, which gives me reason to pause. What does he know that I don’t? I’m pretty sure he couldn’t have gotten that information from anyone else, but he looks far too smug and that worries me.
“That’s right,” I say, putting my hands on my hips. It feels good to have them there. I feel like a strong, independent woman once again and I am goi
ng to strut my stuff.
Adrien gives me a leisurely look up and down, before winking at me. “Did you have time to shower this morning?” he asks me.
“Fuck you,” I reply, knowing he already knows the answer to that question. I must absolutely stink of sex, but there’s nothing I can do about that right now.
“You at least got a cup of coffee, though, right?” He stares at me for a second too long, and then says, “Maybe you’re just not a morning person.” Tapping his phone on the countertop, we appear to have entered some kind of stalemate. What happens now?
“Maybe I’m the kind of person that would have liked some morning fun, followed by a kiss and a cuddle, and then a ‘Would you like a lift to work, darling?’ Call me crazy, but what I got wasn’t very pleasant, and I did pretty much everything you asked of me yesterday evening, did I not?” I didn’t have much choice on that score, but however you look at it, I did as I was told for the most part.
Adie steeples his hands together and places them just below his nose as he peers up at me.
“Did you tell me what you were supposed to?”
I shake my head. What is he talking about now? Are we going back to last night?
“If you’re asking me about what you’re collecting from Leader, I still don’t know. Funnily enough, I rushed straight into your office the moment I got here.” The man is exasperating.
“No. I got the memo on that score. You were supposed to have told me about James’ sister last night. I got nothing, and considering I made you orgasm countless times and gave you the best sex you’ve ever had, I’d say you welched on your end of the deal.” Adie gives me an affronted look, which is rich considering what he did to me last night.
“Who says you gave me the best sex of my life? You have a very inflated opinion of yourself, Mr Dumortier,” I reply, lying my ass off. “As to the information, I fell asleep. If you’d have woken me up, I would happily have told you everything you wanted to know. My body can only take so much of what you dished out last night. I’m still sore this morning,” I grumble. My ass burned like molten lava on that bike saddle and it is still throbbing now, along with other parts that I dare not mention.
Deadly Retaliation: A Dark Bully Harem Romance (A Twisted, Dark and Deadly Romance Book 1) Page 14
