He snarled at his own infuriation with the man and gripped the pipe tighter. As he delivered another heavy blow, it was suddenly apparent in his mind that this was probably what loving someone did to the prospect of revenge. It appeared that it wasn’t enough to see the recipient dead for his actions or even to be the one to inflict the sentence. Given that he’d never cared about someone before, he’d presumed that this would solve the problem. It didn’t it seemed. He wondered if he should have made the man suffer more or if he should have made Elizabeth watch the event. Or maybe she should have done this herself. Would that have been more therapeutic somehow? Who fucking knew?
He just kept slicing the pipe through the air in his normal methodical manner, as if it were nothing more than a tool for work of some sort. It wasn’t normal to be this dispassionate about killing, he was sure, but as all the old numbness crept over him, he watched the blood splatter the dirt and smiled. Exonerated or not, this fucker wasn’t ever going to touch her again. He wouldn’t ever be touching anything again. There wouldn’t even be anything left to touch except the sides of a wooden fucking box.
When he thought he’d done a thorough enough job of ending the man’s existence, he watched the jerky movements of the body impassively as the residual movement of damaged nerves finally gave up their fight for life as well. He pushed his own boot onto the corpse’s chest hard and heard the whoosh of air leave the fucker’s lips for the last time with a sneer as those dead eyes stared back lifelessly. He tilted his head at the figure and tried to find a sense of shame in himself, or maybe remorse of some sort, but there was nothing again, just silence and the echo of his own breathing in the cold space around them. Disgusted with the lifeless form, he drew in a long breath and cracked his neck back into place while circling his shoulder about. He really was getting too old for this shit. He’d said he’d never do that again. But then he’d never loved before, never loved her before, and whether she liked it or not, he’d kill for her. He just had and he’d do it again in a heartbeat.
Hearing the sudden unison clicking steps of the Tomkins brothers arriving behind him, he turned around to hand the pipe to one of them. He never did know which one was which. The twins were Mark’s clean-up crew so their job was to dispose of everything clinically without a trace of anything ever having happened. He nodded at them as they saluted with their customary smirks and went about their business professionally. The smell of chemicals penetrated his nose before he’d walked five paces, and he smiled at the thought of Guy Chambers burning in acid as he listened to the pair of them chuckling, bantering even about him still being a brutal bastard to have onside. They were right, or they were where Elizabeth was concerned anyway. Christ knew how he’d ever gotten away with this respectable image he apparently pulled off.
Well wasn’t that a fucking happy half-hour? He unwrapped his hands and used the bandages to wipe off some of the blood that was smeared all over him while trying to work out how best to clean up his boots. Tan and blood were not a good combination, yet another forgotten thing.
When he reached the car, he doused himself with a bottle of water, changed out of his jeans and started to put his suit on. Mark leant on the car in front of him with that self-satisfied, smug expression of his. Alex snorted at him in amusement and bucked his belt.
“Just like old times, hey, mate? Thought you might have come in a suit this time though,” Mark said jovially as he pulled up the garage door. Was it? It didn’t really feel like old times for some reason.
“Can’t get the blood out of Saville Row,” he replied quietly as he grabbed his phone and scrolled through for Henry’s number. Mark chuckled in response.
“Yeah, AP says that, too. Okie dokie, so I’ll see ya soon,” Mark said as he jumped into his red Porsche. How he’d gotten over the rocky ground was beyond comprehension. “Oh, and by the way, I found out something about that cousin of DeVille’s. I’ll send you the paperwork. I think he might have been one of yours.” Alex raised a brow. At last a piece of useful information.
“What was his name?” Frankly there had been so many he doubted he’d remember.
“Grant Monroe the third. Don’t think you knew that then, though.”
No he didn’t, but he did remember Monroe, whining little prick as he’d been at the time.
“Thanks,” Alex replied as he got in and started the engine. Mark Jacobs didn’t need to know anymore. “Right, round two,” he muttered to himself as he brought the phone up to his ear and called Henry with a more animated smile. It was becoming a good day.
~
The phone call to Mrs Peters had been difficult but unfortunately, it wasn’t his fault that the woman had lied to Evelyn all her life. Regardless of whether she wanted to tell her daughter or not, he was going to meet his half sister on Saturday night anyway so he didn’t really have much choice. He’d made it as comfortable as possible by offering to have Mr. and Mrs Peters flown down and put up in a nice hotel, but frankly, what else could he do?
She apparently wanted to see Evelyn before the event at INK to tell her about the whole sordid situation, so they were travelling down to London tomorrow. What the hell she was going to tell the poor woman was anyone’s guess? He hadn’t given the old lady much time to prepare for the fact that she was about to tell her daughter she was a product of rape, but then he didn’t have much time to play with and frankly, he wasn’t sure he gave a shit anyway.
His memory drifted to Elizabeth and her words of comfort as they gazed at pictures of his mother - his dead mother. Was his mother dead because of her own sister’s weakness? He’d told her he didn’t blame her but he wasn’t entirely sure if that was true. Yes, his father was a vicious bastard but surely they could have gotten away from him if they’d tried harder. He shook his head at his own thoughts as he remembered his own pathetic attempt to get away from the bastard. It wasn’t until he’d stolen the neighbour’s car that any of it had been discovered and then the care system had swooped in and apparently saved him, which was a fucking joke. He’d learnt how to be a tyrant in that place, not how to become a civilised human being.
He draped his napkin over his thigh and glanced around the restaurant as he waited for Henry. The phone call had taken every inch of his self control, and given this morning’s earlier entertainment, he was still suitably in the mood to kill. That, however, was not the plan. His game was to get closer. He knew it would take some doing but he needed to find a chink in Henry’s armour and find out what he was planning. He knew that the funding from Tyler Rathbone would see the deal through so he didn’t need to worry too much about that, and now, at least, he knew it was more than likely related to Grant Monroe, which could cause an extremely irritating problem for him. He needed some leverage of his own because it seemed this would become a war of who had the worst dirt. It worried him that DeVille might have proof regarding his past that would bite him irrevocably on the arse, but at the moment, what the hell could he do about it? He couldn’t pay him off and he couldn’t bribe him because he didn’t have any concrete dirt on the man. Christ, he couldn’t even hurt him because the lord of the manor would be missed too much. Fuck it, Mr. Jacobs needed to dig a lot deeper, albeit Henry wasn’t a killer and what was worse than that?
The brown haired waitress smiled at him seductively as she delivered his brandy and then swished her skinny arse out of the way. He found himself staring and envisioning Elizabeth’s long, lean legs walking away gracefully with a far more appealing sway to her hips. Unconsciously, he noticed his finger tapping on his knee as he remembered the hotel in the Lakes and her yielding behaviour for him. She’d let him have that time with her purely for his own benefit and god he loved her for it.
He briefly toyed with the idea of taking her to Pascal’s club this evening. She had proved she was ready, but would she want to go given that she was manhandled on Monday? Mind you, twenty minutes before that she’d shown him everything he wanted from her with her do anything you want, Alex, comment. Chris
t, that had been good to hear. And then of course there was still the issue of Pascal himself. Unfortunately she wanted him; he could see it on her face and in her body. That was fucking complicating for Alex to say the least. Much as he’d shared all his other women with the Dutch rogue, he couldn’t quite bring himself to share her, regardless of the stirring of uncomfortable desire he’d felt when he’d watched Pascal hold her. If he could just get to the point where he honestly believed the love she had for him then maybe he’d be able to give her what she wanted.
She probably didn’t understand her want for two different men, as it was unlikely she’d ever ventured into those types of situations before him, but if she wanted it, he was sexually aware enough to not try and withhold it from her. Inevitably it would probably happen anyway. His dilemma was also too self-involved for his liking. As he’d never loved before, he had no idea if he’d be able to watch impartially as he so often had done prior to her. And did she really want him anyway or was it just the normal hypnotising way that Pascal seemed to have with all women? The fact that his friend had actually seemed genuinely interested in her was also a conundrum of disturbing proportions. He had even thought to challenge him in the matter, which took some serious amount of backbone, not only because they were friends, but because Pascal had never even shown a hint of attraction for anything real. If he allowed any of it to happen, would he challenge him again? For now at least he had relented and told Alex that he would stay away until he saw fit to put them back in the same room together. Perhaps he should just get on with it and see how the situation developed. Who fucking knew?
He swilled his brandy around a few times and then downed it, signalling the waitress for another. Henry appeared in his line of vision and tapped the waitress for a drink, probably a gin. Alex plastered on his executive smile and gestured at the chair as the blonde Lord of the manor arrived.
“Alex, good to see you,” Henry said with his overly enthusiastic grin. Alex very nearly rolled his eyes at the very idea of them sitting here and being polite while both plotting dastardly deeds. Fucking ridiculous.
“Henry, sorry to have called a short-notice meeting but I just want to finalise the Shanghai funding, so we can move on and think about our discussions regarding Russia,” he replied, trying to engage his once friend in more deals.
“Jesus, straight down to it, huh? Well, I brought the files you wanted and the varying associated documentation, so all I need is your final signature and the money’s yours, and mine, of course,” Henry replied with his once enigmatic smile and a chuckle. Alex knew that smile better now. It was his you haven’t got a fucking clue smile. It struck him that hadn’t been the way when he’d smiled at Elizabeth, which was obviously his genuine one. She’d clearly been telling the truth and he inwardly cursed his own distrust of her. “Have you anything in mind for Russia? I know Matthew Stuce-Triapold is looking into his grandfather’s land out there and is undecided as to whether to sell or not.”
“That’s interesting. How’s he doing? Financially, I mean?” he asked as the waitress returned with their drinks. Gin - so predictable. Henry grinned conspiratorially and took a long drink.
“Not that well, there’s definitely acreage up for grabs at a very good price I should say,” he replied with a wink. Alex stored the information as it was probably reasonably useful even if he knew he would never be dealing with Henry again. Money was money. He’d take it anywhere he could find it, and Matthew was a half-decent human. He nodded his head, effectively ending the business discussion as he took the files Henry passed him.
“So how’s Sarah?” Henry’s body tightened quietly and Alex knew he’d hit a sore spot but chose to ignore the reaction. He couldn’t help but think of the poor woman being in love with him and not the man opposite.
“She’s well. Carrington’s is booming and she’s thinking of opening a new shop in Paris. I suppose it will be good for her,” he replied as he perused the menu. “Anyway, tell me about your involvement with the Scott girl.”
Ah, he’d been waiting for this one and was still unsure how to handle it. Did he tell him how important she was or did he let the bastard believe she was another mere conquest? Given that Henry actually liked her, she wouldn’t be used against him, would she? Maybe she would. Just as he was considering his response, his phone buzzed. He looked down to see the text and furrowed his brow instantly.
- She still smells divine, dear boy. I envy you too much for my own liking.
Pascal, what the fuck did that mean? Where was she? And why the fucking hell was Pascal close enough to smell her?
“Problems?” Henry asked as he sniggered dryly across his menu at him.
“Yes, a small one,” he said as indifferently as he could, racking his brain as to where she was. She said she’d got a big party to cater for today so it was unlikely Pascal was near her.
“If you need to go, it’s of no consequence to me. We can do this another time,” Henry said while he flagged down the girl and placed his order. Steak - another predicable thing about him. Why he ever bothered to look at a menu was anybody’s guess. Alex stared at the man’s Nordic features and wondered why he hadn’t seen all the predictabilities before.
“No, it’s fine. I’ll deal with it later,” he said as he glanced at the menu and pretended to be looking. Regardless of his outward appearance, jealousy was surging through his veins and he was desperate to get to her. He looked up at the waitress and smiled. “I’ll have the cod please and bring a bottle of the Sancerre will you? We’ve got a lot to talk about.” His gaze landed back on Henry as the bastard chuckled and slapped his hand on the table.
“That’s what I like, a man that does what he wants.” He shooed the waitress away and leaned across the table. “So tell me, what’s she like? Does she ride as well as I might think?”
The thought made him cringe but he raised a brow and resigned himself to the fact that this was going to be a long lunch of lies and deceit. Perhaps he’d at least have more information by the end of it, though, because sitting here close to the man he’d once considered a friend was one of the hardest games he’d had to play in a very long time. Thankfully, after this morning’s events, he felt a little more invigorated by the thought of playing again. He picked up his phone and texted Pascal his response. That fucker could have some of his real thoughts instead. Mind you, the bastard enjoyed pain far too much.
- Don’t make me warn you again. You won’t like it this time.
Two and a half hours later, he stepped onto the pavement outside the restaurant and passed the valet his ticket. Within two minutes, his Aston Martin screeched around the corner a little too enthusiastically for his liking and he glared at the young chap as he got out.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. White. It’s just... Well, I haven’t driven a Vanquish before and I got a bit... well, you know?” the boy said with a decidedly naughty grin. Alex couldn’t stop the chuckle that fell from his mouth. At least he was honest. He tucked a fifty in his hand and slid into his seat. Just as he was about to pull away, he called the boy back. He wasn’t even sure why.
“What’s your name?”
“Joe, Sir.” The boy looked sheepish. He obviously thought he was about to get a berating.
“Do you intend to do this for the rest of your life?” he asked as he gestured to the restaurant.
“Preferably not, Sir, but I need the work,” the boy replied, looking truly confused by the line of questioning.
“Well, Joe,” he said as he wrote a number on a piece of paper. “If you call this number and ask for Trudy, she’ll show you how to drive one properly. She might even have a job that’s more appealing.” The boy looked at the paper and then back at him with an excited laugh. Alex smiled as a feeling of genuine happiness engulfed him. It was a good feeling and he wondered what on earth had made him offer the boy a chance without knowing if he deserved one or not. “Tell her it was me. She’s a complete bitch but she can drive a car.”
“I don’t kno
w what to say, Sir. Thank you,” the boy replied as he pocketed the paper.
“That’s all you need to say, Joe,” Alex said as he closed the window and headed for the office.
That’s what being good felt like then. Given that he’d killed a man this morning, he supposed it might balance out the nature of the day somehow.
~
Staring at various spreadsheets and documents, he was surprised to suddenly realise that Louisa stood in front of him with a confused look on her face. He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose to try and ease the headache that had formed over the last... What time was it anyway? He checked his watch; it said it was six-fifteen. Fuck! There wasn’t a cat’s chance in hell he was going to make it to her in fifteen minutes. He jumped up and started throwing things about. Louisa chuckled at him, and his eyes shot to hers.
“I have been trying to buzz you for the last half an hour, Sir,” she said as she continued her giggling. He’d never heard her giggle so he stopped and looked at her for a moment. “Just go, Sir. I’ll sort all this out and have your driver pick it up.” He could have kissed her as he launched around the desk with a smile and grabbed his suit jacket.
“Thank you, Louisa,” he said as he opened the door and almost ran for the lift. Just as he was getting in, she called him back.
“Sir, hold on,” she said as she darted to the desk. She picked up a package and gave it to him. “I sent the red dress for Miss Scott. You’ll want this.” He opened the package and glanced inside with a smile.
“As always, Louisa, you have been very useful.” He smirked as he backed into the lift. “How much do I pay you again?”
“Not nearly enough,” she replied as she crossed her arms and returned his smirk. He said the word one aloud and let the doors close. The woman should have been a lawyer or something. She was far too good to be doing his shit. He’d give her another raise in pay and a holiday. If only he could make all her problems go away.
Feeling White Page 27
