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I take her hand. It’s cold. I grasp it between my palms.
‘Your hand is warm,’ she murmurs.
I smile at her.
‘Tell me the truth, Blake. I can take it.’
‘Oh, Lana. Tell you the truth? Here’s the truth. Right now, I want to f**k you until you can’t remember your name.’
Her head jerks. She didn’t expect that. Of course not.
‘The only thing that stops me is your grief. I don’t want my method of dealing with grief to intrude on yours.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean the only time I forget that Sorab is gone is when I am inside you. That is the only time I don’t feel the guilt that I did not protect him. I did not protect you. I let my guard down. I was careless, Lana. I didn’t see her as she really was.’
‘So you still want me?’
I gaze at her. In time we will learn everything there is to know about each other. For now I will just have to show her. I take her hand and put it on my groin. It is hard and throbbing for her.
Tears gather in her eyes and roll down her cheeks.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘I really, really thought you had gone off me.’
‘Gone off you? Are you totally blind? There is no one else for me. From the day we met again at the bank I have never looked at another woman. Let alone wanted one. You’re the only one for me. I could take you right now if I thought you were up for it.’
She looks at me with her big, electric blue eyes. ‘I’m up for it.’
I take Sorab from my head and store him safely in my heart and I start to unbutton her top.
I drink her in. Glazed doe eyes, flushed cheeks and reddened lips. Oh yes. That’s my Lana. Her hands go to the front of my trousers and find me hard as a rock.
I smile. ‘See? Nothing has changed between us.’
‘Oh, how I’ve missed your body,’ she whispers as I lift her up.
Her legs wrap around my body tightly. I can feel the wetness between her legs seeping into my clothes. Damp spot on my shirt. It’s a good feeling.
‘I was so afraid your passion was gone.’
‘I can’t imagine what gave you such an idea.’
‘I don’t want you to be gentle.’
‘I didn’t plan on being gentle. It’s going to be as hard and dirty as they come. If you don’t shatter then you’re going to pass out,’ I warn, swooping down to crush that plump mouth that I bought another lifetime ago. Once when I was king of the entire realm, for as far as the eye could see.
Twenty-Seven
Lana Barrington
Jack calls me. For an instant his voice confuses me. It seems so near. As if he could pop around for a coffee.
‘Oh, Jack,’ I breathe. ‘Where are you?’
‘In Africa. Billie emailed me. Is there anything I can do?’
‘No. No, there is nothing you can do. Blake has it covered.’ My voice is bitter. ‘Turns out Victoria took our son to punish us.’
‘I can’t hear you properly. Who took him?’
‘Victoria.’
‘Who?
‘Blake’s ex?’
There is a shocked silence as he assimilates this fact. ‘I thought she was locked up in an asylum.’
‘She is.’ I suddenly feel tearful. In my peripheral vision I see a yellow Post-it pad. It has the faint indentation of the message on the note that was above it.
‘Then how can she?’
‘It’s called money and privilege.’ I open a drawer and take out a pencil and start to lightly run the lead over the message. A sentence in Blake’s handwriting starts appearing.
Jack sounds bewildered. ‘What happens next?’
‘She wants Blake to renounce his inheritance.’
There is an electric pause. The line crackles with it. ‘Is he going to?’
‘Yes. Yes, he is.’
I hear him breathe a sigh of relief and then uncomfortable words start pouring out of my receiver. ‘Thank God. It’s not that I doubted him, it’s just—’
‘Don’t worry, Jack,’ I interrupt. ‘They are a cold, calculating bunch and I don’t blame you for thinking that.’ I hold the note up and look at the message.
‘I’m coming back.’
‘Don’t, Jack. You can’t help.’
‘No, I’m coming back because I’m of no use here.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’ll tell you when I get back.’
‘You’re not in any trouble, are you?’
‘No. I just realized I’m doing more harm than good.’
‘All right, tell me when you get back.’ In my mind another sentence forms. After I get Sorab back. But I don’t say it. It’s unnecessary. As unnecessary as saying I miss kissing the wet crown of my son’s head as I lift him out of the bath. The real pain, the deep pain is in my bone. Hidden in the marrow. A ravenous thing, eating relentlessly, eating up the cells that hold me up. When I put the phone down I tear away the Post-it note. The scrawl reads:
The real target has to be me!
I look in the mirror. My eyes look frozen over.
Twenty-Eight
Blake Law Barrington
‘Wars should be directed so that the nations on both sides should be further in our debt.’
—Amschel Mayer Rothchild, Frankfurt 1774
I swipe my hand on the steamed-up mirror and look at myself. My eyes stare back, a hard blue. I blink. I look the same. The corruption and the ugliness don’t show, but surely I must be morphing into something unspeakably ugly. All my life I have manipulated laws and morals to advance myself and those of my class.
It was all real simple. Fake money, built upon fake money, built upon fake money. We stole it all from right under your noses. How? Simply seize control of the top of any organization and the rest… You followed like sheep.
You were so easily led, so wonderfully predictable. So lacking in vision. Like a herd moving blindly, either with fear or hatred. It was all so easy. Placate the deliberately dumbed down masses with entertainment. Hundreds of channels of mush and the mindless instructions to consume, consume, consume. Like an addict you saturated your minds with violence, p**n ography, greed, hatred, selfishness and incessant bad news.
Then… Oh look…a terrorist. He’s coming for you.
Let’s put the whole world on militarized high alert. Let’s intimidate!
And you rose to the bait. Or did you just look the other way?
Yeah, it was grotesque. But you bought it. Even now you’re content with your subjugations, right? Your illusions of security. Are your eyes glazing over? That’s why it was easy. You made it easy. Yes, you. Feel the spike of shame? No? See, why it was so easy for me.
