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“Why?” My voice sounded disembodied, untethered from me.
Agent Vasquez’s eyebrows rose up her forehead. “In the four years Mr. Redman placed the trades for Mr. Hightower’s account he earned a cool fifty million.”
“But he was already wealthy. Why would he do this?” I asked, my tone incredulous.
“Because of me,” Sebastian answered. “He was sticking it to me.” His voice may have been present, but his mind was far away. “He’s trying to take me down.”
By late morning, with Justin driving and Bear riding in the front seat, we were pulling in front of the turn-of-the-century marble building, everyone ready to play their part. Both national and international agencies had their people in place. Security at the bank being some of the most sophisticated in the world, Bear and Justin remained in the lobby while I took the elevator up to the top floor.
I should’ve been paying more attention to my surroundings…I should have. But I wasn’t. I was glancing down at my phone to read a text Sebastian had sent me, a text that told me to remain in the lobby until Gideon came to fetch me.
I only glanced up when I heard someone step in right behind me. Marcus stared back at me with poorly feigned innocence in his opaque, brown eyes. That ultra neat, boyish exterior didn’t fool me. For a moment his expression was one of surprise, but it quickly settled into something darker. Something malicious. Something that made all the hair on the back of my neck stand at attention.
“Well if it isn’t the little illegal immigrant shacking up with my dear brother.”
My posture altered. It snapped ramrod straight. “Step brother. You don’t share blood, thank God.” I don’t know where I found the courage to say that.
His mouth hooked up on once side in the most smarmy, smug smile I’d ever had the displeasure of witnessing. “I’d really like to know what it is about you that has him so twisted in the head. Is your snatch made of gold?”
I was starting to sweat. Two minutes of courage was all I had in me, and the elevator ride suddenly felt endless. My gaze darted to the numbers illuminated at the top of the car. Moving swiftly out of his relaxed pose, he stood in front of the panel and hit the stop button.
“What the hell!”
I was too scared to reach around him, to touch him in any way. I knew from past experience with him that he wouldn’t think twice about manhandling me. Just how far he would go, I had no idea.
“Do you know that your boyfriend––pardon, your husband––likes to fuck my wife?” Examining me closely he added, “You know. Then you also know that he likes to choke her while he’s doing it, likes to watch her fight for air while he comes inside of her.” He knew exactly where to hit me, where my Achilles heel was, and he went at it without mercy. The anxiety and discomfort was all over me, impossible to hide as I desperately tried to fend off his psychological assault. “Sometimes he likes to tie her up––”
“Let me out, you son of a bitch.”
“Sometimes he likes to fuck her in the ass.”
“Let me the hell out of here, or I’ll scream!” I started pounding on the metal door.
“Do you know how I know that? He leaves bruises, his hand prints all over her for me to find.”
“Help! We’re stuck!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, and banged and banged and banged with flat palms on the brass doors.
Undeterred, Marcus carried on in an unhurried pace, as if he were reciting a poem, something pleasant. He certainly looked like he was enjoying himself. “But he doesn’t anymore because he’s too busy fucking you. Which leads me to believe that you must be the lay of the century. And maybe, just maybe, if I fuck you, that magical cunt of yours can help me forget about my wife––just like Sebastian has.” By now I was going crazy on the door, my hands red and swollen from the effort, my voice hoarse from screaming.
All of a sudden, the double doors opened on the top floor, and a room full of men in expensive suits stared back at me with matching neutral expressions. The one expression that wasn’t neutral, though, was Sebastian’s. He took me in from head to foot slowly and thoroughly.
I could almost imagine the picture I painted: red faced, sweaty, breathing heavily. When his fiery gaze darted to Marcus, there was no doubt what was coming next. In a couple of long legged strides, Sebastian was on him in seconds, Gideon thankfully there just as quickly. Both men, swinging wildly, landed punch after punch until some of the other employees joined in to separate the two.
Agent Vasquez, standing next to the Interpol agents, stepped forward. “Wanted to do this a little more discretely,” she said, an annoyed look on her face. “Marcus Nathaniel Redman, you are under arrest for money laundering, financing of terrorism, intent to harbor assets for terrorist organizations…”
