Page 44 of Volatile Waters

CHAPTER TEN

Complicated Secrets

Moving forward, I felt as if I were running in circles, chasing an end that kept eluding me. I had been tucked away in my pretend world once again, blissfully far from guilt. Now, I was being boomeranged back into a conscience.

Father was livid with the news. He was back to wanting Whitney to be either dead or making him money. Since I felt I had already left America in disarray, I never told him that Marina was still alive, supposedly living a dream-life with her husband. Father believed she was dead, burned to ashes. I wasn’t about to be truthful now.

“Would you like a private dance?” The stripper’s swaying hips and voice attempted to lure me, but she was unable to pique my interest. The false promise actually revolted me.

She wanted cash. I wanted tears.

We were never going to find a meaningful compromise.

From my chair in the establishment in Connecticut, I glared up at her. “Why make it private? Let’s fuck right here.”

Her movements slowed as she stuttered, “I-I don’t do that.”

“Then cease your false seduction. My money doesn’t come cheap.”

Pleased I’d made my point, I grinned as she walked away. I needed the humor since Kirill had convinced me this nightclub, No Cherries Here, would be a discrete meeting place for Mr. Harold Always-A-Thorn-in-My-Ass Thompson. The lights were low, but I could still easily see Kirill had picked the youngest of the strippers. She may not have had a cherry to pop, but I would have sworn she was no older than fifteen. Kirill was spellbound as she gyrated in his lap. Long, blonde hair danced along her back as she cupped his face, saying things I couldn’t hear over the annoying thumping music.

Facing me from across a little cocktail table, Adrian nodded that my guest was approaching. I was facing the entrance—not the stage with an abundance of disobedient slaves to their trade—eager to get this meeting over with Mr. Thompson, who, apparently, had back door privileges.

He sat in the empty chair at my side. His tone was far from pleasant, understandably. “Not watching the show?”

Nodding to Adrian to follow through with our plan—put a tracker on Harold’s car—I reached for my American top-shelf vodka, which tasted more like piss water. “Not interested in bullshit tonight.”

Harold observed as Adrian disappeared out the front door. He sneered, “And what are you interested in tonight?” He sat back in his chair, attempting to appear casual and unconcerned, but his leg was bouncing with nerves, not the beating music the dumb bitches were dancing to.

“Loose ends being tied up as they should’ve been long ago.” After taking a pull from my glass, I set it back on the table then crossed my hands in my lap, staring Harold down the whole time.

A waitress strolled up to our table and delivered a bourbon and Coke to Harold. “Here ya go, stranger.” Then she whispered, “Can I see you tonight?”

“No, but their tab is on me.” Harold waved her off.

With no humor, I chuckled. “I see you are still loyal to your wife?”

“My wife is none of your business.”

“We’ll see if she feels the same when I call her to inform her I’m in town.”

A few patrons glanced at our table when he shouted, “Why are you here?”

Pleased I had him angry and unstable, I gestured about. “Not to cause a scene, unlike yourself.”

“I thought you said no bullshit tonight.”

I leaned forward, closer to him. “You’re correct. I’m actually here to spy on your son, Crash.”

He paled. “The fuck for?”

“He has acquired a new friend. Maybe you know her. Miss Whitney ring a bell?”

Harold grabbed his cocktail and drained the whole drink down his throat before setting it back on the table. “Impossible. He’s always being guarded.”

“Do they know of our—” I, condescendingly, tapped my chin. “How should I put this? Complications?”

He swallowed as his jaw went rigid. “No.” Before I could ask more, his phone rang. Sternly, he answered, “What? Why was he at a skating rink? A date?” His eyes met mine, then closed. “Where are you headed? I’ll meet you in the alley.” He slipped the device in his front pocket as he stood. “I will take care of the problem. Crash won’t see her again.”