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* * *
“I’ll decide what Candy is.”
* * *
“No.” Drew shakes his head. “She’s not a fucking building, Nathan. She’ll decide what she is.”
* * *
He fights the urge to punch him, to smash bones and bloody knuckles. But there’s a reason, other than Cecile, that he keeps the man around. The handgun tucked in his waistband. The ability of the man, to take a life, with his bare hands. Still, Nathan's temper rages, and he forces out the next question through clenched teeth. “Have. You. Touched. Her?”
* * *
“Yes.” The response is a challenge, and Nathan steps forward, so close that they are eye to eye. He shouldn't care. Their marriage is a business arrangement. It wasn’t designed for love or emotions, and he’d gone out of his way to make sure she didn’t develop any. He shouldn’t care, but he does. Inside, somewhere past the anger with Cecile, the hurt of his heart, the plans that they’ve made … he cares.
* * *
The punch comes from another man, one without structure or control, a man he thought he buried a long time ago. It hits Drew’s jaw and the pain radiates through his fist, the crunch and impact of bones and flesh brutal in its ferocity. There is the silent collision of his bare chest against Drew’s shirt, muscles struggling for control. They hit the wall and a Peter Lik print shudders. Drew’s hand moves and Nathan freezes in the cock of his gun.
* * *
“What are you doing?” Drew steps back, both hands wrapped around the gun, his stance born from years of training. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”
* * *
“Do you love her?” Nathan hisses out the question, his shoulders slumping against the wall as he lifts his hands and rests them on his head.
* * *
“Not yet.” Drew moves a step to the right, the position probably better for taking a man's life.
* * *
“Then stop. Everything. I’ll need you this week, but when we leave for Nassau, you pack your shit and get the fuck out.”
* * *
The man scowls. “So, that’s it. Fuck Cecile or anything else. You go to Nassau, execute your plan, and then wash your hands of me? And what if you get caught?”
* * *
“I’m not going to get caught.” Not with Candace.
* * *
“If you do, I’m not involved. I’m not covering for you, and I’m not cleaning up your mess.”
* * *
“Your sister got me into this fucking mess. Let’s not forget that.” It’s not a fair thing to say. Fuck, the whole situation is unfair. Maybe it’s wrong to fire him. But the man shouldn’t have put his hands on his wife. Nathan closes his eyes, assaulted by the thought of her body moving underneath Drew’s, her lips wrapping around his cock. He jerks to his feet and almost lunges for the man again, regardless of the gun in his hand.
* * *
Drew straightens, his gun falling, and clears the bullet from the chamber. There is the tinny sound of metal against tile as the bullet drops to the floor, rolling harmlessly away. “Are we done with this shit?”
* * *
Nathan crosses his arms. “We’re done.”
* * *
“I’ll be out of here by the time you’re back from your trip.” He tips an imaginary hat at Nathan and steps back. “Enjoy your wife. I certainly did.”
* * *
The rage explodes in his chest, and it takes everything in him to not chase the man down the hall and kill him.
* * *
Four years since Cecile, four years that had built a friendship between the two of them, one that—two months ago—seemed ironclad.
* * *
He turns and walks to the window, looking at the guesthouse, her lights still on.
* * *
She isn’t worth it. Not with everything currently at stake.
CHAPTER 38
I can’t sleep, my mind running laps, my conversation with Nathan only raising more questions. Thinking about my situation seems to do nothing but stress me the hell out. I kick off the covers and stand, my muscles jumping, my head aching with the effort of trying to not think. Swimming. Maybe that will clear my head, exhaust my muscles, and allow my body to finally sleep. I step to the curtains and slip through, unlocking the slider and stepping outside.
* * *
It is beautiful on this ledge of the world. The house sits on the edge of a stiff drop, looking down on the city below. It is a city that sleeps with lights on, skyscrapers announcing their greatness with up lights and a blatant waste of electricity, dotting the landscape with colorful dots all hours of the night. I turn to the house, following the simple, modern lines of the architecture, the house designed to make an impression, from the front as well as the back, the floor to ceiling windows disappearing into the night sky. As I watch, the house goes dark, the light in Nathan’s room turning off.
