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“Four… five-five. No, five-six. Ohhhh…” I drop my head into my hands. “I think maybe it’s five…”
“Three-eight?”
I lift my head and deliver the most heartfelt, drunk-looking smile I can. “You. Are. An. Angel.”
She smiles and hands me Dayna’s spare key card, now set up for Caspar’s room. “Sir, I suggest you head straight back to your room. We don’t want security to make a scene.”
“I will indeed. I have some making up to do. Thank you.”
Back in the lift, I tuck my shirt into my trousers, my fury returning at a rate of knots. I stop outside 538 and listen. When I don’t hear anything, I slip in the card and let myself into Caspar’s suite. The lounge is empty, but I can hear movement in the bedroom. The door is ajar, and low light spills out through the gap.
I hold my eye to the opening. I can hear the sounds of pants and grunts. The room comes into focus. A small, exotic-looking woman in black suspenders and bra is straddling Caspar on his bed, riding his cock, her hands in her hair. He starts lifting his hips, grunting harder, and grabs her waist, pulling her down on him until she lets out a fake, high-pitched screech. I wait, until he’s about there, then I step into the room.
Caspar holds the woman still. She squeals when she turns to see me standing in the doorway holding Caspar’s knife.
“I suggest you get out,” I snarl.
She swings her leg over Caspar and gathers her things — condoms, lube, a sheer cover-up that wouldn’t cover much at all.
“My money,” she snaps.
Caspar sits up, pulls off his condom, and covers himself with the duvet. He opens the drawer of his beside cabinet. I brace myself for a weapon, but he pulls out a wad of notes and throws them at the woman, who collects them from the floor and dashes out of the room.
I calmly take a seat at the foot of Caspar’s bed and hold up the knife.
“The rumours are true. You, a Layton. And a Cross.” He laughs, a sound that reverberates in the room. “The irony.”
“I think this is yours. I wanted to make sure you got it back.” I throw the knife with as much force as I have. It lands right where I want it to, in the leather headboard, about four inches from Caspar’s head. If I’d missed, right now I’d only have been sorry if it landed further away from his skull.
I rush to him before he has a chance to shift from startled into action. I have no idea what I’m going to do until I’m holding the point of the knife to the middle of his throat, pricking the flesh just enough to make his eyes bulge with terror.
“You pick a fight with Dayna, you pick a fight with me. I’m a lot bigger and a damn sight more reckless. You don’t want to fuck with me, Kahn.”
I move the knife back a touch and he speaks. “This is new. A Layton defending a Cross rather than wanting to end one.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
He chortles. Short. Sharp. “I wonder how Harold would feel about this.”
“Harold isn’t the head of Layton Oil anymore. I am. And I’m warning you to stay away from her.”
“Harold might be willing to lose that well to me, Clark, but I’m certain he won’t want to lose to a Cross. If you have a hand in making that happen, I’d say it’s you who should be warned. And I might not be able to touch her now, but if she wins my well, her time will come.”
I hold the knife to his throat again and I push, watching his flesh stretch as it bends under the tip of the blade.
Then I smack my other fist into his cheek, sending his head whipping back against the bed, his eye socket immediately swelling.
I throw the knife onto the floor. “Your time will come long before hers if I get so much as a hint that you’re going near her.” I get in his face and hold his head up by the throat. “I will end you.”
I leave him there, quivering, but I know this isn’t over. Dayna can’t submit an alternative bid. Her life means more to me than any well or whatever revenge she thinks she needs.
How do I convince her?
I head back to her room and quietly slip inside. She still sleeps. Peaceful. Beautiful.
I take off my blazer, socks and shoes, and lie on top of the duvet next to her. She hums contentedly and whispers my name, reaching out a hand to touch my chest.
“I’m here, baby,” I whisper, shuffling onto my side and pulling her into me, her back to my chest. She takes my hand and pulls it across her stomach.
