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My father sighs. “I hate change. Too damn unpredictable.”
At least that’s one thing we agree on. “Better the devil you know.”
“I take it you found Hart’s sister.”
Dipping a finger into the knot of my tie, I loosen it. “Why else would I call?”
“Are they as close as da Costa said?”
“I don’t doubt it.” If I had a sister like Zoe, I’d protect her with my life.
“Good. Bring her in.”
I hesitate. “It’ll take some time.” With enough time, I could let her become used to me and even brainwash her into believing it was her idea to leave.
Impatience infuses his tone. “Tomorrow.”
“Why the rush?”
“Business is like a game of chess, son. You’ve got to have your pieces in place before your opponent has as much as thought about moving his. I’m not taking any chances. It’ll be checkmate before Hart even enters the game.”
“We have six years before Hart has served his sentence. He’s only starting to gain power in jail.”
A glass clinks. It’s time for my father’s after-dinner cognac. “I heard from da Costa. Hart may be released from prison early for good behavior.”
“How early?”
“In two years.”
Someone on the outside is paying Hart for services rendered on the inside. He doesn’t have access to that money yet, but in two years’ time he’ll be considerably wealthier. With wealth comes power, which is the second reason we’re not taking him out. Number one is he has the ability to revive a mine that sustains our business, and number two is he’s wasted no time in making powerful allies in jail. Some of the families who run Hart’s country and pull the politician’s strings have members on the inside. They’re not the kind of enemies we want or can afford to make.
“How sure are you of this informant?” I’ve always had a bad feeling about the rat.
“Nothing is ever sure, but this one is power hungry.”
They’re the easiest to buy, the ones without honor or loyalty.
My father exhales. I imagine him sucking on his cigar. “Let me know at what time you’ll arrive.”
Staring at the city lights, I consider this new dilemma I didn’t expect. I consider what I’m going to do, telling myself it hasn’t crossed my mind even once. “Expect me back after the weekend, not before.”
“Why the delay?” my father asks.
“I have loose ends to tie up.”
Laughter sounds in the background.
“I’ve got to go,” my father says. “The girls have arrived.”
I clench my fists. My words are measured. “Say hello to Maman for me.”
My father doesn’t like the rebuke. The line goes dead. I stare at the phone in my hand. Fuck. If I had more time—
“Maxime?”
I turn around.
Zoe stands in the open sliding door, barefoot and drowning in a hotel robe. Her dull eyes show the medication is kicking in. “What was that about?”
I pocket the phone. “Nothing that concerns you.”
“It sounded like a fight.”
“Go inside.” My body is tense, my cock taking notice of how little there is between my hand and her skin. “You’ll catch a cold.”
“I don’t feel well.”
It’s not a lie or an attempt at manipulation. The pill will do that. In a minute, she’ll be a little nauseous, too.
I close the distance and take her arm. “You’re tired. You’ll feel better after you’ve rested.”
“I need my clothes.” Her tongue slurs a bit. “I have nothing to wear to bed.”
In the room, I stop to take one of my T-shirts from the dresser. “Put that on. You can take the bed.”
She watches me with drooping, albeit wary eyes. “What about you?”
“I’ll take the couch.”
“Okay,” she says with obvious relief. She takes the T-shirt and stumbles on her way to the bed.
I catch her around the waist before she hits the floor. “I’m sorry, little flower.” She smells like the hotel shampoo. When I first pressed her against me, her skin and hair smelled like roses. I make a mental note to get the same brand of shampoo I saw in her apartment before we go.
Helping her into a sitting position on the bed, I stay close in case she pukes.
She puts a hand over her stomach. “I feel sick.”
“You’ll be fine.”
Her long lashes lift, her eyes scanning my face with an ingrained desire to trust. “I think I ate something. The urchin maybe.”
“There was nothing wrong with the food. Relax. It’ll get better in a minute.”
“May I please have some water?”
“Wait it out.” I don’t want her to puke up what’s left of the pill in her stomach.
“Maxime?” There’s panic in her sleep-heavy voice.
“Shh.” I brace her nape with one hand and cup her cheek with the other, brushing my thumb over the soft skin under her eye as I watch them lose more focus until her eyelids finally close and unconsciousness takes her.
Gently, I lower her to the bed and take a step back. Her hair is spread out around her face, the curls framing her beautiful bone structure. My T-shirt is still in her hand, her dainty fingers folded around it softly. The robe gapes slightly where her legs are bent over the edge. I grow hard looking at her like this. I imagine stripping the robe and spreading her legs to watch her. I imagine dragging my hands over the contours of her body and getting to know her curves while she’s out cold. The dark, invasive thought makes me even harder. I could tell her I had to dress her in the T-shirt, so she’d sleep more comfortably. She’d never know if I stroked her or stroked myself while looking at her.
