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She didn’t hesitate, shoving to her feet and stumbling halfway to the door. Dominic caught her with gentle hands and escorted her out, locking us in as best he could after she disappeared down the hall. We’d done a number on the door, so it hung slightly off-kilter. I kind of liked it, though. It added to the unstable feel of Porter’s treasure trove.
“Why am I not surprised that you’re an idiot and a predator?” Mari asked.
Porter sat back in his chair like it was an everyday occurrence for the queen of the city to break in to his office. But he was too calm and cool, and I saw beneath the mask. The barest shake of his fingers betrayed him. He was petrified of Mari.
And I was not ashamed to admit it made me hot.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. She was willing.”
“You’re wrong. In places where power is so imbalanced, consent is never black and white. Did you threaten her livelihood?” Mari asked with a sneer.
“No.” Liar.
“Did you threaten her safety?”
“Of course not.” Lie.
“Did you promise her something in return for her cooperation?”
“No.” Lie.
Not one of us believed him.
Porter cleared his throat, straightening his position. “Did you come all this way to talk about Miss Antoinette?”
“No, I came all this way to talk about our mutual friend, Cash Beckstrom. She’s just an added bonus.”
The name hit me in the chest like it had every time I’d heard it, but I forced myself not to react. Cash was the one attacking the Marcosa empire. He’d taken Mari, nearly killed her. And one day, he would pay for his sins, but not today. Another man was on the chopping block this time.
If it was possible, René paled even further. “I don’t know a Cash Beckstrom,” he stammered. Christ, he wasn’t even trying to be convincing.
“Of course not,” Mari said, walking around the desk until she could perch along the edge of it. She set her hand down on the surface and froze, seeming to remember what had just happened in the area, before picking it up with a frown. “Do you have hand sanitizer?”
Porter glanced between her and the desktop. “It’s not like we fucked on it.”
“Forgive me if I don’t take your word for it,” she said. “The hand sanitizer. Now.”
Perplexed, he fished out a bottle and held it out to her. I didn’t think Mari cared that much about the germs—though, gross—it was the power play of it all. The way she reminded Porter that he was a disgusting little urchin without saying a word. The way he sank a little in his chair as she rubbed the liquid into her hands, looked at him, and did another round? Brilliant.
I’d learned a lot about manipulation in the mercenaries, and Mari played him flawlessly.
When she’d finished her show, she set down the bottle and smiled at Porter, though it was about as warm as an iceberg.
“Cash Beckstrom, Seattle’s most irritating resident,” Mari droned. “He’s been messing with my shipments. Yours, in particular.”
“Can’t say I’ve noticed anything missing from them. Besides, isn’t that your job to fix?” Porter asked, trying and failing again to gain some of the power back.
“You wouldn’t have,” Mari told him. “Not when your shipments were over. He never shorted you. Isn’t that fascinating?”
She stood, and as she talked, she trailed her fingers along the various belts and scarves he had tossed over a coat rack near the window. I didn’t understand why he needed so many, but considering what we were planning to do to him in this dragon’s nest of an office, I couldn’t have been more grateful. Just because we’d brought our own supplies, didn’t mean we necessarily wanted to use them.
Mari fingered a solid leather belt and then another for good measure. When she took them off the rack, Dominic and I rounded each corner of the desk, boxing Porter in. He panicked, standing so the chair rolled out from underneath him, but we shoved him back down. There would be no escaping Mari’s wrath.
“Hold him down.”
Dominic and I each held one wrist to the armrest while the other hand kept his shoulders back so he couldn’t bite her if he got the balls. He didn’t, though. He stopped fighting the second she held up the belt.
Once Porter was tied, Dominic dug through his pockets and fished out his phone, holding it up so that the facial recognition would open it. Facial recognition. On an importer’s phone. Looking over his shoulder, I could see he had no additional security beyond that. What kind of idiot didn’t secure the phone he did his business on?
