Sin, page 7
Marcelles has to be fuming inside that vehicle. Angry at the fact the moron he’s working with doesn’t understand the concept of being inconspicuous.
“Two, and one is green.”
“Saw that.” Javi brings his cup of coffee up to his mouth and takes a sip. For a man that holds no qualms in getting his hands dirty, he has an unhealthy love affair with whatever a caramel macchiato is. “For sale, though?”
Turning back to my building, I shrug once I reach the front doors of the Asher Building. “Possibly.”
“Do we approach and make an offer on the land?”
“Not yet.” They’re listening. I know this. See the minute shift in a device they have hidden under a tarp and chain combination. What looks to be just sheet rock material being secured to the roof and side of the van. They went with blending in and not high tech, a mistake if you ask me. “Let them approach me first.”
“Mr. Asher, you have some visitors,” Mariah says through the intercom a few hours later, her tone saccharine sweet—her way of addressing me when someone doesn’t know who she is. “Are you busy, or can they pass?”
“Let them in.” I sit back in my chair and make it a point of not shutting down my laptop. Let them see what I am working on; there’s an architect’s 3D model of my new bank in Shanghai on the screen along with the paperwork that gives away the logistics, cost, and timeframe for it to be up and running. I hide nothing, because by the time they always come demanding entry, the evidence they hope to find is gone.
“Of course, sir.” There’s no click from her side, letting me know she didn’t disconnect, and I pay closer attention. “Right this way, gentlemen.”
“Do you like working for him?” It’s the younger one. Marcelles knows who she is. Knows better. “Does he treat you right?”
“Jesus,” I mutter under my breath, amused by this.
“I hate it.” And you can hear the pout in her tone.
“Why? Has he ever done anything to—”
“My cousin is forcing me to order his lunch every day. To file stuff in those big metal boxes with drawers.” There’s a cough, not sure from who, but it holds a hint of a laugh. “My nails look like crap at the end of each shift and my curls lose their volume. This is hell on earth.”
“I’m so sorry you—”
“Christ, Shawn,” Marcelles snaps, silencing his partner. “Mariah is Malcolm Asher’s cousin and secretary. Whatever angle you’re trying to play…just stop. We’re not here for anything other than a word with the owner.”
“Always a pleasure, Paul.” Mariah laughs, the clack of her heels following her to my door. She pauses just outside and gives a knock. “May I?”
Brat. “Yes.” The door opens and she enters first, walking behind my desk and taking her position to my left. They follow her in, stopping behind the two chairs on the opposite side. One looks normal and the other overexcited. “How can I help you, agents?”
“How did you know?”
“How are you, Malcolm?” they reply in unison, but my attention is on the older man. He extends a hand out for me to shake and I reach across my desk to do so, ignoring the now visibly annoyed toddler beside him. “How’s your father?”
“Battling boredom at the golf course.”
“Since when does Anthony golf?”
“Since my mother decided that they needed to be handier around the house in their old age. Her honey do list is a mile long, hence the new appreciation for golf.” I can see that this small talk is angering the other man. Shawn doesn’t like that a criminal—although I’ve yet to be indicted or convicted of anything—is acting as if their visit is of no consequence.
He doesn’t appreciate that his partner isn’t rude or demanding shit. He has a lot to learn. About me. About the way the world works.
Unless you have solid proof and come with an arrest warrant, you can’t touch me or my belongings. And even worse, the fact that I’ll never see the inside of a cell or receive anything other than a slap on the wrist grates on some people’s nerves.
If I go down, so does the precious economic standing—luxuries—some high-ranking members of government enjoy. More money runs through this bank than any other in the United States, Europe, and China. Hurting my empire will crumble theirs.
No more hush money.
No more lobbying.
No more power.
Even if it tastes rancid in their mouth, I’m to be treated with respect.
Moreover, Shawn hates it. I see it in his face.
His eyes narrow and nostrils flare. “We need access to every deposit made into the United States from clients outside the country. Everything from late July to now.”
“Is that so?” I scratch my chin, flicking my eyes from him to Marcelles. “His first job?”
“Yes.”
“So, he knows procedure?”
“Yes.” Poor man looks embarrassed.
“I’m right here,” Shawn sneers, and it’s hard not to knock his teeth back into his skull. “We have reason to believe that your bank is aiding in the illegal move of drug money.”
“You’re accusing me of a federal crime. Be very careful with that, agent. Your career can go—”
“Are you threatening me?”
“I’m stating a fact.” I narrow my eyes, leaning forward in my seat with both hands flat atop my desk so I’m not tempted to reach for the gun. My eyes remain on his, even after Marcelles tries to intervene. With a single hand up, I stop him and direct myself solely to a now visibly uncomfortable Shawn. “I’m going to let your disrespect and unprofessionalism pass this one time. Take it as a will of good faith because you are new and clearly don’t do your homework before throwing that badge around. What you’re doing is overstepping the boundaries, the same laws you are pretending to uphold, yet feel as though you can now trample because of what? What is the point of this visit other than to harass and throw out weightless allegations?”
“We were told by an informant that this bank has ties to the Jameson family,” Marcelles says then, his tone calm and without accusation. “We’re just trying to follow up on a lead, Malcolm. Before a warrant is brought forth, we were hoping for your cooperation with this matter.”
“Our conversation would’ve stayed on a friendlier note…” I tilt my chin in Shawn’s direction “…had he not opened his mouth.”
“Can we have a look or not?” Shawn tries to reinsert himself into our conversation, but I don’t acknowledge him.
“How do you want to do this, Marcelles? Should I call my lawyer?”
“He will leave, and I’ll handle this myself.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“If he does, then we have a deal.” I nod, and the old man’s posture relaxes a bit. “He needs to get off my property and not come back until he learns respect and how to follow protocol.”
“It’s a deal. I’ll speak with my supervisor now and be back within the hour.”
“Director Monahan will never agree to this,” Shawn hisses through clenching teeth. “He’ll never make a deal with—”
“Luther Monahan is someone I’ve known since I was a child and would not put up with his agents being obtuse and arrogant. Watch your tone and the way you conduct yourself.” At my words, the cockiness in his stance deflates and worry seeps in. “You don’t seem to realize just who you’re dealing with here. Who I am. Look me up—learn a thing or two, and then when you’re ready to apologize for basing your judgement on idiocy, you may come back.”
“I’ll never apologize to—”
“It’s time for you to leave, agents. Follow me.” Mariah, who’s been quiet, interrupts Shawn. Our eyes lock for a second and I nod, fighting the smirk that wants to curl on my lips. “Mr. Asher has a day full of meetings, but I’ll be available to handle everything with you personally, Marcelles.”
“Agreed, and thank you.” While I know Marcelles doesn’t buy that I’m one hundred percent innocent, he still sticks to the rules. Doesn’t overstep or accuse, because thrown-around insinuations can become defamation lawsuits.
“This is not how this works. You can’t just kick me out,” Shawn tries once more, his tone with Mariah a lot less arrogant. I also don’t miss the appreciative looks he’s giving her, ones that Javier will kill him for.
“Not up for negotiations.” She walks around my desk and doesn’t stop until reaching the door. There, she waits for them with a not-so-patient look and it’s funny to watch how quickly they follow instructions. “Now, let’s get you out and let Mr. Asher get back to work. He’s a busy man and can’t entertain nonsense.”
And as they walk out and head toward the elevators, I only have one thought:
I’m going to enjoy watching the life drain from his body at Javier’s hands.
10
I FIND MYSELF standing over her bed two days later watching her sleep, the same way I’ve been coming into her home since Sunday night, using a copy of her key made with an imprint in clay, to be with her.
That very day I set a few plans in motion to protect her, the first being my entry and exit out of her home without detection. It didn’t take much work to trip Alton’s cheap system. Thirty minutes and a few Red Bulls later, my best IT guy hacked the system, putting the recording of a quiet house on loop and disabling the alarm.
No alerts. No proof of my ever being here.
To protect her while she gets some rest. Make sure that no one disturbs her.
She makes me worry. I feel protective— need to feed this uncontrollable desire to be close.
I tell myself it’s because I want to make sure she’s okay, but it’s a lie. A poor one at that.
Every minute she’s in this house, I’m restless. Worry.
Her family isn’t to be trusted; the assholes disappear at night as they plot my end. Try to find anyone willing to take me on as a job. Offering money they don’t have.
Alton doesn’t understand that I have eyes everywhere. That for the right price, people are always willing to talk and sell him out.
London turns onto her back then, the thick comforter covering her from view falling down and exposing her chest. I count each rise and fall while contemplating how much my life has changed. Just how far I’m willing to go to keep her.
It’s been five days since she walked into my private room and danced for me.
Four days since I’ve had some peace where she isn’t invading my every waking moment.
Since that first night, I’ve become her stalker. Always just a few steps behind her in some way or another, gifting her the invisible space she needs to get used to the idea of me. Giving her the illusion that I’m not around when in fact, it’s the opposite.
I’ll always be here.
“Malcolm,” Twirl sighs in her sleep, completely unaware of my presence. “So confusing…”
Son of a bitch. Even her sleep talk is adorable. Makes me feel like a king when it’s my name that passes through those plump lips.
Leaning over her, I skim a finger down her soft cheek. Enjoy the way she turns into my touch so innocently. Her response is automatic. “Salvation comes with sacrifices. Yours will be in his blood.” I press the tip of my finger to her lips. Linger there for a moment as her warm breath caresses my skin. “Sleep, knowing that you are protected. I’ll always take care of you.”
My phone vibrates inside my pocket, alerting me to the time. Pulling back, I reach over and pick up her older-than-dirt flip phone to dial mine—the call goes through and after I hit the end button, I erase it from her directory.
Walking to the door without another backwards glance, I exit the house through the back door. It’s almost five in the morning, and I need to catch a few hours of sleep before heading in to work. There’s a new position I need to fill and soon; a personal bodyguard for her. A female.
My men are good, but any male in her presence rattles the cage of my demon’s jealousy.
Pushes me past what I am comfortable with.
I’m going to be the only man in her life.
There’s a timid knock a few minutes after one in the afternoon. “You wanted to see me, sir?” Earl asks just outside my open office door. He’s waiting for me to let him in, looking tired and full of worry—the deep wrinkles on his forehead crease and his brows furrow. “Is everything okay?”
I offer him a small smile to ease the tension and wave him in. “Come in and have a seat, please.”
“Should I close the door?”
“Not necessary.”
“Okay.” There’s a tray Mariah left before leaving for lunch with a few bottles of cold pop, water bottles, and a few pastries. He eyes them but makes no move to take one.
“You don’t have to ask or be offered one. Take whatever you want, Earl.” For this conversation I need him to feel at ease, to relax enough to be forthcoming with the information I’m after.
“Thank you.” He gives me a sheepish grin. “I’ve been so nervous after Mary relayed your message that I missed breakfast and lunch today.”
“There’s no reason for you to be nervous. None at all.” Standing from behind my desk, I grab a Sprite and walk over to the small seating area across the room, taking a seat in a leather chair. I point to the small sofa to my right and against the wall for him to follow; he does so with his snacks in hand and waits. Looks at me without making a single peep. “Please understand that what we discuss in here today is a private and delicate matter. That I’m looking to help someone I think is in danger.”
“Of course, sir...” I raise a brow and he chuckles “...Malcolm. Sorry. I’m just not used to addressing my superiors by their first names. It feels disrespectful.”
“It’s not when I’m asking you to. You’ve more than earned mine.” Uncapping my drink, I take a few sips and set it down on a small glass coffee table beside a plain manila folder. “And it’s because of that trust that I come asking for help.
“Anything I can do, I will. You know that.”
“I appreciate that.” Sitting forward, I let my hands hang between my thighs. “I need you to tell me the truth—everything you know about someone we both know.”
“Who?” he asks, nose scrunching up before taking a sip from his drink.
“Who is London Foster, Earl?”
The man splutters, choking on his drink while the pastry slips to the floor. Earl wipes his chin with a handkerchief he pulls from his front pocket, his eyes wide as saucers. “Whatever she did, I’ll take responsibility for. It’s on me. I’ll pay for.”
“That isn’t necessary. I assure you—”
“Please, Malcolm. She’s been through enough.” I’m not one to be cut off, but in this instance it works. He cares for her, sees what I do, and I have no doubt that he’ll help me. “Give her a break. I don’t know what she did, but her home life is shit and Mary and I do what we can to help without her brother or father knowing. Those two pricks use her—the money her mother left her—”
“I know.”
“What?”
“Earl, I’m not going to hurt her. I’m here to protect every single hair on that pretty little head.”
“But why?” He looks at me as if I’m the devil playing God, causing me to laugh.
“Honest to God, I want to help her,” I say simply after a few minutes, my amusement waning. Own her, but I don’t voice that part aloud. Instead, I relax in my seat—controlling the part of me that demands answers. That wants to reach across and force the information out of him.
What stops me from doing so is his honest affection for her. The fact that I know London would be angry, and to me, that’s unacceptable.
“How do you know her? What did she do?”
“It’s her brother’s head I’m after.”
Earl runs a hand down his face, a deep sigh leaving him. “That asshole is not Amelia’s son.”
“Amelia is their mother, no?” I’m baiting. Already know this. What I want is the details that aren’t on a piece of paper. Firsthand accounts of how Marcus weaseled his way in. How he and his son came to hold Twirl’s future in their hands.
“She is her mother.” He takes another deep breath and lets it out slow. He’s trying to figure me out and what to say. If he can save her.
“Earl, I’m not going to hurt her…” there’s a small folder on the table that I push his way “…quite the contrary, actually.”
“What’s this?”
“Open it.” Shooting me another questioning gaze, he takes the folder in his hands and opens it. His eyes skim across each page, taking in every single bit of information inside. The who, how, and when of the Fosters’ operations. But more importantly, how they are funding their schemes.
Because that is what they are. A low-level operation running on one grandeur fuckup after another.
“As you can see, I’ve already done my homework. I know their plans, old man, but I need you to fill in the blanks. Help me end this for her.”
“Malcolm, why are you doing this? What did Marcus and his degenerate son do?
“Hurt her.” At my words his eyes snap to mine, and in them I see the same hate that’s been brewing within me. I’m not the nicest man—being seen as an asshole doesn’t hurt my feelings—but the one thing I will never do is hurt an innocent. Someone who has nothing to do with this life I’ve chosen. “He put his hands on that which is pure.”
“You care?”
“I do.”
“And she will be okay? No harm will come to her?”
“London will never know fear again as long as I have breath left in my body.”
“Okay. Okay.” Earl pulls his wallet from his back pocket and produces an old, worn picture from inside. It’s the picture of two women about the same age as Twirl is now. There’s no doubt that the one on the left is a younger version of Mary, his wife, but the other is the spitting image of London.
Or in this case, my girl looks just like her mother. The resemblance is uncanny.
It also proves that there’s a connection between the families.
“How did you all know each other?”
