Frayed Obsession, page 22
“Oh, then there’s my extra special cargo.”
My back stiffens.
“I lose just as many of those as I receive,” he says, scowling. “The bastards don’t give a shit what condition they make it here in. As long as they’re still breathing, they get their money.”
I clench my jaw as my suspicions are confirmed.
“I’ll give you a percentage on top of your price if you can get them here in a reasonable condition. It shouldn’t be hard if you’re really as good as your reputation precedes,” he continues.
“We’re done here.”
Alexander stiffens at my words. “What?” he questions, his voice deathly calm.
“I said, we’re done. We aren’t interested.”
My blood burns as it roars through my body. Fucking human trafficking.
“You’re making a mistake,” he says, and the change in him is palpable.
His blue eyes darken to almost black, and his muscles tense, straining against his tailored suit.
He takes a step towards me so that we’re only a metre away from each other, and I hear weapons being drawn behind me, but I don’t take my eyes off him.
“You’re as stupid as your father,” he states. “Colton Reed was an idiot. And that whore of a wife made him weak.”
My hand is around his throat before he can take another breath.
“Say another word about my mother, and I’ll kill you right here.”
Alexander doesn’t react to my words or the assault. There’s not even a drop of fear in his eyes like it doesn’t faze him at all.
Out of the corner of my vision, I see a gun pointed right at my head, but I don’t give a shit.
“Drop them,” Easton says, and I know they all have their weapons pointed at the bastards, but they still don’t move.
After a moment, Alexander raises a hand, and they slowly drop their arms.
“On the ground,” East says, and they do as they’re told, kicking the guns towards our men.
I tighten my hand around his throat even more, but he only smirks at me.
“But she—” Gasp. “Wasn’t really—” Gasp. “Your mother… was she?”
My fist cracks against his jaw, again and again, before I pull his face to mine by his throat.
It’s not a fucking secret that Elena Reed didn’t give birth to me, but she was and always will be my mother.
I stare into his black depths, so dark there’s barely any of the blue left. They’re almost eerie.
A slow smile spreads across his face, blood covering his teeth and dripping from the corner of his mouth.
Sadistic fucker.
I don’t have time for this.
I squeeze my hand as hard as I can, completely cutting off his oxygen, and his smile drops—his eyes burning into mine, and I know I’ve won.
“If I ever see you again, I will kill you,” I promise, throwing his ass to the ground and walking straight out of the building without looking back.
“Sebastian!” Easton calls, following me outside.
“What the fuck was that, East!” I hiss.
“You’re asking the wrong fucking person, Bas,” he says, levelling me with a stare.
I sigh and get into the ′67 Mustang, slamming the door shut. Easton’s just behind me, and his wheels screech as he takes off.
What the fuck just happened?
Easton doesn’t say anything, and I can tell by the way his jaw is clenched and the tight grip on the steering wheel, it’s for the best.
Even when we arrive back at the office, he remains silent. The same tension is visible. There’s also no chance he’s going to come up to the office right now. At least not with me and who I’m about to fucking talk to.
The door to Vincent’s office slams against the wall as I storm in.
“Sebastian, what are you doing? I’m in a meeting.” He stands.
“Out,” I tell whoever the fuck he’s meeting with. The man looks from me to Vincent, unsure what to do.
“Out!”
He scurries out of the office, and I slam the door shut behind him.
“Sebastian, this is completely uncalled for!” Vincent sputters, his face splotched with red.
“What the fuck was that meeting?”
“What?” he says, avoiding eye contact.
“You know fucking what.” I march further into his office. “Human trafficking,” I hiss the words out, planting my hands on his desk and leaning closer to him. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“This is not the place, Sebastian.”
“It is if I say it is,” I state.
Narrowing his eyes at me, he says, “It’s a good deal. An excellent deal.”
“We don’t get involved in that shit.”
“Maybe we should.” He lifts his chin at me. “Once upon a time, we would have.”
“You know exactly why we stopped,” I say, my voice low. “We never should have been involved in the first place.”
“Don’t speak of things you know nothing about, boy.” Spittle flies from his mouth as he speaks. “You were living in dirty diapers while we were running this place the right way. The way it should be now.”
I grit my teeth at his words and dig at my past. “He wouldn’t want that, and you know it.”
“She ruined him!” he shouts. “Wriggled her way under his skin and poisoned him from the inside.”
I grab a fist full of his shirt and pull him half onto the desk, his belly slapping on the solid wood. His eyes widen, and he tries to pull back, but he doesn’t get anywhere.
“Talk about her like that again, and finding a new job is going to be the least of your problems.”
“You don’t have the authority to fire me,” he seethes.
I pull him closer, enough that he can feel my breath on his face. He swallows, beads of sweat rolling down his temples.
“Try me.”
I release my hold of him, and he scrambles to catch himself.
When I open the door to Vincent’s office, heads snap in different directions, looking anywhere but at me.
“Office. Now,” I say as I pass Lauren at her desk and storm into my office, going straight for the bottle of whiskey I keep on a shelf in the corner. I grab one of the two glasses and splash a finger into it.
“Is everything okay?” Lauren asks, concern etched into her face.
“Cancel my meetings for the rest of the day. I don’t want to be disturbed.” I say, taking a pull from my glass. “By anyone,” I add.
“Of course, Mr. Reed.” I don’t even bother correcting her this time. I can’t remember the last time I was this seething mad.
Lauren closes the door softly behind her, and I take a deep breath, letting my head fall back.
I flex my hand, my knuckles stinging, and I inspect the grazes and reddened skin before clenching it into a fist.
How did Deveigne know anything about my parents?
About me?
I should have fucking killed him, the smug bastard. But I couldn’t be bothered dealing with the clean-up.
He wasn’t worth it.
It wouldn’t surprise me if Vincent spewed that shit to him. But why? I knew Vincent had it out for me, but I had no idea he resented my father so much.
What else don’t I know?
I try to get some work done for a couple of hours, but I struggle to concentrate.
The door to my office swings open, and Easton strides in.
Lauren stands behind him, mouthing ‘sorry,’ but we both know she wouldn’t have been able to stop him.
“What happened with Vincent?” he asks, helping himself to a glass and the bottle of whiskey.
“He knew exactly what Deveigne was involved with.”
“Fuck,” he says.
“Exactly. From now on, we don’t take any meetings unless they’ve been vetted properly by you.”
He grunts in response before downing the rest of his glass.
“I have a lead on Ian Ross,” he says, placing his glass on my desk, and my head snaps up. “I heard he’s been hiding out with a cousin out of the city or some shit. He knows we’re looking for him.”
“When are you going?”
“Tonight. The last one ended up being a bust, but I’m getting close.” He crosses his arms over his chest and scowls. “Then she’s gone.”
My jaw clenches, and I rub my throbbing temples.
“Grace isn’t as bad as you make her out to be.”
Easton studies me, his eyes roving over every inch of my face. “Did you fuck her?”
“Jesus, Easton.”
“You did… fucking hell, Sebastian!” he yells. “I leave you alone with her for two minutes, and she lures you in with her lying cunt.”
“Enough,” I say in a low voice.
“She was stalking you, Sebastian. Do you even give a shit that she could have had something to do with Elena and Colt’s murder? Or are you more concerned with getting your dick wet?”
My body thrums with fury, and I stand up.
“You need to leave. Now.”
He lets out a humourless laugh. “She’s already got you wrapped around her manipulative finger, doesn’t she?”
“Easton!”
I’m about two seconds away from completely losing it. After everything today, this is the last thing I need.
Easton shakes his head slowly from side to side, looking at me like he doesn’t recognise me at all. Storming out of my office, he slams the door behind him, the sound reverberating through the room.
I drop back into my chair, letting my head fall into my hands as a monstrous headache throbs behind my eyes.
When I finally make it back to the penthouse, I find Grace standing over the kitchen stove.
She smiles over her shoulder at me, but it’s still not like the one from the first night I surprised her, coming home early. It’s softer, more hesitant.
Wrapping my arms around her waist from behind, I bury my face in her neck, letting her soft vanilla scent soothe the pounding in my head. I splay my hands over her stomach, and she covers one with her own, the other still stirring something on the stove.
I stiffen when her hand grazes over my knuckles, and she pauses.
“What happened?” she asks, dropping the spoon into the pot and pulling the injured hand off her stomach so she can inspect it.
Grace tries to turn in my arms, but I tighten my hold on her, making a sound of protest into the crook of her neck.
“Sebastian,” she whispers, stroking her fingers over my hand, avoiding the few grazes. “Are you okay?”
“I’m better now,” I say, and I’m surprised at how true the statement is.
This time when she tries to turn, I don’t stop her. I rest my other hand against her lower back, needing to touch her.
Her gaze roams over my face, then she reaches up and palms my cheek. And fuck if I don’t lean into it.
“You look tired,” she says, stroking her thumb under my eye.
I make a sound of agreement, the exhaustion hitting me full force now that I’m here.
Grace leads me towards the lounge, pulling me by my wrist, and I go with her willingly.
“Sit.” Her voice is soft and light, but I still hear the command for what it is.
When I’ve lowered myself onto the couch, Grace goes back to the kitchen.
My eyes feel heavy, and I struggle to keep them open, but then she’s back in front of me—a bowl of soup with toast in one hand and a glass of water in the other.
“Here,” she says, holding out the water.
I take the glass from her and down half the contents in one go. She takes the glass back, placing it on the coffee table before giving me the bowl of soup. The last thing I want to do right now is eat, but she looks at me so expectantly I can’t deny her.
Picking up the first piece of toast, I dip it in the soup, swirling it around the bowl before taking a large bite. The food actually goes down well, and I hadn’t even known I needed it.
Grace disappears again, and by the time she returns, I’ve nearly polished off the bowl. She sits down beside me on the couch and places the now-empty bowl next to the glass before grabbing my hand and pulling it into her lap. With her other hand, she presses a towel-wrapped ice pack against my swollen knuckles.
We sit like that for a while, palm to palm—her thumb running along the side of my hand.
“Are you going to tell me what happened?” she finally asks.
“It was nothing,” I say. Partly because just the thought of all the shit that happened today is making my head throb. But also, I don’t want to subject her to knowing anything about a bastard like Deveigne, especially not after what she revealed to me the other night.
She sighs and drops her eyes, but she doesn’t press the issue.
“Come here,” I say, grabbing the ice pack from her hand and putting it on the couch before tugging her towards me.
She crawls into my lap and wraps her arms around my waist, resting her head on my chest.
Her heart beats a steady rhythm against my chest. It’s crazy how right this feels, how good. But Easton’s words hang over us like a dark cloud.
“How did you get away from him?” I feel her heart speed up at my question, thumping against my chest with every beat.
“Someone helped me,” she says after a moment. “I wasn’t… I wasn’t going to survive there. He would never have let me go.”
My chest feels like it’s in a vice. “Who helped you?”
“One of his guards.”
He had guards?
I feel her soft body in my arms, her small frame. She may be one of the strongest people I know, but she didn’t stand a fucking chance. I’m grateful for whoever helped her and got her out of that sick fuck’s clasp, but I also want to fucking kill him. How many times did they stand by while she was being hurt?
Abused.
Tortured.
And didn’t do a single fucking thing to stop it.
“When?”
Her arms tighten around me. “A few months ago.”
Fuck.
Seven years?
My heart breaks, and I pull her even closer to me, not caring if I’m squeezing her too tight. But despite it all, sick relief washes through me, knowing she didn’t have anything to do with my parents’ deaths, and I hate myself for feeling it. Not when it meant she was living in Hell instead.
Chapter Thirty-One
Emery
We stay like this—wrapped up in each other tight enough it’s hard to breathe— and I don’t ever want to move.
“Did you ever tell anyone? What he was doing to you?”
His question startles me, and a sinking feeling washes over me.
“No.” The word tastes rotten, and a wave of nausea rolls through me. But how can I tell him I watched the only person I ever told bleed out right in front of me, and it was all my fault.
Sebastian presses a long kiss on my forehead, and I want to tell him everything. Maybe it would be different now. After what happened this weekend, maybe he wouldn’t be so quick to toss me out if he knew the truth. My thoughts run wild with dreams and hopes, but I know I can’t stay.
It’s too risky. Isn’t it?
Would he even let me stay?
Would he want me to?
What if our connection is not as strong as I think it is, and I make a mistake?
Gazing up at him, I find his eyes closed. His breathing long and steady.
What if he finds out the truth and wants nothing to do with me?
There won’t even be a deal to fall back on if that happens.
I wake to a kiss being pressed to my temple.
Blinking my eyes open, I gaze up to see Sebastian looking down at me. His hair is mussed from sleep, and his fingers trace patterns on my back. Soft light filters through the room, and I blink again, trying to clear the sleep fog clouding my head. My back aches, and my limbs feel stiff as I lift my head off his chest and look around the lounge room.
I fell asleep on him.
Shadow is also curled up on the other end of the couch, still asleep.
“I’m sorry, I fell asleep,” I say and go to climb off him.
“Don’t be,” he says, but the muffled groan that escapes him tells a different story. If my limbs are feeling achy, I can’t imagine what his are feeling like. Smoothing his hand over my back before ducking down and taking my mouth with his, he nips at my lip, and I gasp, which only allows him to slip his tongue inside.
I melt into him.
Every time is as surreal as the last—no imagination is as good as the real thing.
I try to move closer to him but doing so only heightens my awareness of the erection pressing into my thigh.
Sebastian grunts and we pull apart, catching our breaths.
He glances over my shoulder and curses. “I’m late…” he says, dropping his head onto the back of the couch.
He helps me out of his lap before standing himself, and I watch as he adjusts himself, remembering exactly what he felt like inside me.
“Don’t look at me like that, Grace.”
“What?” My eyes snap up, heat rising to my cheeks.
“Like that,” he growls. “Like you want me to sink my cock into you.”
I suck in a breath at his blunt words. It’s a side of him I’ve only seen a sliver of, but my core throbs in response.
He takes a step towards me.
“Would I find your pussy as flushed as your pretty, pink cheeks?” he asks, running the back of his fingers over the side of my heated face.
I don’t know if he expects me to answer him, but even if I could somehow find the words to respond, I’m not sure I’d be able to speak them. The picture he paints shouldn’t arouse me so much, but God, it does.
