Cruel Conquest: A Dark Romance, page 15
Ivan
I sigh as I drop my car keys on the kitchen counter. I make a beeline for the fridge, grabbing a beer and chugging down half of it before I stop for breath. Then I take the rest of the beer outside onto the balcony with me.
It’s my favorite place in the penthouse. Despite the noise. Now, despite the fact that it reminds me of Hannah.
I’ve been out most of the day. First to meet Donald, then to arrange a storage unit not too far from the manor, then to book a moving company to remove my belongings. They’ll start the job tomorrow, and by the end of the weekend, Grayson Manor will be nothing but an empty shell.
The paperwork for the sale is done. Soon, that empty shell will belong to someone else.
I toast the twilight sky. Here’s hoping the new owners make only the best memories in that place.
Almost instantly, my thoughts turn back to Hannah. God, and I thought she was my answer. That I’d be making new memories with her.
How could I have been so naïve?
How could I have been so pathetic? So desperate?
I don’t even know the woman, but I was planning a future with her?
I guess Cindy’s death broke me more than I’d thought. That’s the only thing that can explain this. Why else would I be so hard up for finding someone to fill the void in my life?
But that’s not entirely true, is it? Before Hannah came along, I was content knowing that I’d be alone the rest of my life.
Somehow, I’d been able to forget the anger in Hannah’s eyes the day she arrived at my home. Forgotten, or ignored.
I just don’t get it. Who the hell is Calloway, and why on God’s green earth would Hannah think I’d murdered her?
I’ve dealt with many people over the years. The name Calloway sounds familiar, but I can’t put a face to the name. The more I think about it, the more insistent that feeling becomes. Like a word that’s on the tip of your tongue, but you can’t shake it loose.
That’s why I head into my study and sit down at my computer. I’m hoping there’s some trace of this mystery woman in my emails. If Hannah’s right, and I know her, then surely…
I stop dead in my tracks, staring at my email program. When I bumped my hand against my mouse, the screen flared into life and opened with an email from several months ago already open. I sink down in my chair, a hand curling against my mouth and my elbow on the table as I read the email.
It takes a moment for the memory to form, and when it does, a deep dread fills me.
Oh, Hannah. I cover my face with my hands and drag in a deep, slow breath. Why the fuck didn’t she tell me sooner?
I rush to my feet, but then I just stand there for a moment. I have no way of reaching Hannah.
Moments later, I’m interrogating the clerk at reception.
“Mr. Grayson, if you could please calm down, I’ll—”
“Tell me where she went!”
The frustrated clerk bites the inside of his cheek before stabbing a finger across the lobby. “There. But—”
I don’t stay to hear the rest. My heart jumps into my throat at the thought that Hannah might still be in the building. What she’s doing in the boutique is anyone’s guess, but I don’t let that stop me. In fact, I don’t let anyone stop me, not even the clerk who yells out my name like a curse.
The cashier in the boutique starts when I charge inside, a hand fluttering to her chest.
“Hannah,” I demand, and then have to force my voice to a more reasonable volume level before I continue. “I’m looking for Hannah. Five-four, brown hair, angry eyes the color of malachite.”
“Mal…?” The clerk blinks at me. “Uh… yes… she—”
“Where?”
“She left, sir.”
“When?”
The cashier gulps like she thinks she’s in trouble. “Uh… a few hours ago. I didn’t get the exact time. But if you give me a minute—”
“Where did she go?”
“I’m not sure,” the cashier says, but her eyes are on her computer now, and it looks like she wishes she called in sick today. “But if you calm down and let me—”
“Forget it,” I snap, rushing out of the boutique as I head back to the cashier. He sees me coming and goes white. “You,” I say, pointing a finger at him. “Tell me where she went.”
“I swear, I didn’t see her leave. I told her about the boutique, and that’s the last I saw of her.”
“Are you saying I missed her? That’s she’s hiding behind a rack of clothes?” My voice booms out through the lobby. I don’t know why I’m so intent on finding her. What would it matter now? If she turned the corner, and I told her everything, she’d still just be a girl who landed on my doorstep with an agenda and a scowl on her face.
Whatever I thought she felt, it wasn’t real. She baited and reeled me in like a goddamn fish on a hook.
“—Sir!”
I spin around, glaring at the boutique’s cashier as she hurries over to me waving a slip of paper. As soon as she’s in range, I snatch it out of her hand and stare at it.
“What the hell is this?”
“Th-the bill,” the cashier breathes. “Your—the lady—she said to charge it to the room.” When the cashier takes in my expression, she grimaces. “That’s all right, isn’t it?”
I stare down at the slip again, but it might as well have been in Latin for all the sense it makes to me. Just what the hell is a bodycon, anyway? “What did she buy?”
“A-a dress.” The cashier gulps down a breath and throws the clerk behind me a nervous look. “And some shoes.”
I frown. “What kind of dress?”
“A really, really nice one,” the cashier whispers.
I almost smile. At that price, it better be.
Now what the hell does Hannah want with a nice dress and a pair of heels? Understandably, I chased her out of my house wearing nothing but a hoody, but I saw some jeans and things inside that boutique. A dress doesn’t make sense.
Unless…
“Fuck,” I mutter, striding out of the lobby and onto the street. I don’t even wait for the valet to bring out my Aston Martin—Hannah’s already got a significant head start.
I whistle for a cab and slide in while it’s still coming to a halt. The driver locks eyes with me in the rearview mirror as I tug my suit straight.
“You know the Devil’s Den?” I ask.
He nods.
“Get me there as fast as you can.”
CHAPTER 39
Hannah
The Devil’s Den is nothing like I’d expected. I’ve been in plenty of clubs in my life, but nothing could have prepared me for the opulence in this place. Situated on the border of the city’s industrial zones, this place looked like a fancy single-floor warehouse. Tons of extractor fans jutting out between bays on the rooftop parking zone.
Inside, it soon became obvious this wasn’t a normal club. There were too many little alcoves dotted around the place. Intimate areas cordoned off with red ropes or gauzy curtains. This wasn’t a place where people came to get drunk and dance their asses off.
This is where people came to meet other people who shared their unique interests. Like selling drugs or weapons.
I shudder at the thought and do my best to keep calm. At least the dress I chose helps me blend in… although I’m not skinny enough or layered in enough makeup to pass easily for the other girls I see.
There’s a queue at the bar, but I shoulder my way to the front and lean over as much as the slit in my cocktail dress allows.
“Hey!” I snap my fingers at the closest bartender, and the girl with raccoon-thick eyeliner gives me a wary look before coming over.
“What can I get you?” she asks.
“I need to see Maksim!” I yell over the music.
Except, at that exact moment, the thumping beat dips and leaves me shouting at the woman like I have a bone to pick with her.
She cocks a pierced eyebrow at me. “I can’t help you with that.”
“Who can?”
“Sweetie, if you legit had business to discuss with Maksim, you wouldn’t have to ask.” She gives me a tired smile that honestly isn’t as condescending as it could have been and turns her attention on the dude next to me who’s been giving me the stink eye ever since I elbowed him in the ribs.
Frustrated, I sidle away from the bar and go stand on the edge of the dance floor. I had to use Ivan’s name to get into this place without paying, but I’m loath to go throwing it around.
“Hannah, isn’t it?” a sinister voice murmurs into my ear.
I try to turn around, but fingers close around the back of my neck, keeping me in place. I recognize the voice, but I can’t remember which of the Balmont Boys it belongs to.
“Hi.”
“To what do we owe the honor?” the man asks.
I swivel my eyes and glimpse light reflecting from the glasses perched on a perfectly straight nose.
When I’d seen the four men in Ivan’s living room, the Accountant had seemed the less dangerous of all. He’d been standing by the window, staring out at the view as if whatever was happening behind him didn’t interest him in the least.
Until Maksim started speaking to me, and he’d turned to look at me.
I was okay until the Accountant’s fingers wrapped around the back of my neck. Now my heart’s pounding, my hands are clammy with sweat, and I’m wondering when my life is going to flash in front of my eyes.
Suddenly this doesn’t seem like such a good idea anymore. My logical plan has more holes than a piece of Swiss cheese.
“Uh… I…”
“Save it for Maksim,” the Accountant says in the same flat voice as before. “He enjoys listening to pretty girls’ sob stories.”
The Accountant drags me down a dimly lit hall and into an elevator that has no buttons—only a panel against which he swipes a black keycard.
“Could use some elevator music in here,” I murmur.
The Accountant makes a sound that could have been a laugh, but was probably just him clearing his throat. Moments later, we step onto a lush white carpet. The hand on my neck guides me to the sleek glass-and-chrome doorway, frosted so I can’t see into the room beyond. A pair of guards stand on either side of the double doors, but they might as well have been statues for their response to us stepping out of the elevator.
Reaching past me, the Accountant opens the door and then ushers me inside, finally releasing the back of my neck. I rub at my skin, throwing a quick glance around the room. Two doorways lead off the large room where invisible air conditioners keep the air chilled and fresh. And when I look over at the girl standing near the door, it instantly makes me think that they’re trying to keep the produce fresh.
Judging from her tightened nipples poking at the fabric of her dress, the girl is definitely chilled enough.
A scent reaches me—cigar smoke. I turn to the source, and start when I see Maksim seated on a sofa nearby, his finger curled around the base of the fat cigar stuck in his mouth. His friend—the one with the scar—is sprawled on the cushions beside him, watching me and the Accountant step deeper into the room with an unsettling smile pasted on his mouth.
“I told you we’d see her again,” Scar says to Maksim.
“And that’s the first time you’ve been right in years,” Maksim quips without taking his blue eyes off me. They’re darker now than they were at Ivan’s penthouse—but I’m putting it down to the dim lighting inside this place. He’s wearing a different suit today… and there’s nothing subtle about it. Emerald green with a pale houndstooth pattern. It should make my eyeballs bleed. But he pulls it off effortlessly—even without a tie and wearing brown loafers with white socks.
I guess some people are so good looking, they could walk around in a trash bag with holes cut out for their arms and make it look like haute couture.
Better, in fact.
Maksim gives his friend a shove and then pats the now empty cushion beside him. “Come, sit. We have much to talk about.”
He’s right, we do. But I doubt we’re remotely on the same page.
“I’m fine over—” I begin, but the Accountant grabs my arm and drags me over the carpet, forcing me to sit with a hard push on my shoulder.
I bounce, grabbing the hem of my skirt and trying to tug it down my thighs.
God, what was I thinking?
“We haven’t been properly introduced,” the man with the scar says, sitting forward and holding out his hand for me to shake. “Richmond Colt, but you can call me Rich.”
“Or Cunt, but he doesn’t like that quite as much,” the Accountant murmurs as he takes a step back. He doesn’t sit—he seems happier to remain looming over me, I guess in case I decide to bolt for the door. Although the guard—the same who accompanied these three to Ivan’s house yesterday—would stop me long before I could even touch the handle.
Richmond’s expression hardens when I don’t shake his hand. I decide I’ll have to choose my battles, and shaking someone’s hand isn’t the hill I’m dying on today.
“Nice to meet you,” I lie. My gaze darts up to the imposing tower of a man who brought me here. I swear he wasn’t wearing glasses yesterday, but I could be wrong. “And you are?”
“Smith.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Smith.”
The guard at the door laughs, and Smith throws him a blank look. “Smith Hutchinson,” the Accountant says, arching an eyebrow like he’s waiting for me to argue with him.
“Smith,” I say, grimacing a little. “Sorry.”
He shrugs. I guess he’s used to it by now.
“And that’s Troy,” Rich says, although why he thinks he needs to introduce me to their bodyguard, I have no idea.
“So, uh, reason I’m here,” I begin, only to be cut off by Maksim.
“We know.”
“No, see, you really don’t. It’s—”
“It’s the money. It always gets them, doesn’t it, Smith?”
I glare up at the Accountant, daring him to get involved. The side of his mouth quirks, but he crosses his arms over his chest and remains silent on the matter.
At least one of them has some brains. “Look, Maksim, this has nothing to do with—”
“A hundred kay. That’s a good chunk of change.” Maksim drags his knuckle down the side of my cheek. “Think what you could do with all that money.”
I lean away from his touch. “I’d send you back to school so they could teach you some damn manners.”
The temperature in the room drops several degrees below freezing.
Whoops.
“I mean—”
Maksim gives me a slow smile. “If you’re not here for the money, then why are you here, cherry pie?”
I stifle the urge to remind him what my name is, and that it has nothing to do with pie. “You said Ivan has… clients that he works with. Do you keep some kind of record in this place?”
Smith answers. “Our records are private.”
Maksim raises a hand. “Hang on.” That hand lands on my thigh, and I struggle not to flick it off. “Exactly whose record are you so interested in?”
I shift, glancing behind me at Richmond, who’s been silent this whole time but whose gaze I can feel pinning the back of my head. I’ve never been good at card games, but I have the feeling giving away everything I know at once might be a bad idea.
“A woman Ivan met about six months ago. Calloway. She—”
Maksim chuckles. “Oh, sweetheart, Ivan hasn’t done a job for us in over a year.”
It’s like the bottom of the world falls out beneath my feet and I’m suddenly glad I’m already sitting. “But… I know they met.”
“And you know she was one of ours?” Maksim lifts his eyebrow, and then turns to Smith. “Calloway ring a bell?”
I turn in time to see Smith shake his head. “And none of our clients would seek out their entertainment without going through us first.”
“Then how do you explain the email I saw where they arranged to meet?” I cross my arms over my chest, and Maksim’s eyes take their time doing a circuit of my throat, my breasts, my belly before working their way back up to my eyes.
“I’m afraid we can’t help you,” Maksim says as he stands and walks over to a dry bar to pour himself a drink. Smith joins him a moment later, and I turn to look at Richmond when he stays where he is.
After studying me for a moment, Rich says, “Ivan is a man of many talents.” I flinch when he takes my necklace and runs his thumb over the gemstone. “Did he tell you he was working as a gemologist? He’s very good. Evaluated quite a few pieces for us over the years.”
I stare down at the man’s hand, the way he’s caressing the jewel.
This necklace was part of a set. I only stole the necklace that night, not the earrings. Come to think of it, I don’t remember seeing those earrings in my mother’s things when my father and I began selling stuff to pay for the mortgage. It’s possible he’d already sold them off before that to pay for some other gambling debt, but…
But what are the chances?
I sit back, the necklace dragging through Richmond’s fingers until it thumps against my breastbone. “Who would he sell the stuff to?” I ask. “The jewelry?”
If I can find my mother’s earrings, then I’ll know for a fact that Ivan saw her that night. Surely that would be the kind of evidence the police couldn’t ignore?
“He didn’t,” Rich says, shrugging it off like he’s gotten bored with talking about Ivan.
“Didn’t… what? Sell jewelry?”
“He’s an appraiser.” Rich smiles at me. “Much like me and Maksim. We look at something—” he tucks a section of hair behind my ear “—and put a price on it.”
When I pull away from his touch, something digs into the side of my breast. I stick my thumb behind the bustier, pausing when I touch the business card Angelo gave me.
“Then who bought the jewelry?” I ask, but with a sneaking suspicion I already know the answer.
“He had a business partner who’d shop around for the best price after he’d evaluated a piece.” Rich leans a little closer. “Now tell me, little Hannah… who’s this Calloway person?”
