Chapter Twelve

CHAPTER TWELVE

B ack at Camp Ghreylke, Mahrci sat at the foot of the bed she’d been sleeping on top of for the last couple of days, her bare legs dangling off the end, her socked feet turned in as they always had. In her cupped hands, her cell phone was like a grenade with the pin still in, the kind of thing that wouldn’t explode as long as she didn’t turn it on.

Apex was right. Her father was going to show up here if she didn’t do something.

What the hell had she been thinking, coming up to his property here? Then again, he had so many estates, apartments, and buildings, it was nearly impossible to keep track of what he owned, and he didn’t come to Connelly even in the good months. As usual, the acquisition and the transformation of the property had been what had interested him.

Not the enjoyment. Never . . . the enjoyment.

The arrival of her unanticipated roommates was a reminder that, however far she could go, there was no escaping her reality. Not with Whestmorel as her father.

Not with the male he wanted her to get mated to.

Not with what she had done.

Taking a deep breath, Mahrci hovered her thumb over the button on the side of the iPhone. Then she pushed the thing in harder than she had to, and set the cell aside on the flannel duvet.

Looking around, she had no emotional reaction to the space. She had picked this room only because it was the first one she had come to as she’d bottomed out on the underground level. Like all the other daytime suites her sire had insisted on building, as well as the house above, everything was done in interior-decorator-Adirondack, the colors evergreen, crimson, and gold, the woodwork left natural, the furniture made of polished logs and branches with the bark still on them. Yes, technology controlled the temperature, the Wi-Fi, and the lighting, but every effort had been made to hide the screens and even the ductwork.

No expense had been spared, even though he didn’t care about the property.

And in this respect, she was just like his real estate portfolio. His art collection. His cars.

Well, she didn’t have a monogram branded on her butt like a head of cattle. And considering everything, that was kind of a surprise.

Putting her hand out to the side, she palmed the phone, and turned the goddamn thing over. As the cell connected with the Wi-Fi, calls, voicemails, and texts came in, the banners running like water—

Until things were cut off by a phone call coming through.

Closing her eyes, she swiped her finger across the screen and put the unit up to her ear—

“No voicemail this time? Is this really you, Mahricelle?”

The long vowels, clipped consonants, and high altitude attitude went through her nervous system like a charge of electricity, and she straightened her spine and set her shoulders back.

I can do this , she told herself.

Clearing her throat, she said, “Hello, Father—”

“I am sending a car at nightfall. I expect you to get in it and come back to Caldwell promptly. I will deal with you when you—”

Her heart thundered. “No.”

In the pause that followed, she imagined him at his desk in his study in Caldwell, a dark red, monogrammed robe tucked around his trim body, his black hair styled in a side part with nothing out of place, his elegant hand removing the reading glasses that sat at the end of his straight nose.

“I beg your pardon,” came the icy response.

She shook her head, even though he couldn’t see her. “I’m not coming back—”

“Yes, you are. And you are going to apologize to Remis, and beg him to forgive you. Then you are getting mated in a month.”

“I’m not d-doing any of that.”

There was another stretch of silence, as if her father were translating her words into a language he could understand.

“Then you are a trespasser.” The brisk throat clearing was something she had heard before. When he was addressing a subordinate. “And I will have my head of security remove you from my premises—and let us think that through, shall we. Where will you go? What will you live off of—and before you say the love and support of your aunt, I control the finances of this entire bloodline. If you think for one minute anyone will take you in or give you funds, you are mistaken.”

“I can find my way—”

“No, you cannot. The sooner you realize this, the faster we can all put this folly of yours behind.”

She got to her feet. “I’m packing my bags right now. I’ll clear out at sunset.”

There was a third pause. And then her sire’s voice gentled some. “Mahricelle. Be reasonable. The mating has been planned for—”

“And I won’t trouble you again.”

“Darling, I worry over you. I want only good things for you, so please, let us resume our course. Remis is a fine male of worth who can provide quite readily for you. Your future is with him—and your mahmen , if she were here, would be saying the very same thing.”

Lowering her head, Mahrci rubbed over her eyebrows. “I can’t do this. Anymore.”

That cold tone, the one she hated because it frightened her, came back. “I did not realize being provided for and having your every desire catered to was such a burden. I have invested in you. I have supported you your entire life. I would hate for you to know what it is like to be without that—”

“Support?” she snapped. “Is that what this is? Because it feels like coercion to me. What I want to know is why Remis is so important to you .”

As another call beeped in, she could guess who it was and she was not answering it. “If you like him so much, I think you should mate him yourself.”

Mahrci hung up on her father and got to her feet in a rush.

But it was daytime, so she was going nowhere fast.

She was stuck in a gilded cage.

“Well, look who’s winning the OCD award this morning.”

Directly above Mahrci, in the study, Apex looked up from the floorboards he was kneeling on. Mayhem was leaning against the room’s archway, a tall figure whose godforsaken mullet was damp, suggesting he’d just had a shower. With a chocolate pudding cup in one hand, and an ornate silver spoon in the other, he was sporting a royal blue bathrobe that was marked on the pec with the same crest that was on the estate’s gates. The plates. The sheets.

Like Whestmorel was afraid guests would forget who was paying for everything. Or maybe he felt like he owned people while they were under his roof.

“Why aren’t you putting yourself down for some beauty rest,” Apex muttered. “Maybe your hair will fix itself if you sleep on it wet.”

“You love my hair.”

“No, I don’t.”

When one of the male’s bare feet started tapping, the repetitive beat took Apex back to the drive up here and the damn drum set the guy made out of everything.

“What,” Apex demanded.

“Hm?” That silver spoon got licked clean. “Oh, nothing.”

As Mayhem just stayed where he was, with the tapping and the fucking pudding and the stupid pretentious robe, it was a case of NOT AGAIN: For the second time in twenty-four hours, Apex wondered how the problems of other folks were suddenly all over his proverbial windshield.

“What’s wrong,” he grumbled.

In response, Mayhem’s eyes traveled around the voluminous—natch—room, like he was taking note of the collection of old hardbacks. In reality, it was doubtful anything was registering. He was doing the same thing with the spoon, going around and around the plastic pudding cup, the little scraping noise like the cymbal to that bouncing foot thing.

“Can you stop that?”

The guy shook himself to attention. “Huh?”

Apex drew circles in the air. “The goddamn spoon, and your foot—and fuck off with that robe? You think this is a spa?”

“You need a vacation.”

Apex let his head fall forward. “That is not what I—”

“And the sauna was nice.” The guy pointed to the floor with the spoon. “I recommend a little relaxation down there.”

“I don’t need to relax!”

“Really? ’Cuz that’s a cute little lineup you got there. Are you getting ready to teach those pocket-rocket security cameras math or something? Nice classroom rows you’ve made.”

Apex motioned at the cameras—intending to fuck that one right off. Except . . . well, he had to admit things were pretty frickin’ tidy. He’d even lined up the four duffles he’d emptied.

“I had to count them to make sure I have what we need,” he groused.

“You didn’t do that before you left Caldwell?”

Of course he had. “No, I didn’t.”

“So you can’t sleep, either, huh.” Mayhem motioned with the spoon again. “So I’m guessing our job here is to mount them everywhere so they can take pretty pictures of things.”

“Look at you go, Einstein. What’s next, quantum physics?”

“And here I thought you brought me for my charming personality.” Mayhem came farther in, and tossed the container in a wastepaper basket by one of the leather chairs. “Why’s this such a secret?”

“Discretion is part of my job.”

“Even for people you’re hiring to help you?” Mayhem put the licked-clean spoon in the robe’s pocket. Then he went over to the last duffle that was set aside. As he started to unzip the top, he said, “Besides, I thought we were friends—”

“Stop.” As Mayhem went statue, Apex thought fondly of a deserted island, somewhere in the middle of the ocean, where no one could reach him. Even by cell phone. “That’s just my clothes. You can leave that alone.”

The male put his hands up. “Okay, boss. And have I mentioned I’m touched that you picked me, out of everybody else, to be the one who holds your stepladder while you screw these suckers in?”

“You’re gonna do more than that.”

“Annnnnd now we get into the meat of things.” Mayhem headed over to the cold hearth and paused to scratch the chin of the bobcat that was mounted on the river stone. “Finally.”

“You’re in charge of making sure the motherboard pulls it all together, and channels the feeds where they need to go.”

“Oh, that old bollocks again?”

“You’re good at programming.” Tragically so. “I’m not.”

“Why, thank you.” The male put his hand over his heart, right by that stupid stitched crest. “But again, you could have told me this before.”

When Apex grunted, the male leaned in. “You want me to change the subject, right?”

“Yes.”

“Fine, so who is she.”

Apex frowned. “Who—Mahrci?”

“No, the other female who’s under this roof with us.” Mayhem wandered over to the rustic desk and clicked the old-fashioned green-shaded lamp on. Off. On. Off. On. “She’s not just a housekeeper—”

“Will you quit it.”

“What?”

Apex waved his hand around like he was batting at bees. “The goddamn noise. Jesus, the tapping, the clicking, the—”

“You live alone, don’t you.”

“ Yes . And you’re reminding me why—turn that fucking lamp off and step away from the desk before I shoot you.”

Although no doubt the guy’d find something else to flick around with: A wall-mounted switch. That door over there. Maybe the fucker would go poor-man’s-Neil-Peart on the coffee table with that spoon.

Mayhem’s pensive look was not a good sign. “Tell me who she is.”

“Oh, come on—”

Click. The lamp turned off. Click . The lamp turned on—

“You know,” Apex pointed out, “they’re going to name a medical procedure after you if you keep that up. And it’s going to involve removing a light fixture from someone’s asshole.”

“Tell me.” Click . “I got nothing better to do—”

“You need to ask her. What the fuck does it have to do with me?”

P.S., wasn’t that the theme of his frickin’ life since he’d entered this zip code.

At least the male stopped with the lamp. “Look, I’ve always been fair with you. I just want to know why she’s here.”

As Mayhem went totally still, like not-even-breathing still, Apex let himself fall back on his ass. And before he could string a proper give-it-up together, the male cut in.

“I overheard her arguing on her phone.” Mayhem pointed to the floor, like it wasn’t obvious where he’d been. “Downstairs.”

“Stalking does not need to be added to your résumé of skills and training.”

“I was heading for the stairs to come find you.”

Apex shook his head. “She’s not for you.”

“I didn’t say I was interested in her.”

“Really. So why’re you asking me about—”

“I only want to know who wants her to leave here.”

“FYI, she speaks the same language you do. I’m not the person you need to be asking these questions.”

“I don’t want to seem invasive.”

“Going behind her back and pumping me for details is the very definition of that.” Apex picked up one of the cameras and thought about how fond he was of inanimate objects that just did their job without drama. “We’re here to set up this system and get the fuck out. That’s it.”

Well, that was true for Mayhem—and goddamn, he wished he had the guy’s techie skills. If he himself knew that much about computers, he could have avoided this claptrap altogether.

Mayhem glanced out of the archway he’d come through. “She was scared. The scent of fear was so strong, I smelled it out in the fucking hallway.” The male looked back. “And no, I don’t believe the housekeeper bullshit. You were surprised to see her. You’d have known she was up here, if you were coming to do this job and she was the staff. Also, there’s no food in the house. The beds weren’t made—and they would have been if she’d been in charge. I know you know the truth, and if I’m going to protect her, I want to be prepared.”

“No one’s asking you to do that, Mayhem.”

“Well, I’m volunteering because no one else is doing it.” Those eyes narrowed with a calculation that was a surprise. “You’re only in charge of taking care of her father.”

In the silence that followed, Apex got to his feet with a curse. He hadn’t expected things to get brass-tacks real, not with Mayhem. And that laissez-faire attitude, even more than the male’s IT abilities, was the real reason he’d picked the former prisoner.

Mayhem never cared about anything.

“Do you trust me,” Apex said softly.

There was a long pause, the other male’s stare not wavering. And then the guy shook his head. “You know, Apex, at another time, in another place, I would have said yes. If only because you wouldn’t waste time lying or screwing me over. But here, in this house? With whoever she is? I don’t think I do.”

Apex nodded once. “I respect that. And I’ll tell you something—not because we’re friends, but because it’s going to make what I’m doing here easier.”

“What.”

“Do not get involved with this family.” Apex put his palm out, and deepened his voice. “They are not who you think they are, and you do not want their problems.”