Nate

“What did the scumbag do?” I ask, my hands tucked under my head as I lie in bed. I shouldn’t wanna know what Pea’s deal is, shouldn’t favor listening to her story over diving into a book. But I do. Godfrey had said that she’s from Blackhawk. That she’s the daughter of a loaded politician. How did she end up as a low-class drug dealer who managed to piss off some of the most dangerous men in the United States?

I shouldn’t listen to her ramblings, and I definitely shouldn’t have let her rest her head against my shoulder. Toss into this list a few more shouldn’t haves: I shouldn’t have almost kissed those pinks when my cock ached so bad to dig into that tight dress, and I shouldn’t have almost choked her with my lust for her. But I did all of those things, because she’s the center of my social life. Whatever fucked up relationship I’m forming with my hostage, she’s the closest person to me right now. Pathetic? Sure. But it’s the truth nonetheless.

“I dropped out of UCLA and moved to London to live with Camden.” I hear her voice seeping from my cracked floor. The fact that Irv’s always at work when we talk is a god-fucking-send. “I thought I loved him. And as you may know, in love, logic is almost always the first casualty. My parents weren’t happy about me dropping out, but they didn’t try to stop me either. My dad was too wrapped up in his campaign, too smitten with the idea of the Archers and Burlington-Smyths strengthening their ties. And my mother. . .” She drifts off with a bitter chuckle. “Who knows where she was at the time. She battled depression and a herd of demons that seemed to have followed her into every rehab facility she checked in to. I remember the first time I realized my mom wasn’t coming back. It was on my sixteenth birthday. All I got from her was a letter. Not even a phone call. I think she lives in North Carolina now. She sometimes sends Christmas cards, and I hate it. It makes me remember her. Christmas is my least favorite time of the year.”

Mine too, and for the same reason.

It reminds us we lost our mamás.

I press my palm to my cold sheets and close my eyes, thinking about how she looks like right now. Her legs sprawled on her blanket—golden, smooth and soft. My cock swells inside my low-hanging sweatpants. The only reason I ain’t fondling my meat to the sound of her raspy voice is because she’s confiding in me and that’s a little fucked up. Okay, a lot fucked up.

“One month absorbed the next. I didn’t make friends. I didn’t re-enroll in school. All I did was sit around and wait for him to arrive from work every day. I was sickly in love, Beat. It was the worst form of love. The kind of love that doesn’t give, but consumes. The kind of love that quickly turns into hate. Everything else—family, hobbies, friends, the outside world—was just a distraction I resented, pulling Camden away from me. Fast forward eighteen months, and guess what?”

“Spill it.”

“I came back home from a Chelsea shopping spree one day to find him nailing a glamour model from Page Six on our kitchen island.”

I smirk to myself, eyes still shut. I don’t know much about this girl, but it’s safe to say she set his balls on fire, just a starter to the main course of torture she had in mind for him. Pea’s bold. She’d walk through fucking fire in kitten heels with a smile on her face and wouldn’t even break a sweat. I saw it in the way she handled Godfrey and Seb.

“I closed the door quietly, stepped back and descended the stairs. Waited at a coffee shop across the street until I saw the skank leaving my apartment. I didn’t want him to know that I knew.”

“Because?”

The room hushes before I hear the smirk on her lips. “Because where’s the fun in that?”

For the next half hour, Pea tells me about the digging work she’s done, looking up Camden’s bank statements, hiring a PI and doing pretty much everything a crazy bitch can to plow out dirt about her lover.

“He had seven side-pieces in total. Didn’t use a rubber with any of them. I wanted to plan the perfect revenge. Something epic. The man who claimed to love me, who wanted to marry me, missed my nineteenth birthday so he could shack up with an exotic dancer in Shoreditch. He was late to our anniversary dinner because he had an orgy with two Polish tourists. Meanwhile, he was spreading promises, spewing lies, holding me captive with his charm. . .no, I couldn’t just let this end with a slap and a hate letter.”

She giggles, her voice rising from my floor, and to my horror, this time it makes a brief stop in my chest before migrating down to my groin for a cock-twitch.

“Do that again,” I order.

“Do what?”

“That giggle.”

She giggles again, no questions asked. Fuck.

“I take it back. Don’t do that again,” I grunt. The need to charge downstairs and fuck her is overwhelming.

“Over the next few months, I played the dutiful girlfriend. Went the extra mile and then some. Gave the best head. . .”

I adjust my junk in my sweats. I don’t even know Camden Archer, but if she won’t pull the trigger, I’d be happy to kill him myself.

“My boyfriend finally cracked. It took time, but he did. Camden asked me to marry him. I said yes, but that I needed to do something with my time. And what better way to spend it than doing something for him? He agreed to let me help him out with his business and signed a few power of attorneys granting me access to some of his bank accounts. He didn’t get me anywhere near the shady business. Didn’t trust me, no doubt, as I find it hard to believe this man would protect me from anything or anyone. Nonetheless, I became privy to his businesses. Now, I had access, a motive and the due diligence. It was time for the grand finale.”

I swallow, knowing exactly where it’s heading. She tried to hit him and took a blow. The ricochet was too much, and she crumbled.

“Did you know that the last time I saw my mom, I was fifteen, and the last time I spoke to her was before I was of drinking age? Camden was my first honest attempt at a genuine human relationship with someone who wasn’t Preston…and it boomeranged straight into my face, breaking every single bone in the process.”

“Tell me you didn’t cut off his balls,” I grunt. Not that it’d deter me from asking her to suck on mine, but that’s pretty much the only reason I can see for Godfrey and Sebastian hate her so much. Pea giggles. Again.

My heart stutters. . .again.

My cock twitches to that adorable sound. . .again.

“One day Camden came back home to find it completely empty. I had moved out and gotten on the first flight back to the US. I also donated all of his furniture, clothes and belongings to the Octavia Foundation, because I’m a sweetheart like that. The bank accounts I had access to were emptied, the money thrown into an offshore British Virgin Islands account in my name. By the time he found out he was a lot less rich and very much single, I was sipping a virgin Bloody Mary in first class. I was smart enough not to go back home, though.

“I went to live in New York. The apple was big and I bit into it with gusto. London opened my big-city chakras and I was more than happy to disappear into the throng and melt into being another faceless, pea-coat wearing student. I picked up a few college courses and lived off Camden’s fortune that I stole, keeping in touch with my brother and father by phone.

“Until one day, Dad called and said there was an emergency. Preston had disappeared. No one knew where he was.

“I hurried back home, taking the first flight to San Francisco and crying my eyes out all the way there. I’d felt guilty enough about leaving Preston in the first place when I’d moved to London, but this was too much.

“I walked into my family home for the first time in over two years, and Preston wasn’t there. But you know who was? Godfrey, Sebastian and Camden.”

I suck in a breath, eyes burning until my lids give in and flutter.

“I marched straight into an ambush, perfectly orchestrated by my own dad. He kept crying and banging his head against the wall, chanting that he was sorry, which only infuriated me even more. Dad said they told him they’d kill him if he didn’t rat me out. Better me than him, right?”

I don’t answer, because I have zero control over what’s about to leave my mouth.

“The men sat me down and explained that despite everything, Camden still loved me, forgave me, even. Can you believe that?” A bitter laugh escapes those pinks. “Forgave, but didn’t forget. Which was why things were going to be a little different from that point forward. He was going to keep me as his ‘stateside piece.’ What he did to me then—” She chokes on a sob. My chest fucking hurts. Why you, Country Club?

“He broke me. They all did. Him, Godfrey, Seb. . .they locked me in an apartment, not too far from Godfrey’s office, and I became entertainment. Pure, cheap, entertainment. A pet. No cell phone, no friends, no family. Just me and my two thuggish guards. And they came for me. They came every week.

“Sometimes it was Camden, who paid a visit and played with my body.

“Sometimes it was Godfrey who wanted to have fun.

“I was a whore. A nothing, a no one. The only one who didn’t touch me was Sebastian. No. Sebastian liked watching. Hetero sex was not his thing, he didn’t get off on watching them fuck me. He got off on watching them hurt me. My pain brought him pleasure, and when I screamed, he came. Until, after a while, I stopped screaming. Just to spite them.”

Kicking off my covers and springing to my feet, I punch a wall before stalking to the bathroom to run for cover. Her voice chases me.

“Godfrey said that time was of importance, so we had a timeframe. Every time he walked into the bedroom to strip me of my clothes and humanity, he turned over a three-legged, thirty-minute hourglass on a nearby dresser. He said that it’d all be over in thirty minutes or less, because he didn’t want to waste too much time on a whore like me. I had to look at that hourglass every day and every night and hate it silently. Every time I broke an hourglass, he brought two along the next day. By the time I broke free, the room was littered with dozens of them, staring at me, taunting me, reminding me that life was happening and that time was moving on without me. The funny thing was that Camden didn’t know his dad was raping me. He thought I was exclusively his. When I tried telling him about his dad, he didn’t believe me. Said that not all fathers were bastards like mine. Then Godfrey would punish me for ratting him out.”

I punch the mirror above the sink. A web of blood cracks my reflection, disturbing my false looks with the truth of my ugliness. If Pea’s telling the truth, I’m the biggest asshole to walk this earth, and Godfrey Archer’s a dead man.

“I never stood a chance, Beat, until I did. One night, I took a risk. I did something they couldn’t foresee or expect.

“I fought back.

“I didn’t even have a butter knife at the apartment, but I did have plastic cups. I stole a lighter from one of my guards and prepared a weapon in the bathroom. Burned the plastic of the cup, molded it into a spear. . .”

Storming out of the bathroom, I slide into my boots with every intention of getting out of here.

“Camden arrived and forced himself on me. Only this time, I was prepared. When he closed his eyes and moaned my name, I took the spear out of the linen and shoved it into his chest. He rolled off of me, and it was only when I watched him bleeding on the floor, that I realized I stabbed his right side and not the left. I wanted the left, Beat. I wanted the left,” she says, crying loudly.

Don’t go down.

Don’t care.

Don’t. Fucking. Care.

“I plucked the gun he always kept in his holster when he came to see me and threatened the guards behind the door with it when I broke free. They let me run away. Somehow, I was out of that place. Somehow, I was free.

“I hid under a bridge for two days. No money. No food. No friends. I couldn’t contact my dad for obvious reasons. On day three, I arrived at Preston’s preppy school during his lunch break and told him I needed help. He was in Blackhawk all along. Dad sold him out so I’d come and see him. Preston agreed to help. The same afternoon he came back with five grand in cash. It was more than enough to see me through the next month. I told Preston he could never talk to me again, at least until I sorted this out. I hid at Motel 6. The minute I walked in the room and turned on the TV, I saw what was left of my life hitting the five o’clock news. A story about how my dad was suspected of drug trafficking and was forced to step out of his position as mayor of Manor Hill. By then, he’d already filed for bankruptcy after Godfrey forced him to hand over all the money I stole from Camden. Dad paid my debt.”

I breathe quietly, standing in my boots in the middle of the murky hallway, not making a move. Such a fighter. Such a goddamned fighter.

“Why didn’t you go to the police?”

“We both know the police are on Godfrey’s payroll,” she huffs. “I was going to take them down myself. I’d spent that month planning. I knew when Camden was going to be in California, because I’d listened to them talking about their plans when they were at the apartment they locked me in. While I was sitting in the bedroom, flipping channels, they were in the living room, planning their next drug-trafficking escapade. With a little help from a local motorcycle club called Cutthroat Bandits, who had beef with Godfrey and his wiseguys, I not only had the when, but also the where. A warehouse in Stockton. The Cutthroat Bandits wanted nothing more than to kill the three villains in my life, get them out of the way. And me? I paid them every single penny I managed to put my claws back on from that British Virgin Islands’ account to help me.”

Fuck my life. She really was planning a bloodbath.

“Camden, Sebastian and Godfrey came to the warehouse where they were selling drugs to a local Latino gang. I showed up with the Cutthroat Bandits. We waited behind bushes and trees until the Latinos left, and the minute the loud rumble of their Harleys drove out of earshot, we climbed out of the bushes with semi-automatic weapons pointing at them. We walked in a straight line, cornering them back in the warehouse. You should’ve seen the look on their faces when they saw me pointing a barrel straight at Godfrey’s balls.

“The Bandits did the talking. They said that the streets of NorCal don’t belong to some British dude. They belonged to them. But all that time. . .all three men stared at me. Fire broke between the two gangs—Godfrey’s soldiers and the Bandits—but when I saw the three cowards running up to the roof to hide from the bullets, I charged after them.

“I got to Godfrey first. He was the slowest of the three. Caught him pacing back like a cornered animal. I had a loaded gun in my hand, and that’s how I found out, Beat, that I’m a switcher. I inched closer. My smile was manic. ‘Time,’ I repeated his own words. ‘Moves differently according to circumstances.’ I took a few more steps in his direction, and he couldn’t do a thing. He was weaponless. Weak.

“‘But sometimes, all the time in the world can end with just…a little…push.’ I pushed him from the rooftop, and he landed inside a trash container. Next in line was Seb, who charged up to the roof to try and save his boss. I pushed Seb down and he landed on Godfrey. I didn’t hear a sound from Godfrey, so I presumed him dead, but just in case, I shot in their general direction. I had shit aim, and it was dark.” She hisses a breath.

“And then?” My fists clutch. I’m itching to kill these bastards more than she is.

“I called the police and ran away. The place was full of drugs, but empty of Camden, who managed to escape. I grabbed a few bags of God-knows-what, knowing that I had no money at this point and that I had to make a quick buck after the deal I struck with the MC. The police arrived and saw everything. Godfrey and Seb were still alive, and they were at a crime scene with enough drugs to last the whole fucking 60’s. That’s how Godfrey and Seb ended up in prison, and that’s why they’ll never rest until I’m dead.”

There’s no point asking why they didn’t rat her out. They wanted her for themselves.

I know what I need to do. What my conscience begs me to do. This day has been full of good and bad. I killed bad people, and now I have the chance to redeem myself by saving a good one. But it’s not that simple. My neck is on the line here, too.

And the fact that I want to fuck the shit out of her? Another complication that can backfire in my face. Do I want to help her or do I simply want her?

“Go to bed, Pea,” I order dryly, walking back to my room, shoulders slumped.

Things just got a whole lot more complex.

Thanks a fucking lot, Country Club.

A platinum-blonde secretary in fancy clothes and with enough makeup to layer a fucking cake greets me behind a massive reception desk made out of deep oak. The title Royal Realty is splashed in golden letters over the fancy wood.

There is nothing royal about the asshole I’m about to confront.

“Good afternoon, Sir. How can I hel—” I don’t even spare the woman a second glance. I simply charge through the double doors straight into God’s office. I tell myself that it’s not about Prescott. He’s been jerking me around for far too long. I need answers.

The woman shoots up behind me, slowed by her heels and fears. Yeah, I wouldn’t mess with me either.

“Sir! You can’t go in there. Mr. Archer’s in a meeting!”

I can see that for myself. I’m standing on the threshold, watching Godfrey behind his desk, two suited men sitting in front of him, in the middle of a heated discussion, which I just broke. The men twist their heads in my direction, and God stares me down like I’m a dog he’s about to smack with a rolled newspaper.

He’s lucky he has guests. If he were alone, I would’ve made a nice rug out of his dead body by now for what he did.

“Welcome, Nathaniel. I don’t recall you making an appointment to see me today.” He sounds composed and tranquil. But his hands are dancing. Pupils darting everywhere.

“A word,” I grit, my eyes bleeding anger. Every second I stand here instead of killing him is a fucking testament of my strength. The secretary’s still behind me, and I watch her in the edge of my periphery making hysterical signals to Godfrey with her hands and mouth, telling him she tried to stop me. Godfrey nods curtly, then turns to the men.

“Gentleman, I apologize, but there seems to be some kind of an emergency. During my unfortunate time at. . .” He scowls, before he continues, “San Dimas prison, I used my time and authority to try and help the young inmates. Nathaniel was one of them, and I trust he has a very good reason to turn to me so suddenly and spiritedly. Please excuse us. Melanie will show you out and reschedule our meeting.”

They all shake hands, while mine is aching to sucker punch him. After a round of pleasantries, the door shuts behind us and Godfrey’s agreeable mask falls, his true colors dripping from every wrinkle of his face.

“I’d slit your throat right here if the very carpet you stand upon wasn’t worth more than your whole, miserable existence, you sad piece of shite.”

I throw my head back and laugh. I’m not Irvin or another brainless muscle guy. I ain’t scared. Pissed? You bet, but not scared. “Godfrey, cut the crap. I ain’t one of your San Dimas groupies.”

“You’re a no one, that’s who you are.” He rolls his plush executive chair back and swivels, giving me his back. He pins a vinyl record into a gramophone. Four Seasons by Vivaldi fills the air. The only reason I know this shit is because he used to listen to this when we were working together in San Dimas.

“Why are you here?” he barks.

“When was the last time you checked on the AB?” I pace deeper into the room and he turns around to face me again. His brows furrow. His back falls to his chair as he exhales.

Underlying question: Did you send them or are you just a useless prick?

“Do I look like I work for you, lad?” he finally asks, his pupils assessing my reaction closely.

“No, I’d never hire someone like you.” My ass hits the chair in front of him as I sprawl back and make myself comfortable. “I’m the one who clearly works for you, under the assumption that I’m in your debt. That’s because you claim to protect me from the Aryan Brotherhood. However. . .” I trail off, leaning forward and smashing my palm against his desk when I catch his eyes drifting downwards trying to text message. The little bitch wants security to throw me out. He jumps in response, staring at me with heated eyes. “That can change. Maybe you’re not as powerful as I thought you were. Maybe you can’t keep me safe.”

“You know, Nathaniel, everybody loves the second concerto of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons best. It’s that part they keep using in car commercials. The summer part. Everybody loves the summer. But the thing about art is”—Godfrey tosses his phone across the table and gets up—“it’s quite subjective. For instance, I hate the summer, and I hate car commercials. My favorite part? The winter. Winter people are dangerous. They’re not afraid of the rain, the snow or even little blonde storms. The minute you stray from my plans, Nathaniel, the minute you walk away from our arrangement, after everything I’ve done for you. . .” He looks around, like there’s a crowd watching, and drops his voice an octave. “Caution is advised.” He winks.

I stand up and wipe everything off his desk. Folders, a full coffee mug, a laptop and a pile of documents all thrown, and crashing to the floor. “You never did anything to protect me from them.” My face twists with rage.

Godfrey sits back and knots his fingers together, looking smug. “Know your place, pawn.”

I know my place, all right. Now I know everything about where I stand, and it’s nowhere near where he wants me.

Fifty thousand dollars. Fake new passport. I know this rich kid has the money.And I’ve already seen a fake passport in her duffel bag. Prescott’s legit. What’s more? She’s fucking relatable.

As if reading my mind, he asks, “How’s our girl?” sounding creepily cheerful. “Camden can’t wait to come here. Shame, really, about this whole wedding. Such a hassle, but it’s got to be done.”

“She’s alive,” I grit, remaining vague.

“Tried any funny business? Run away? Seduce you? Convince you to team up with her?” He cocks one brow and strokes his chin thoughtfully. All of the above. And why wouldn’t she? I’m about to hand her over to this motherfucking nutjob.

Or am I? Godfrey doesn’t seem to do much for me these days.

“You know, Nathaniel, I could’ve kept her in a million different places and waited until Camden’s arrival. I chose you lot because it’s a test. You’ve always been a loose cannon. I reckoned it’d be wise to test the water before I threw you into the deep end, into the more important fields of my business. Are you going to fail me, inmate?” His chin drops down, inspecting me. I smooth my hand on my chest, smirking.

“Don’t test me, Archer. I’m not your fucking student.”

I turn around, about to leave, when his voice freezes me in place.

“I hope she didn’t mention her child,” Godfrey grunts. “Poor little Prescott can say just about anything to get her off the hook.”

Her child? I want to ask him what the fuck but know him better than to think he’d give me straight answers. She’ll be spitting the information tonight, all right. I turn around and veer back to my reason for being here.

“So you don’t protect me from the AB but still expect me to be your guard dog?” I summarize.

“I do protect you from the AB, to an extent. They are business.” He taps his fingers against his lips. Drugs. “You can’t expect me to jeopardize my business for you, Nathaniel. I keep an eye on them for you. But you are right about one thing—you’re still mine, still work for me, and the minute that changes, you’re dead.”

A cell phone starts ringing from the pile on the carpet and he sends a fragile arm, bending down to answer it. I’d pick it up for anyone else, but not for him. I stand, tall, young, proud, and watch him flailing his arms while leaning one hip downwards miserably, struggling to pick it up.

“Now, now,” he says, waving his cane in the direction of the entrance, finally gluing the phone to his ear. “I have some wedding arrangements to discuss. Off you go. Oh, and Nathaniel? Don’t switch teams. Ours is awfully powerful.” He winks before I shut the door behind me.

Bastard.