8. Hellena

8

HELLENA

" S ing, I need you!"

The door bursts in almost immediately.

I knew he would be close by, but geez…

"What's the matter?" he asks urgently, looking around the room. His eyes come to rest on me.

Right before they nearly bug out of his head and he spins around, facing the door.

"What? Oh! Sorry." I almost giggle, realizing I'm only wearing panties and a bra, tearing through my closet. "Never seen a nearly naked woman before?"

"Need something?" It almost sounds like he's grinding his teeth.

"Yes! Call Margaret and tell her I need help getting ready for a meeting."

Sing turns his head halfway back, enough to give me a questioning look.

"I'll tell you in a minute. Next, I want you to go down and meet the guys who just came back. Take them to the kitchen. Get them whatever they want. Food. Booze. Then have them unwind in the rec room. Tell them they can relax for a bit."

I wave him away, turning and bending down into another drawer.

Through my legs, I see him dither, hesitate.

Sing starts to say something, then stops, shaking his head. With another quick glance back at me, definitely not at my cheeky-undies, half-covered butt cheeks, he dashes out.

Can't blame the guy.

My buns are a force to be reckoned with.

At least now I know he's human.

Throwing another dress onto the bed behind me, I slam the hangers back the other way. There are too damn many clothes in here. None of them are the look I'm going for, though…

Fuck it.

I'm throwing on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt as I hop out through the doorway, passing a very confused Margaret on the way out.

"Miss?"

"I'll be right back. Find me an outfit that says "I'm in charge, big-boss-bitch energy, please?"

"Of course!" she stutters, hustling into the explosion of fabric lying all over the floor and furniture.

I'll have to make it up to her later.

Slipping and sliding along the hardwood in my socks, I avoid the two guards making rounds on the upper level and dart into a long hallway. It's the only way up to the third floor and past a pretty little art gallery along the way.

At the top of the short staircase, I ease the door open and slip into the storeroom.

It's jam packed full of the old owner's stuff.

Overflow from the statues and furniture Marco's guy's made off with from raiding rich peoples' houses in SH. Most of it has already been forgotten about.

Including an old desk that looks like it survived the last two World Wars.

Fumbling with the latch behind the top drawer, I feel the side wall click open. Wiggling it free, I set the piece down, careful to avoid damaging the finish, revealing the secret compartment I discovered two days ago.

Full. Of. Cash.

As shocking as the revelation was, I couldn't for the life of me think of what to do with it.

Not initially.

Of course, the typical ‘run away and buy a new life' came to mind.

Hire a hitman to kill Marco.

But he probably owns most of them, anyway.

And from my position right now, it does me no good. Unless I use it to buy favor and loyalty.

Money talks.

And every one of these gun toting blockheads plays poker, gambles. I've overheard them grumbling about not having spending cash for the strip club in town. Apparently, the girls there are more than happy to extend their services after hours for the right fee.

Stuffing a few stacks in my shirt, I slide the sidewall back into place and check to make sure no one sees me coming or going.

It's no good if they figure out where my piggy bank is.

But as usual, no one is patrolling this level. Figures since there aren't any exits and the windows are too small for anyone to sneak in or out of.

I'm huffing and puffing a bit when I skid back into my rooms, startling Margaret.

"Marge, make me look like a badass!"

"Right away!" She smiles, getting caught up in my enthusiasm.

By the time Sing returns, knocking carefully this time, I'm clad in a smart, flowy, and low-cut blouse, coat, and slacks that billow just enough to give me an air of fabulousness and sex appeal while hammering home that I mean business.

Paired with a carefully coiffed updo, I examine myself in the mirror, nailing my own eyes with a look that I hope will inspire confidence. Maybe just a hint of fear.

Sing sniffs, drawing my attention around.

But instead of skepticism, he looks at me appraisingly, seriously.

"What do you think?" I wag my eyebrows in my best Ora Clive impersonation, exuding as much swagger as I can.

Sing's mouth turns down slightly in a vacillating expression before shrugging and nodding his approval. Then he just puts his hands out to the sides, looking around.

"What's it for?" I'm getting good at his charades. This time, I imagine what Alaya would say, to charm and off balance her audience. "I'm so glad you asked, my loquaciously challenged friend."

Leading right into Gavin's no-nonsense, let-me-tell-you-what's-going-to-happen tone.

"Once the scouts have had a chance to freshen up, I will see them in Mar—my office. I'll be waiting, so give me a signal." His eyes narrow at the comment, his lips parting to say something.

"Marco is not here. And he's probably been in meetings all morning. He really doesn't need a distraction while he's dealing with…" I wave absently. "Point is, he would want the report delivered if he were here. Orders given. We can't have men just lying about, waiting for something to do. It leads to laziness. It leads to fights and discontent."

Sing sighs, frowns.

But I can tell I won.

With a very sarcastic salute, he spins on one heel and disappears.

With him gone and Margaret seeing to my other errand, I rush from my room. I can't let my nerves get the better of me.

Besides, I've been in charge before.

I've coordinated huge events, juggled dozens of vendors, managed entire crews of frat boy jocks.

This is just like that.

Except those jocks are all hardened criminals with access to automatic weapons.

Straightening my coat, I push back my shoulders and force the shake from my legs to still as I head out of my wing and directly into Marco's area of the house.

I've been over here a handful of times to scope it out. Mostly out of curiosity and boredom.

And only when he is off on business.

I only hesitate for a second at the door, panicking for a moment before I turn the nob

I half expect it to be locked, half expect to find him there, waiting like a viper to strike.

Laying a trap for me.

But the office is quiet. Tidy.

Unfortunately, it also smells like his cologne.

The scent makes my hackles rise, makes my nose crinkle, and makes me want to pee my pants with fear. Too many bad memories from growing up in his house in California. Too many threats and words of menacing warning.

Too many backhands. And worse, the times he didn't strike me, when he cut me down to size with poisoned words and gaslighting.

Or just idle punishments of my mother instead of me for every infraction I made. I learned quickly to behave for her sake. I don't want to imagine what she endured for my sake.

A chill of sickening angst floods my chest.

I almost turn and run from the room.

No. Fuck that.

I won't let the faintest hint of him bring me to my knees. So I use it, firing up all my anger to clamp down on my doubt.

Taking my place behind his desk, I settle into the chair, crossing my legs a few different ways before leaning back. Closing my eyes, I concentrate.

I only have a few minutes.

But it's all I need.

Going to that place that Tell helped me find, I center myself first. Then, I get into the same headspace Evan and I used before we danced, before any performance.

In my mind's eye, I move through the motions of a dance routine I know too well.

Breathe.

Turn, bend, spin.

Breathe.

The character that has been forming over the past few days manifests, in all her furious facets. I draw from every person in my life to find the right attitude.

Planting my hands on the table, I open my eyes when Margaret opens the door, setting the cup of espresso on the table in front of me. Nodding once, I wave two fingers in acknowledgement and dismissal.

And the poor woman scurries from the room.

Breathe.

The men are gathering in the hall outside, making a fair share of noise, more than a few asking who they are reporting to. A short, soft voice says one word and they go silent.

Way to go, Sing.

Apparently, I'm not the only one who he scares.

Okay, Hellena.

Who are you going to be?

Not Marco. Not my style.

And not effective for some woman with no history with these men.

Using every lesson Tell shared with me about his craft, his talent, I sculpt the version of myself that I need for this purpose. A singular purpose.

Command respect. Gain the information I need.

And if that fails, buy their loyalty bit by bit with reward money.

Hey, I'm not above bribes.

In my pose, I raise my chin, relaxing my shoulders slightly, donning Aunt Rachelle's matronly air. It welcomes openness, truth, but doesn't allow for any excuses.

A strand of hair falls loose beside my face. Instead of tucking it away, I flick my head, cocking one eyebrow and letting the faintest sneer play on my lips. Alaya would be proud.

Lastly, I harden my gaze just as the first of the men steps into the room, just like Gavin would. Then, just to add a touch of drama, I sigh when I see them, like I'm put out just by their being there.

Exactly the way Evan did it when I first met him months ago. Bleed authority. Exude confidence.

"Gentlemen. I trust you have good news?"

"Who the fuck are you?" A large, hairy brute sticks out his bottom lip and his chin.

"Who the fuck am I?" I ask, feigning wide-eyed surprise, then dropping straight into the final touch of my persona. Xavier Clive.

"I'm the woman who will have your balls in a jar on my desk if you ever speak to me that way again. And I'll make you do it yourself ."