10. Hellena
10
HELLENA
" I doubt it."
Obnoxious does not even begin to describe DeSante.
What's worse… he's also unbelievably good-looking. Just like he said.
And magnetic.
And arrogant as hell.
Somehow, despite the fact that we're sitting at eye level, he manages to look down on me over the ridge of his perfect nose. That sits above perfect, full lips, above his perfect, squared chin on his whole perfect fucking face.
Like take your fucking breath away hot. Crisp clean, and effortlessly gorgeous. Too bad he's also a prick. I can't tell whether he's toying with me, teasing me, or if he's just an asshole.
He looks across the desk at me with… disdain. I've never seen a look that embodies that word better. I do my best not to squirm under his gaze, but it's a challenge.
I won't let him win.
Too bad I already feel like he has, sitting there like a male model fantasy. Usually, I don't go for these kinds of guys, so well-trimmed, but he's just… wow. His attitude contrasting with the way he looks makes me want to simultaneously slap the look off his face and strip him down and let him have his way with me.
And now I'm scrambling, because where the hell are these thoughts coming from?
Control! Focus.
That's just it, though. It's his control, mastery of himself and the situation, that has me riled up and competitive. I want that kind of control. He's pure control.
It's absolutely enthralling the way he commands the room, maneuvers through our conversation.
" Hellena ?" I stare for a second, realizing he asked me a question. "Do we have a deal? I have other appointments."
I give myself just a few seconds to think it over before I snap back at him with what I really want to say. Which is, I think you're a pretentious prick. And I think you can take this job and your magical little favors and shove them up your ass.
Something about him fires me up. Makes me want to show him. It makes me snap back every time he prods. And it makes it impossible for me to turn this down, even if I didn't need the money.
What he does is exactly what I want to do.
But I'm done rolling over for people.
"Your other appointments can wait," I start, and his eyes widen a fraction. "First, I don't do anything I'm uncomfortable with. I'm simply expanding my field, my client base, if you will. Second, you teach me everything you know. I want to know everything about this place. About you. Third, I make a livable wage since this job is my form of paying my debt to you. And finally, you know people. I need assurances that I'll be left alone by my… would-be assailants. For good." I raise my chin, straightening my back. He said negotiate. Fine.
DeSante's lip twitches. A smile, or annoyance? "Is that all?"
"No. I want to know more. About whatever the … Sinful is." He flinches. I could tell when he said it before that it was a slip. "Who or what is the Sinful?" I hope I haven't pushed too hard.
"Sign the contract. Then I'll tell you." He slides it across to me.
Shit. I wanted time to read it.
The point is moot when I look it over. It's absurdly simple.
It's my name, and a statement. The strange symbol from his card adorns the top of the page.
I, Hellena Michaels, do so swear and commit to the terms laid out between myself and the Herald of the organization, to be fulfilled in full to the absolution of debt and heretofore the vow inherent to citizenship in Sanctum of Safe Harbor, the pledge of silence and safekeeping.
Consecrated on this day, the 1st of May.
My brain is spinning.
"What does this mean ?" I mutter, looking up at DeSante, sensing the shift in the room. It's notably colder, or I'm just chilled. His demeanor has shifted, too. He's practically glaring at me, more intense than before.
"It means you make a choice. Right this instant. Sign. Or walk out that door."
A sinking sensation swells in my gut. This is… insane.
And knowing what I already do, will he really let me leave?
Memories race through my head as I grapple with making a sudden choice. Pieces of a puzzle that I've seen hints of since I moved here. It was too easy to write them off as coincidences, and I was too worried about making it, surviving and making a life, trying to forget about my past.
But Sanctum Harbor is more than a little strange.
First in the way it stays so insular. Families stay for generations. New people rarely move here.
Then it's the way people act. I just thought it was a West Coast thing, maybe? The stares. Knowing glances, more than just small city gossip, like they know who you are.
Despite that, everyone stays in their own lane to a degree.
Like businesses, the police, even crime.
Something like what I think DeSante is hinting at would make a lot of sense, even if it sounds ridiculous.
It's all balanced .
Like a game.
And just like that, something else clicks about the way DeSante has rigged this whole meeting.
He's making moves. He wants me to play . Oh, I can play on a whole other level.
I need to stop letting him get a rise out of me. If this is a game, despite the fact that I'm at a huge disadvantage and that I will always be on the losing end of this relationship, I need to do everything I can to take away his game pieces. To control the board.
Maybe that way, I can get a leg up, figure out what's going on in this town and see how I can use this to my advantage. I just have to bide my time and be patient.
Just like that, my mission, my goal settles back on my shoulders like armor.
Nothing has changed except the stakes.
A small smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as he sees me clearly still myself again. He squints for a second like he misread me, then hands me a pen. Instead of an ink tip, it only has a needle.
It's ridiculous. It's melodramatic.
And it fucking works. I can't leave. I have to know more .
I barely flinch when I prick myself. My bloody thumbprint marks the page.
"Welcome to the Sinful, Hellena." The smile he gives me is genuine, if a little ominous. His perfect white teeth draw my eyes to his full lips.
"Thanks. So?"
"So. Follow me. I'll show you around the office. Give you the tour and the orientation, if you have time?"
Like he doesn't know that I have all the time in the world.
The space is deceiving, appearing to only be the foyer at the top of the stairs, his office, and one other room. I was too frazzled to see the other door tucked away between the offices. A lovely older woman ticks away at her keyboard at the front desk, only looking up long enough to give me a little wag of her eyebrows.
A hallway stretches behind the door, other entryways lining the walkway. "Here we have work space, training areas, archives. You'll find anything you might need for the most part, or just ask me and I'm sure we can accommodate you."
Along the right side, I note the small rooms that almost look like practice rooms from the music department. Some look more like study rooms from the library. On the left, one room opens into a huge space, and I can just make out mirrors stretching the length of one wall.
"Is that…?"
"A dance studio. Yes. I really meant it. We have the means for just about anything, but hosting, entertaining is my personal passion. It keeps a steady cash flow moving and keeps my specialists fed. Unfortunately, providing favors also requires paying performers, researchers, and private investigators. Unavoidable."
We reach the end of the hallway and he swings open another door. "This will be your office. It adjoins mine, through there."
"My office?" He flicks on the light, revealing a large room, a desk, worktable, shelves, a computer. It's bigger than I thought it would be. At the back around behind the two rows of shelves, I can just make out a door cleverly concealed in the wall.
"Of course. This is a job . You'll show up and work . Sounds mundane, I know. You'll see that making dreams come true involves a lot of paperwork." He leans casually in the doorway, allowing me to explore.
I circle the room once, imagining what I will possibly be doing here from now on, the vague and open-ended nature of my new job that I know so very little about. Pausing in front of the desk, I turn, sitting back against the edge and running my hands over the wood.
"You said you'd tell me once I signed."
I lean forward just a little bit, giving him my best impression of the look he's been giving me since the start. Bored. Put out. And pressing out my tits, just to mess with him.
I've never been one to use my sexuality as a weapon. I mean, the cleavage sticking out of my blouse doesn't hurt to flaunt a little bit, though. Not that I have too many expectations that someone as controlled as DeSante would be affected by such a blatant maneuver.
I catch him blink. Once. Twice. Like he's forcing himself to hold my eyes instead of looking down. Maybe he's not as rigid and robotic as I thought. I sort of thought he might be gay to begin with.
His nostrils flare slightly as he tucks his hands into his pockets and clears his throat. "Right. I did, didn't I? Typically, I use other names and entities when dealing with clients or vendors. You would have come across the common thread eventually. The Sinful… runs Sanctum Harbor. Always have. Most heads of family are members in some form, although they don't always know us by that name, like I said. The local Lodge falls under us. Most social clubs. Even the business bureau reports to us. Municipal services all operate under our purview." His tone is still condescending, like he's teaching a lesson to schoolchildren. Ugh. He is going to drive me nuts.
"Why are you telling me the… behind the scenes version? Why not keep me in the dark, or sell me a different story?" I sit back a bit, crossing my arms.
"Honestly, you caught me in an error. I had planned to misguide you, only tell you what you needed to know."
I strongly doubt that. It's got to be another chess move, but I let him continue. He shrugs, waving the thought away as if it doesn't matter. "Since you'll be working directly with me, it would have been more trouble than it's worth to misdirect you." Closer to the truth.
"Good. I assumed you'd be a manipulative liar, so I appreciate your being candid." I know I said I wouldn't get riled, but come on!
He needs an ego check, anyway.
DeSante's cheeks pull in as he purses his lips, taking a deep breath. "I won't dignify that by defending myself. You'll see me for who I am or you won't."
"Likewise." I'm not sure I didn't just imagine the smoldering flick of his gray eyes down my body as I say it.
Heat rises at the back of my neck, both from the idea of him stripping me down with his eyes and the fact that he talks down to me, that he thinks he's better than me.
His stare is reproachful, but there's a heat there that I can't deny.
I must be misreading the situation. He's clearly just getting off on manipulating me.
A wave of his hand has us heading through the secret door back to his office. There's a brick room between, lined with cabinets, all locked. Files, presumably.
Files with more information on Sanctum Harbor. The Sinful.
It doesn't escape my notice that he really didn't tell me anything about it, really. He gave me the blanket statement. I'll have to dig deeper.
"Now, as to the matter of your protection," he chats back over his shoulder, "the danger to your life, your friends, and family will be eliminated. I will make sure that those troublesome types never mess with you again once you set up a meeting and pay them. Let me know when, and I'll get the funds ready. Otherwise, I can also provide you with a place to stay. We have a few properties we keep for client use or when I bring in an "act" from out of town."
"I'm fine where I am, thanks."
"Please, staying with your little watchdog in the sticks outside of town?"
Immediately, my hackles rise. How does he know about Gavin?
Of course. It's his prerogative to know everything about me since he's lending me $20,000. He probably knows what color underwear I'm wearing.
The idea sends shivers down my back. Thrilling and terrifying.
"You don't need a sledge hammer when you have a nail gun, is all I'm saying. The man's a Neanderthal."
"And you're the nail gun?" My tongue pokes the inside of my upper lip. The joke's right there, as is the implication.
"Funny." He quirks an eyebrow, not even cracking a half smile. He's good. And he knows exactly what everything about him does to make me unnerved. I'm sure I do nothing for him , but I am positive I'm getting under his skin a little. Good.
"My ‘watchdog' would absolutely fold you in half. And I'm not gonna let you badmouth a friend of my family's, my friend. He offered me a place to stay, and I genuinely feel safe there."
Even if I am a little bit scared of Gavin. That's kind of the point, though, right? "Besides, who I get protection from and where I stay are none of your business."
"Hmm. How naive. Everything about you, your life, your work, where you stay, who you talk to, is my business, Hellena. You work for me now. I have an image to keep up."
Anger flares up again, flushing my cheeks like I hate. "Let me get one thing clear with you. I owe you, but you don't own me, Mr. DeSante."
DeSante opens the door to his office for me, stepping to the side to let me pass. The proximity is flustering, feeling the pull of his height, his hard, sharp lines, the scent of his cologne. I'm too mad, too turned on, too… UGH!
He's standing so close that a zap of static pops between our clothes. The warmth of his body, our bodies, suddenly makes the entryway unbearably hot.
"I'll, um, see you tomorrow, then, Mister DeSante," I force out, trying my best not to let my voice quaver.
I see him smirk out of the corner of my eye as he leans in way too close and whispers, "You know what? Call me Evan ."