5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Ethan

A s much as I said that I've got work to do, I didn't mean it in a business sense. I know where Caleb went, and as much as him and I are on the outs, I wanted to go. Pulling up to the police station, I see it's a flurry of activity. Da's with him, and I know that they came in da's car, since I see it parked next to what I assume is Clyde's cruiser. When I walk in, da sees me first. "Ethan. Peg okay?" He asks, concern on his face.

"Sleeping. Laney gave her a bath."

He nods. "Caleb's waiting to see Nathan Mackenzie."

"How come you're out here?" I ask, as we stand in a room, packed with officers, administrators, and people here to pay tickets and do other administrative things.

"Waiting for Clyde to give me a rundown on what these idiots are going to do next. I've already put a call in to Young. He's on board. He'll be back from Scotland in a couple of days."

"Can I go inside with Caleb?"

Da looks at my face. "Are you sure that's a good idea? You look like you went on a round with Mike Tyson, son."

I wave. "It'll be fine, da. He got it out of his system."

"You just be sure and never let a lass come between you and your brothers." Da says, lifting his brows for emphasis.

"I think it's a little late for the lecture, da." I say, pointing to my broken nose.

He smiles and tousles my hair. "You go on in, then. He's just inside that door." Da gestures with his chin at the door in front of us. It's unmarked.

I rise and go to the door, noting that nobody is stopping me. Inside is another room, with another door, and wooden benches built into the wall, for seating. The glass enclosed offices behind the wall are closed, as the lights are off. It looks like a place where perps come to get booked, and I'm guessing that's what it is, since Caleb is waiting to see Nathan here. A light turns on and someone walks around, behind the glass, just as I walk in. The officer doesn't even look up, like he's trying to pretend that I'm not here. Caleb is scrolling through his phone, and he looks up, glancing at first the officer behind the glass, then at me.

"Ethan. What are you doing here." He asks, tone slightly deflated, like he was expecting someone else, and is disappointed.

"Went to check on Peg and Laney first. Thought I'd come here and see how things were going. Da told me you were in here. He's just waiting on Clyde."

"Aye. I know. I'm waiting for them to finish questioning Nathan, and then I'm going to take a round out of the bastard myself."

"Who is this Nathan to you, anyway?"

Caleb folds his hands together, parting his knees further. "He was one of Gretchen's sponsors." Gretchen was Peg's mama. The one that died recently. She was a recovered drug user. "Never met the man, but Laney figured it out. The bastard."

"And he's from Scotland?"

He nods. "Aye. He came here to take Peg. Son of a bitch. That's how come he knew Peg would go with him. He should burn in hell for this."

I lower my head. "Well, I'm glad to see you're angrier at him than at me."

"Don't kid yourself, brother. I'm still plenty vexed at you."

"Caleb, to be fair, you have secrets, too." I level with him. "You never told any of us about Gretchen and Peg. And you know as well as I do that I'd never have a child harmed. If I knew that my affair with Freya would harm anyone, you would have been the first to know, and that's the truth."

"A lot of good it is for you to tell me this now, Ethan. Look at the mess we're in."

"Caleb, you can't, in all fairness, blame me for this. I know you don't want to hear it, but even if Freya had fudged over the funds, Nathan jumped ship, man. She would have never been able to place the funds in Wesley Higgins's account that fast, and from what I understand, you didn't even record his account information to begin with, so how this is all my fault, I can't say."

His jaw muscles are working. I can see him grinding his teeth together in anger. "Look, Ethan, this isn't the fucking time, man. I'm worked up over Nathan, and I'm ready to fuck him up. Unless you want to come in with me to make sure I don't murder the bastard, you're wasting your time."

"If that's what I can do to help, brother, I'll do it." I tell him.

The officer behind the glass, opens the little slit window, and sticks his head out. "You can go inside now. Wait for the door to buzz." He says tersely, like just giving us instructions is taxing.

I rise and grab the door, as it buzzes, letting us in. Behind the door is a small cavity, and lining the walls are jail cells, just like in the movies. Inside one of the cells, deep in the back, is who I can only assume is Nathan Mackenzie. He's sitting on a metal bench, against the wall, hands in his hair, looking every bit as fucked as he is. "You're lucky the bairn is unharmed, man, because if she wasn't, I'd fucking kill you, man." Caleb practically growls, as Nathan lifts his head.

"Save your breath." Nathan says, defeated.

"I don't think so, lad. Not when you tried to kidnap my kid. You're lucky there are bars separating us."

He lifts a hand. "I get it." A sigh. "Look, I'm getting extradited, anyway. Not like I was planning to stay in this shithole."

"My heart bleeds." Caleb sneers. His hands are at his waist. He gestures with his chin. "Why'd you do it, man. Why'd you get yourself mixed up in this shit."

He chuckles without mirth. "Money." A sniff. "Look, I mean no ill intent towards Gretchen, but all the money she was getting from you, she didn't give me a dime, and I snorted everything away. I needed the money, man. You'd never understand."

Caleb's lips purse into a scowl. "You make me fucking sick. I'm glad she never gave you any of it."

"I am, too, man. Believe me, I'm not proud of this. That's why I ran. I'd had enough. After you started coming after me, I figured Wesley wasn't paying me enough to get killed. And I told him I wasn't laying a finger on the lass, either, so you can rest assured. As far as Wesley was concerned, she could have been thrown in a ditch, but I know her, and I knew her mama, and I made sure that she wasn't going to get hurt."

"What, do you want a fucking medal?" Caleb growls. "You still took her. She still could have been hurt. And you did it all for fucking money, you sick fuck."

I interject. "And I suppose you don't have a clue where Higgins is now, huh."

"I know where he lives and where he conducts business, but I don't suppose he'd be stupid enough to show up there."

"And I suppose you already got paid, did ya." I add.

He shakes his head. "I got paid half, but it won't be a spit in the bucket to the legal fees I'm going to shell out now."

"Cry me a fucking river." Caleb sneers, lifting a finger. "You ever come near Peg again, or my family, or anyone I know, I'll make sure you're ended, and I mean that." He says with so much conviction, even I'm afraid of him for a moment. Caleb takes one more step towards him. "And the sad part is, asshole, if you had come to me, knowing that you were a friend of Gretchen's, I would have helped you, man. But as far as I'm concerned, now, you can go get hung and burn in hell."

Nathan hangs his head, nodding, completely defeated. Caleb walks away, and I follow him. We walk out the door and I follow, looking back once at Nathan, but he doesn't lift his head. Good. "You okay, man?" I ask my brother, and as I try to put my hand on his shoulder, he immediately recoils.

"Look, Ethan, just fuckoff, man."

So, I do just that.

The house still looks the same. And as I pull up to it, I get a shiver. I know why I'm here, but I'm not sure if it's for the right reason. The truth is that Freya and I could never have been together, regardless of whether or not she and Caleb fucked. Regardless of whether or not that happened before or after she and I fucked. It took me a long time to figure it out, but the real reason why Freya and I could never be together is because she's too small time for me. Da would be wounded if I went after a girl like Freya for real. Look how he set up Caleb and Laney. She's as big time as you can get. Aside from marrying a fucking princess or a Hollywood starlet, or even someone high up there in politics. Either way, a banker, no matter what her role is, would be an insult to da.

And that's the real reason why I told her to fuckoff. Truth is, I was looking for a way out. Things got too real. We both said those three wicked fucking words to each other, and there was no turning back. I needed an out. And her telling me about fucking Caleb was just the thing I needed. That's why I never told Caleb about her and I. It was a fucking embarrassment. Freya should never have been anything to me except a roll in the fucking hay, just like she was to him, but I took it too far. I let her in. I told her she'd played me, but really, I'd played her. I kept fucking her, kept telling her I loved her, whether I really did or not is irrelevant. She was a good lay. She was a good time. She was the only girl that truly wanted me for me, and that's when she dropped the bomb and told me that she'd been with Caleb first.

But now it's personal. Caleb knows. And she wouldn't help my family when the chips were down. Not saying that I blame her, but I kind of do. The difference is it wouldn't matter if someone fucked me over, if there was a kid involved, I'd help. Can't say the same for Freya, and that's the bone I need to pick with her today. As much as it's making my stomach turn just being here, I've got something to say that needs saying, and she's going to fucking listen, too. As soon as I've got up the nerve to go inside, I see another car pull into her driveway, and I lose my nerve.

That's when I see who it is…the girl that introduced us…

She and her partner in crime arrive late, which doesn't impress me, especially since she's the protégé of the man I hoped to meet, she's not the real McCoy. But her boss is in the hospital, having recently suffered a stroke, the poor bastard. That being Gill Rogers, the millionaire banker, who clearly waited a day too long to make his move. Why he's sent these girls is beyond me, when it's his own finances that are in question here. Maybe he doesn't have a woman to take his money when he dies, who knows.

"Sorry, we just came from the hospital. I'm Trudy." The first woman introduces. "And this is Freya." She says, gesturing to the other woman. Trudy is tall and lank, with deep set eyes and no chest, but Freya is petite, with a killer rack, big blue eyes, and curly brown hair loose around her head and neck, shoulder length.

"Freya. Is that Scottish?" I ask, not hiding my obvious accent.

She nods, impressed. "Aye. I just moved here from Scotland a year ago."

We exchange what areas we're from, as Trudy sits there, looking bored.

"Sorry to hear about your boss. That's rough." I add, inviting them both to sit. We're in my office, just around four o'clock in the afternoon. They're my last appointment of the day.

"Thanks. Mister Rogers will be home soon. The stroke was mild." Freya explains.

"I'm surprised he sent you. I was expecting him to send his wife in his place."

"Gill wouldn't trust his wife with a stick of gum, frankly." Freya states. "Besides, she's tending to him, so he sent us instead."

"Why both of you?" I inquire.

They exchange a look, appearing like they're trying to stifle a chuckle. "Gill is afraid of you." Freya admits. "He thinks you'll try to snow us over, so he sent a team."

I adjust my left cuff link. "Ah, an entourage."

"Yes, exactly." Trudy says.

We get down to business, and I find my gaze falling towards Freya more so than to Trudy, as I explain what we can offer.

"And what do you two do with Mr. Rogers, if you don't mind me asking?" I ask, after a brief casual conversation, on a personal tangent.

"I'm his personal assistant." Trudy says, gesturing to herself.

"And I'm working with the engineering department at Gill's bank." And when she says Gill's bank, she literally means that. It's not the bank that he works at, it's the bank branch that he runs, that he is vested in. Hence him being a millionaire.

"Engineering, huh." I repeat, impressed.

"Aye, we have our own software, and firewalls, network, etc. All engineered by a team, which I head. I've also got a master's degree in finance."

"And you're Gill's protégé? It sounds to me like you could take him on a run for his money."

"Mister Rogers is very protective of his finances. He's always skeptical of anything that gets anywhere near his dollars, or his client's dollars, which is why he wanted me to deal with this, along with Trudy, who is also vested in the Rogers family."

"I see."

We drone on for a while longer, and I find myself intrigued. Which I never am. Usually women simply stimulate me, give my cock a wee twitch or two, but I'm never interested beyond the quickest way to press their backs into my mattress. But as Freya passes me her business card, with her personal cell phone number written in ink on the back, I look twice. "I look forward to doing business with you." I say to Freya as she exits my office.

"Likewise." She says, Scottish accent making my cock stand on end, along with her soft brown curls and full lips.

I'm sure Trudy picks up on the exchange, as she raises her brow at us, and pulls Freya away, after telling me to enjoy my weekend.

…but it turns into nothing more than a few fist pumps on my hardened cock after waking up with wood, picturing her in a crazy wet dream…until our next meeting, nearly a year later.

"Freya? Is it?" I ask, seeing a familiar face, standing behind a vendor table, at this huge, annual geek meet thing that I go to every year. It's a gathering, basically for people that have money and are techy. The vendors are everything from high end video games and systems to software for investors, bankers, anything that can turn money into more money and beyond. Da always refuses to go because we have custom made software and our own in-house developers, but I find it amusing to see what's out there, and what mere millionaires are stooping to these days.

"Ethan, is it?" Freya says. "Ethan Harris?"

I nod. "Aye. That's right. What are you doing here?"

Freya gestures to the booth that she's manning. "This is one of my passions. I secretly build software on the side. When others are binging on Netflix series, I'm engineering finance software and selling it at places like this."

"Anything patented?"

"Aye." She nods, shrugging. "It's all legitimate. I sell it online as well, but this way I get to crawl out of my comfort zone and talk to people, face to face."

"Does it profit?" I ask, looking around at the booths. "It can't be cheap renting a table at an event like this."

"It's not the money, Ethan. It's getting all this product out there. I have so many ideas that have to go through a million channels before it ever sees the light, but this way, it's up to me. I get to make all the decisions and release what I want, without having to answer to anyone, and take a year in the process."

I chuckle. "So, are you still working with Gill Rogers?"

She smiles. "Aye. Well, no. I'm still at his bank, but I got a promotion shortly after we last met."

"Really." I frown. "Congratulations."

"Thank you." She nods, as a customer comes to ask her a question. I act like I'm perusing the dozens of boxes she has on the table, while she tends to the man, who looks like he should be buying a casket, not software, based on how frail he is. But I say nothing as she sells him a box.

"Look at you. Selling like hotcakes." I comment. "I suppose it has nothing to do with the fact that a beautiful woman stands behind the table, with copper brown hair and a pretty smile." I compliment, wondering where that is coming from.

"While I'm flattered, don't you think that's a terribly chauvinistic thing to say?" She asks, half smiling, but with her brows furrowed.

"Forgive me, Freya. I didn't mean to offend. It just looked like the man was sweet on you is all."

"He wasn't." She says, letting it go, picking up a box. "Can I interest you in something, Ethan?"

I have to admit I'm impressed by her entrepreneurial attitude. Even I couldn't fathom pulling off a side business with my livelihood. But here she is, guns a blazing, running her own business, along with working full time for a man that I know firsthand is a hard ass. And then something comes out of my mouth, and I have no idea where it comes from, or how to stop it. "How about dinner tonight?"

She blinks twice, shocked. "Um." A hesitation I'm not used to. Not to brag, but normally women jump at the chance, and I'm not saying that to be an asshole, it's just true. I've had many women ask me out that I've had to turn down, and most of the time, when I show any interest in a woman, the interest is mutual. This I'm not so sure about. "I'm a little busy tonight. I'll be here until at least six o'clock, and then I have to pack everything up."

"Tomorrow night?" I try.

"I'm afraid this event goes on for the next two days, Ethan. I won't be free until Tuesday night, and then I know I'm working late, since I have to take Tuesday off, and the rest of the week will be a nightmare."

I'm wounded, seriously. "Okay. I can take a hint." I purse my lips together.

She sighs, looking at the table, gaze averted. "It's not that." The hesitation is palpable. Freya really isn't interested in me. Those gazes were imagined. That exchange months ago was my doing, not hers. "The show doesn't start until one o'clock. I can do breakfast or an early lunch."

I smile. "I feel like you're grasping at straws, Freya." I lick my lips. "If you're not interested, you're not interested. It's cool." There's a sentence I've never used in my entire life. The feeling in the pit of my stomach is unnerving. I finally understand what rejection feels like.

"It's not that, Ethan." She sighs. And I feel like there's something on the tip of her tongue, but she's holding back. "Truly, it's not." Another hesitation. "There's a pancake place just down the street from my house. Why don't we meet there for nine o'clock tomorrow morning? We can have breakfast, and then I'll have enough time to head back to my place and grab my things before returning here?"

"Are you sure?" I check.

"Absolutely." She nods, eyes set. Face impassive.

"I'll see you then."

Freya's outfit is as cute as hell, and I can't stop looking at her, as she sits across from me, ordering her pancakes and coffee. She's got a little skirt and shirt set on, and I can't help but recognize the kilt-like appearance to the skirt. It's complete with pleats and a large, metal safety pin off to the side. All that's missing is a goddamn beret on her head, cocked to the side. Why her clear nod to her Scottish heritage is a turn-on to me, I don't know, but it is. The little matching cashmere sweater is equally cute, as it accentuates her ample breasts. Lip gloss dabbed on those full lips, begging to be kissed off, is what is making me squirm under the table.

What's more is as I'm ordering my breakfast, I can feel her gaze burning into me. I'm wearing smoke dress pants and a white linen shirt, rolled up halfway to my elbows. It's a little dressier than I'm used to for a Sunday morning, but I'm going into the office after this, and under no circumstances are we allowed to show up there in street clothes, so this will have to do. Now, normally, I'd give a cheesy wink as I notice, but this time I don't. Frankly, I don't want to break the spell. As I pass the menu back to the waitress, Freya leans in. "She has eyes for you." Her face is pink with jealousy. It's as cute as sin.

"God, gross." I shudder. "I touched her menu."

Freya snorts a laugh. "I bet you did."

I feel my face heat. The lasses usually don't like it when I make a comment like that, but Freya seems amused. "Gross."

Another snort. "Be sure to leave her a generous tip."

"I think that's more your job, lass. And your tip being, ‘don't make a move on my date'."

Freya laughs. "That is one thing I've never encountered before."

"What, a date?"

She slaps me jokingly. "No."

"Well, if it helps, you can pound on her a bit. I'll watch. I'll even provide the mud or the Jello."

She laughs out loud. "Ethan! God, we're about to eat!"

"Well, to be fair, I did say Jello."

"God, you're incorrigible." She slaps my arm again, and I can't help but feel her warm, soft hands against my skin. I like her touching me. And as I look at her, I can see that she likes touching me, too. Letting my brevity have the floor here, I wrap my hand around her forearm, just to see how she reacts. "You have banker's hands, Ethan."

"Is that good or bad?"

"I have them, too." She says, placing her hand on my opposite forearm. "You tell me."

Our eyes lock. "I think it's good. Very soft. Warm." I draw in a deep breath. "I figured you'd be shy. I'm pleasantly surprised."

"I'm touching your arm, Ethan, not your cock." She says, eyes dancing. As she says the word ‘cock', my cock actually twitches.

I decide to lighten the mood. "Same difference." But I can't keep a straight face, and she can't, either. We both burst out laughing.

She mewls. "If you're that big, I'm outta here."

"Not into horses, are you, lass."

Another laugh, as the waitress brings our plates. "Jesus, that was fast." I say out loud, not meaning to.

"We aim to please." The waitress purrs.

I swallow, blinking obviously, shocked that she said that. "Thank you."

As soon as she leaves, and is out of earshot, we burst out laughing again. The waitress actually looks back, and we notice, gaining our composure temporarily, but as soon as she turns her back again, more laughter comes. "I think she's figured us out, Freya." I say between laughs.

"Ask me if I care." She chuckles.

"I should offer for her to touch my arm."

"You do and I'll chop it off." She says.

I laugh again. She's a card.

We eat our breakfast, and I pay the bill, giving a generous tip, as Freya suggested. "Can I come help you bring your things to the venue? I don't have to be at the office for another hour."

"You don't have to do that, Ethan."

"But I want to. Come on. Humor me."

She smiles. "Okay. Follow me."

I head into my truck, and follow her home, thinking that at least I have a truck, so I can carry more cargo than she can, in her little sedan. Sure, it's a nice Mercedes, but it's small. When we arrive, she takes me inside. "Pardon the mess. I haven't exactly been home the last few days."

"It doesn't offend me. Where's your stuff?"

"It's just in my spare room."

Her house is small but modern. It's a bungalow. Kind of like grandma's house, but with hardwood flooring and stainless-steel appliances. She has beadboard on the walls and ranch-style doors on both the interior and exterior, plus a wraparound porch. "Do you own this place?"

"I do. It's mortgaged, though. Not mine yet, but soon."

"How much money did you have to front to put your supplies together?" I ask, following her to the spare room, which is next to what I'm guessing is her bedroom, since it looks the most lived in, and the bed isn't made. She notices my gaze.

"Sorry, I normally never leave the house without making my bed, but I…"

I look at her. Her face actually turns pink. "You what?" I ask, smiling.

She rolls her eyes, embarrassed. "I had to change my clothes."

I look her up and down, but with a playful smirk. "Why?"

She scratches her nose nervously. "Because I realized my pants didn't match my shirt."

"Why didn't you just change your shirt?"

A sigh, frustrated, but her face is still pink, indicating that she's still embarrassed. "Because this is my lucky shirt."

Good call. It perfectly accentuates her breasts and works even more perfectly with her little kilt. My voice is low, my eyes hooded, as I look her up and down again. "Well, if it's any consolation, you made a great choice."

Her eyes meet mine. "I did?"

I nod. "Yeah. There's nothing sexier than a lass in a kilt."

"Really?" She asks, as if questioning her choice, but I notice that her eyes are searching mine.

"Really." I take a step towards her, feeling brave. "And…um…do you know what this is?" I point at my chest, taking another step to her.

Her voice is low, her eyes still searching mine. "What is it?"

The gap between us is closed. One inch stands between Freya and me. "This is my lucky shirt."

Her eyes go to my chest for a moment, and then return to my gaze again. "It is."

I nod, slowly, once. My voice is soft. "Aye."

As my gaze goes to her lips, she melts into me, as if my gaze beckons her to me. Her arms wrap around my neck and our lips meet. The moment her tongue touches mine, my hands graze up her thighs, bringing that sexy kilt with them. Her skin is warm to my touch, and as I lift her onto me, an audible yet soft, needy groan comes from her. I carry her to her unmade bed, and plant her back into the mattress, as I feel her hands reach down to my zipper. Assisting her, I lift slightly, and she pulls the tab down, and loosens the button. With that as permission, my hands go to her shirt, and I lift it up, over her head, exposing her lacy bra.

Our lips and tongues entangle hungrily, as she pulls my shirt up, loosens the buttons enough, and removes it. We kiss voraciously, as we make light work of getting naked, in the next twenty seconds. I'm careful to pull my wallet out of my back pocket, and grab the condom out, before settling on top of her, planting the condom under the pillow. "God, I've never done anything like this before." She breathes, arching her back, as my lips are on her breast.

"I don't think any less of you." I whisper against her skin, reveling in her ample breast, kneading the other with my hand, as I rub my cock on her clit, feeling her writhe under me.

"It's been so long, Ethan." She almost whines, so needy.

I rub her faster, feeling her growing wetter with each pass, sucking harder, licking in time with the rubbing.

"God!" She groans loudly, as I feel her hips lock, and she comes against the head of my cock.

When the crying subsides, I reach for the condom, and hand it to her, leaning up slightly, still rubbing her clit, not wanting the sensation to cease. With concentration, she manages to slide it on, as I maintain eye contact with her, eyes searing into hers. Thrusting my cock into her, I remain leaning up, rubbing her clit, as she bites her lip. "God, Ethan." She says on exhale. "This is so embarrassing."

"It's hot as fuck." I tell her, matter-of-factly, pelvis pushing in and out of her, as she watches me intently, as my fingers gently pinch her nipples, while she moves under me, at the exact rhythm, like we're trained lovers. I watch her back arch deeper, as she white knuckles the sheets, and her eyes roll back, mouth wide, and she screams my name, like I'm a fucking god, and she's begging for mercy. My balls beat against her ass quickly, as I push in to the hilt, making her feel all of it. And by the loud cries, I believe she does.

The mewls are almost as sexy as the cries, as she bites her lip again, pushing up on my chest, hungry to touch me, sucking my neck, taking me down with her, as I suck her neck, too, and then move to her breasts, letting myself move at a delicious rhythm, as I feel her clenching, grasping at my nipples, clawing at my ass, begging me to come with her the final time. "God, I need you, Ethan." She whispers in my ear, as her legs spread wider, and she sticks her tongue inside, pushing me over the edge with her. Losing it, I suck her lips and tongue, as I come furiously with her, emptying inside her, feeling her walls suck my cock even harder than the first two times.

When it's over, I bury my head in her neck, catching my breath, tucking my arms under her. "That's never happened to me before." She says breathlessly.

"Aye. You mentioned that." I breathe, pulling my head out, and gently pulling out of her.

"No, I mean, that." She gestures to herself, as she pulls the loosened sheets across her body, covering herself, as I take care of the condom.

"What?" I chuckle, walking back to the bed, still at half-mast. "Coming like a stallion?"

"Three times. I've never come like that before."

I shrug modestly. "You said it had been a while."

She swallows, looking at me strangely, as I lay next to her. There's something going on inside that head of hers, but I've learned from experience never to delve into deep conversation with a lass after you just blew your wad. Instead, I start getting dressed, dismissing the expression on her face. "Come on. Let's get your stuff over to the venue before you're late."

I never ask her what was on her mind that day, but I'll find out a year later.