“I will. In the meantime, your mom’s gonna need some time to heal. I’m letting her stay a few days.”
“Yeah. Okay. I’m glad it worked out.”
“Okay, I’ll see you this weekend, hun.”
I click out of the call and close my eyes over tears of relief. My knees buckle beneath me, and I collapse to the floor, finally breaking down.
Humble pie was never my favorite flavor.
Swallowing back the relief and humiliation, I stand in the elevator, waiting for the doors to open on the third floor. Arriving unannounced is as frightening as having to ask the guy for help, but seeing as I held a blade to his throat a mere hour ago, this is probably the easiest thing I’ve had to do today.
The door opens at Lucian’s office, and just like when I arrived this morning, I’m greeted by the delicious scent of cologne and leather. A masculine aroma that naturally waters the mouth.
With his feet kicked up on the desk, Lucian is leaning back in his chair, watching me approach, a glass half full of what is probably liquor beside an actively burning cigarette he holds over the ashtray.
With the top of his shirt unbuttoned and his tie loosened, the sight of him sends butterflies to my stomach, the way he watches me like a predator eyeing prey.
“I see your balls haven’t shrunk in the last hour.” He flicks his cigarette before taking a drag, never taking his eyes off me.
The comment brings a smile to my face, and I bite the inside of my cheek to hide my amusement. “It seems I owe you an apology.”
“You owe me more than that, as I recall.”
“The doll.”
“Rand is having a fuck of a time gluing its small hand back in place. Keeps falling off.”
A snort of laughter escapes me, and I slap a palm to my face and clear my throat. “I’m sorry. You’re welcome to take the cost of repair out of my wages.” Exhaling a shaky breath, I cross my arms over my chest so he can’t see the shallow breaths of my anxiety. I’m convinced the guy feeds off fear. “My aunt contacted me to let me know that Franco returned my mother.”
Reaching forward, he grabs the drink from the desk and takes a sip. “And?”
“And he apologized. She said Makaio was with him, so I’m assuming you had a hand in that.”
“It’s possible. A lot of weird shit’s gone down today.”
Again, I find myself biting the inside of my cheek to stifle the urge to smile. “I just wanted to thank you. I don’t know what you told him, or what you did, but I appreciate it.”
“Franco is a long-time associate of mine.”
A drug dealer? Why the hell would he be associated with a drug dealer?
“His family, I should say.” Something about his voice always carries an air of boredom. “He’s dabbled in some less than admirable hobbies, as of late. At any rate, he’ll no longer be an issue for you, or your family.”
Gaze glued to the floor, I breathe in the relief once again and nod. “I feel that I owe you something for all of this … mess.”
He reaches for the decanter of liquor, filling his glass while he shoves the cigarette between his lips. “Consider it payment for saving my life,” he says around it.
“What?”
“The other night. On the roof. Had you not been there, well, I’d probably be a spatter of bones and blood.”
Grimacing, I swallow back the visual of that. “It was nothing special.”
“Saving my life, or what followed?”
“The, um … the kiss was … very good. I enjoyed it very much.”
Leaning forward again to flick his smoke, he tips his head, as if to study me. “You found enjoyment in a drunken kiss?” His cheeks cave with a long draw of his cigarette, before he stamps it out in the ashtray. “You’d have to be quite inexperienced to fancy something so meaningless.”
Ouch.
“I guess I didn’t consider it all that meaningless.”
“I guess you haven’t been kissed enough to know the difference.”
What the hell is wrong with this guy? “Is it your intent to constantly insult me? Here, I’m trying to thank you for helping me out, and suddenly I’m feeling under attack.”
“Attack?” He chuffs a laugh, and his tongue sweeps across his lips before they curve into a mocking smirk. “No, I don’t intend to constantly insult you. Your gratitude is noted.”
“Good.”
“I trust you’ll be back to assist my mother tomorrow. She’s asked for you, as I understand.”
“I promise. No more shenanigans.”
“Fantastic. If that’s all, I have some pressing matters to attend to.”
“That’s all.”
I never know how to take Lucian Blackthorne. He’s an enigma to me. Even as I make my way back toward the elevator, having accomplished what I came up here to do, I feel unraveled. As if I’ve spent the last twenty minutes spinning in place, watching layers of my skin peel away. I hate that he has this effect on me, as though he sees right through me, with one of my weaknesses down to a science: my pride. If only I knew his. The one soft spot that I could punch through to find out if there’s anything on the other side of it. There has to be a heart inside this man. Why else would he help someone who means so little to him?
The elevator door opens, and I step inside, keeping my attention glued to the red paisley carpeting. It’s only when they begin to close that I look up and catch him staring back at me. The eyes of the devil, burning right through me, and if not for the thick silver doors shutting him out, I’d probably crumble into a pile of ash.
On the first floor, I exit past Makaio and Rand escorting a man I’ve never seen at the Manor before. Dark hair, and equally dark eyes beneath bushy eyebrows that lower with a scowl, he doesn’t divert his gaze as polite people do when passed.
Like he recognizes me, or something.
I don’t recognize him, at all. Should I?
Confused, I turn around as Makaio leads him onto the elevator, and when he turns to face me again, his eyes pop wide.
“Wait!” He lurches forward, held back by the massive Hawaiian beside him, and the doors close shut.
In that moment, I wonder if I’ve just come face to face with Franco.
Chapter 32
Lucian
Stepping from the elevator on the floor to the catacombs, I casually sip my drink, as the sound of screaming echoes down the shadowy corridor. I open the door to the room on the right, where Makaio blocks most of my view. All I can see from the doorway is a pair of trembling feet sticking out from the right of the massive bodyguard, as Makaio goes to work on removing Franco’s tongue, per my earlier request.
Because the best meetings are the ones where I talk, and assholes listen.
I stroll to the other side of the chair, getting a front row view of the carnage, where Franco lies in a bloody mess on the old dentist chair, his tongue on a silver tray beside him.
I tip back another sip of my drink and tuck my hand into my pocket, listening to him sob like a child. “I apologize for the haste of this meeting, but I’m afraid the matter was urgent. I’ve come to the decision that I’m neither going to return your shipment, nor entertain any bullshit from your uncle. No one will find your body. You’ll be nothing more than another pile of bones to add to my collection.”