Exodus Page 7

  “Thanks for the dinner and mindfuck,” I mumble, peeking out of the frosted, oblong window next to the front door just as he pulls away in a black sedan. On copilot, I lock the door and set the alarm, and a second after that, the irony hits me, and all I can do is laugh.

  I made a bargain with a devil to keep his secret if he kept my father safe, but because safety is an illusion, it makes his end impossible to uphold.

  And it occurs to me that my inevitable realization was Tobias’s third move.

  His true checkmate.

  I shake my head as I warily climb the stairs to my bedroom. “Connard.” Bastard.

  Clearing the sleep from my eyes, I stretch out in bed, my latest dream coming back to me in flickered images before it plays out for me. They say dreams are a way for your subconscious to process things you attempt to avoid in waking hours. After years of recalling them, this I wholeheartedly believe. Last night I dreamed of the sun, but it was close, so close I could reach out and touch it. But the heat wasn’t scorching. It was a welcoming warmth. It wasn’t far, just a few steps out of reach. And then the clouds moved in seconds before bursting. I could feel the cool spray on my face just before a rainbow appeared in the distance. A few more steps and I could have reached them.

  In a blink, it was gone, and I lay alone in the clearing, looking up at a lifeless sky. It was then my mother called out to me on the wind, to come home, but I ignored her pleas, searching for my missing sun.

  A tear threatens as I toss the covers away.

  Opening the French doors to my balcony, the morning greets me, a whisper of wind whipping through my hair as I welcome the new summer day. If there’s one thing I’ll miss about living in Roman’s mansion, it’s the view.

  It’s the swish of water below that draws my attention to the pool. Powerful masculine arms wade through the water, causing a small, but strong tide in his wake. I hadn’t noticed it before when he’d rolled up his sleeves, but the answer is clear as to why the markings weren’t there now as I take in the deeply etched raven’s wings inked along his shoulder blades confirming his place in the royal lineup. I wish so much that I could rip them away, or somehow disfigure them. He’s not worthy of having two brothers, blood-related or not, who are solely devoted to him.

  And the added insult is that he’s magnificent, rippling muscle and smooth skin as he glides through the water fluidly, his muscular legs propelling him across the pool. I take a minute to admire him as he turns to do another lap, his back coiling while the water cascades down his athletic frame.

  Powerful, formidable, intimidating, a heartless, soulless predator.

  And now he’s invading, intertwining our lives just to prove his point, that temporarily, he owns me.

  One of three phones rings where it sits on a waiting towel at the edge of the pool. I recognize two of them as the same model of the burner phones Sean used. I hear a faint “Oui?” before I make my way down to him.

  By the time I get poolside, Tobias is furiously barking orders and cursing in a mix of English and French. I tentatively listen as he speaks with his back to me and can’t make out much aside from the fact he’s angry. His foreign tongue fluid, thick, sexy, enticing. His back goes ramrod straight before he turns to see me standing there, shamelessly eavesdropping. Snapping one last order, he cuts the call, discarding the phone next to the others before stretching his arms out on the side of the pool.

  “Sounded serious.”

  “And what is it you think you heard?”

  “Le pleck, le spit,” I upturn my nose and school my features in my best imitation of a French snob, “le plah, le bark, more spit, and merde.”

  We glare at each other for a second before he throws his head back and laughs. I completely ignore my urge to smile at the sound of it, instead crossing my arms and cocking my hip. “I’m not fluent. Yet. But watch your back, Frenchman.”

  His laughter slows and he shakes his head, a chuckle sounding just before his eyes roam me in amusement.

  “So, what crises are you fighting today?”

  “Don’t concern yourself.”

  “I’m not concerned, but I am curious as to why you’re here, again. Do you not have a home?”

  “Plenty of them.”

  “Then why take up residence here?”

  “Just taking advantage of my position. You should as well. The water is warm.” He eyes me in my boy shorts and a cami.

  “I’ll pass. Seriously, can’t you take your problem solving somewhere else?”

  “There are two types of ways to handle problems,” he starts, and I roll my eyes dismissively.

  “Great, another lecture.”

  “And two types of people,” he goes on, completely unfazed. “There’s the one that will walk past that offending piece of lint or paper on the floor every single day and tell themselves they’ll get to it. And those that will pick it up the minute they spot it. They’ll figure out where it came from, trash it, and forget it was ever there. But, for the ones that walk by it every day, it will become a problem. It will start to fester. Another something they’ll have to get to. Another pea on their plate. They’ll start to look for it, its presence a nuisance, and tell themselves they’ll get to it tomorrow. Until one day, it’s more of a crisis of conscience than a pea.”

  “Let me guess. You don’t have any peas on your plate.”

  One side of his mouth lifts in contempt before he speaks through thick lips. “I fucking hate peas.”

  “It’s a piece of lint.”

  “Only to the person who picked it up.”

  “Confucius say ‘pick up lint.’ Got it, any more wisdom you’d like to impart before you depart? Can I count on your sudden and unwanted appearance every day now as well?”

  “You can count on me being where I need to be until our business is concluded.”

  “Whatever. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got better things to do than let you dip your finger in my head and stir.”

  “Don’t be so quick to dismiss what I’m offering, Cecelia. We could learn from each other.”

  “You mean you can poke and prod me for more intel on my dad? Yeah, I’ll pass.”

  “I know plenty, but the devil is in the details. Know your opponent.”

  “I’m not interested in learning more about you.”

  “The look in your eyes declares otherwise.”

  He doesn’t smirk, not a hint of smugness in his tone, leaving no room for debate. Maybe he can sense my attraction just as easily as I can detect his. Just another reason he’s the bane of my existence.

  “You’re a beautiful man, Tobias. I don’t deny it. I’m sure you’ve used it to your advantage and often.”

  He propels himself toward where I stand on the opposite side of the pool, his arms cutting through the water with ease as he zeroes in on me. Lust coats me from head to foot, but I don’t make a move, nor do I bristle when he lifts himself from the pool, water flowing down his muscled skin as he towers above me, purposely invading my space. Seconds tick past as he sheds water, dampening me in more ways than one while my nipples draw tight. He misses nothing, his eyes dipping to my chest before they slowly lift back up to me.

  “You want what I’m offering. You’re just too stubborn to ask. It’s on the tip of your tongue, so ask.”

  “I want nothing but your absence.”

  He draws closer, cold droplets of water pelting my chest and legs.

  “You want my trust, that I can’t give you.”

  “From you, I want nothing,” I turn on my heel and he grips my wrist to stop me.

  I glare up at him as he blinks down at me while soaking my tank and shorts.

  “I can’t trust you. That’s the miracle you seek. But it’s far too expensive, and you can’t afford it. But we can learn from each other.”

  “And what exactly is it that you think you can teach me?” I lift my hands and slide them along his shoulders and down his body, raking my fingernails over his damp skin, satisfied when
I see him tense before I slowly lift my eyes to his. He grips my hands and squeezes them before releasing them.

  “Like I said, we can learn from each other.”

  I scoff. “And what exactly is it that you think you can learn from a pea?”

  There’s a distinct shift in his gaze that has me hesitating before I dismiss it. This is just another head game I’m not willing to indulge him in. “You can’t afford me either, Tobias. You’re incapable of obtaining my kind of currency.”

  Tension coils in my belly as our breaths mingle.

  “You have questions. Ask me, Cecelia.”

  I avert my gaze ignoring the surge in my veins. One second passes and then another as he leans in on a whisper.

  “My proposal has nothing to do with the look in your eyes, but if I touched you, right now,” he drawls out thickly, “the way you want me to right now, you wouldn’t refuse me.”

  “Your game is becoming predictable.”

  “Yeah?” He whispers, “Maybe I’ll up it.” He leans in, his warm breath heating the cool drop of water at my nape. “Ask me, Cecelia.”

  I turn my head to keep him from reading me further.

  “Have it your way.”

  The phone rings on the other side of the pool and we both glance in the direction before he turns back to me.

  Shoulders tense, he steps out of reach and heads toward his phone as I head for the house. He’s already snapping into his phone by the time I make it to the door. I don’t have to look back to know his eyes are on me. I can feel the blaze from feet away.

  Annoyed by the sight of the Jag in the circular drive, I enter the house preparing for battle only to hear a slew of heated French coming from my kitchen.

  “Trouvez-le.” Find him.

  A brief pause.

  “Pas d’excuses. Vous avez une heure.” No excuses. You have one hour.

  Tobias ends the call just as I come into view. He looks perplexed, furiously typing away on a laptop on the island. It’s only been a few days since our confrontation at the pool, but it’s clear he fully intends to take advantage of his position.

  “Mind telling me what the hell you’re doing here?” I make my way past him to open the fridge door to grab a water. I’m covered in sweat from my hike. He barely spares me a glance when he replies.

  “Protecting my interest.”

  “You think you can manage that somewhere else, preferably far, far away?”

  He scans the screen and slams his laptop closed. “Putain!” Fuck. Chest heaving, he picks up one of his cellphones from the counter in front of him before dialing. “Get the new here. Ten minutes.”

  He crosses the kitchen, grabbing a nearby bottle of gin and pouring a healthy drink into a tumbler full of ice. He circles it, deep in thought with the ice cubes rattling as he swishes the clear liquid, one, two, three times before he takes a long pull.

  “It’s a little early for a cocktail, isn’t it?”

  Silence.

  “Good talk,” I roll my eyes. I’m halfway to the dining room when he speaks up behind me.

  “You’re wrong, you know. It’s not people like you and your mother.”

  “What?”

  “When we first spoke, you said I was fighting for people like you and your mother.”

  “Yeah, what’s wrong with that?”

  “Everything’s wrong with that,” he bites. “Everything. You want to single yourselves out.”

  “I meant—”

  “I know what you meant. It’s not just the blue-collar workers at your father’s plant or anywhere else for that matter. That’s secular thinking.”

  “Fine. I think wrong, I love wrong, my loyalty is misplaced, and I’m just an all-around fumbling idiot. Pardon me if I don’t give a shit that I’m not up to your standards.”

  He again swirls the ice in his drink, one, two, three times before taking another sip.

  “You’re tracking my every move already. Do you really have to be present to do so?”

  “I’m cleaning up the fucking mess that’s been left for me.”

  “I don’t understand why you’re vetting me so hard. I don’t know if you’ve been to a ‘party’ recently, but have you seen some of the people working under your fat thumb?”

  He eyes me speculatively over the rim of his glass before he lowers it.

  Just as he’s about to speak, the doorbell rings and I roll my eyes.

  “These aren’t your headquarters. This is my temporary home, find another place to do your evil overlord bidding.”

  He moves past me, ignoring my comment entirely before answering the door. A second later, RB and Terrance walk in.

  “Hey, girl,” RB greets, just as Terrance speaks up looking between Tobias and me. “Thought you were Dom’s girl. You’re getting around, aren’t you?”

  Humiliation heats my face as he eyes me in a way that lets me know exactly what he thinks about me.

  Tobias’s demeanor shifts before he turns to me, his expression granite. “Give me your keys.”

  “What?”

  He lowers his eyes to the keys in my hand. “Give me your car keys, Cecelia.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think so.” He walks over to me and holds out his hand, and I sigh before handing them over. He turns and hurls them at Terrance, who barely manages to catch them at his chest, a wince on his face from the sting. Tobias’s tone is unforgiving when he speaks.

  “Wash and shine her car, soap, sponge, water, and wax, and she better be able to see her fucking reflection in it when you’re done.”

  I step forward. “That’s not necessary, I—”

  Tobias cuts me off with a look while RB glances over to Terrance with a ‘you just fucked up’ written in his expression. Tobias addresses RB next. “You watch him do it.”

  RB nods, regarding Tobias with distinct respect.

  Tobias ignores them both as they glance around the foyer. “You’re coming with me.”

  “Uh, no I’m not, I’m in need of a shower—”

  “We’ll be back in an hour,” he tells them both, gripping me by the arm to escort me out. “No one gets past this door. Tyler will meet you here in ten.”

  “Got it,” RB answers.

  I rip my arm away just as Tobias rounds the driver’s side of his Jaguar.

  “I want to talk to Tyler.”

  “No.”

  “Well, I’m not decent,” I snap, arms crossed in an attempt to hold my ground.

  “This isn’t a fucking date. And we’re not done with our conversation. Get. In. The. Car.”

  We lock our eyes on each other for a second, then two before I slide into his leather seat. Shortly after, we’re flying down the lone road toward town.

  “Want to tell me why you’re giving anyone with ink access to Roman’s house?”

  Silence.

  “You didn’t have to do that back there, you know? I can take care of myself.”

  More infuriating silence.

  “If disrespecting women is a hard limit for you, you might want to consider taking a closer inspection at your reflection.”

  He navigates the roads easily as I scowl at the side of his head, attuned to the fact I must reek after a two-hour hike, my skin sticky from dried sweat. My hair matted in a heap atop of my head.

  “Where are we going?”

  He remains mute, relaxed in his seat as we drive another ten minutes until he whips into the parking lot of my bank.

  “Making a deposit?”

  He backs into one of the spots on the opposite side of the door facing the entrance.

  “Let me guess, scoping for your next big heist?”

  “Jesus,” he shakes his head. “Just watch.”

  “What am I looking for?”

  “Criminals. I want you to take a good look at that building and tell me when you spot one.”

  “Really? We’re looking for criminals based on appearance?”

  “Says the girl who just asked me if I’ve seen some of the people wor
king under my fat thumb.”

  “I just meant—”

  “No way to justify that statement. Now, based on that line of thinking, let’s find some criminals.”

  An older man walks out of the bank; he looks to be in his eighties and holds the door for a younger woman walking in.

  “Nope.”

  “How do you know? Because he held the door for her?”

  “I don’t for sure. But he doesn’t look the type.”

  “What’s the type? Everyone dressed in a hoodie? Everyone with tats? Who smells like pot? Sagging skinny jeans? Skin color? What about haircut? Can you tell by a haircut?”

  “You’ve made your point.” Heat travels up my neck.

  “No, I haven’t. Watch.”

  And I do. For several minutes I scrutinize every person walking in and out of the bank and dismiss them.

  “You don’t see one?”

  “This is ridiculous. How am I supposed to know?”

  “How about this one?”

  A forty-something man walks out in a soiled work uniform just before he climbs into a utility truck.

  “Clearly a hard worker. Looks local, and he’s probably all about providing for his family. This is wrong. I get what I said was generalizing but—”

  “Where’s the criminal, Cecelia?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What about this guy?” Tobias juts his chin toward a suit walking in.

  “I don’t know!”

  “Then keep looking.”

  I search our conversation until I realize I’ve been looking at the people, not the building itself. “It’s the bank, isn’t it?”

  “You think organized crime is as bad as it gets?” He says, staring up at the logo before turning to me. “Ask yourself this. Why is a twenty-year-old employee feeling threatened enough by management to bring her elderly grandma into the branch to open a second bank account she doesn’t need?”

  “Because it’s her job?”

  “It’s so her granddaughter can reach her eight accounts a day quota so she can keep her job. Because there were thousands just like her in small towns, who thought they were signing on to be a part of a well-known bank with a stellar reputation and only a week or so in, found out they were dancing chickens. Every day they felt pressured to open accounts. A ploy by the powers that be to drive up stock prices to an untouchable status, to fatten an overstuffed cow because Midas rich wasn’t fucking rich enough. Some resorted to opening accounts for dead people. This happened every day for years, all the while these people, these low-level employees, desperate for a paycheck, were being mentally abused to the point they committed criminal acts.”