Chapter Twenty-Nine

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Elder

 

 

THE MEETING WITH Jethro Hawk didn’t last long.

In an odd way, it seemed as though he was listening more to what I wasn’t saying than to what I was. As I listed statistics and figures of my yachts, the accolades we’d won, and designs we’d accomplished, he stood tapping his finger against his lips, making me feel like a goddamn zoo exhibit.

By the time he nodded and admitted he was interested in a smaller size yacht for recreational fun rather than ocean travel, I was drained from doing my best to keep my mind on work and not on Pimlico.

Every time I thought about her, the agony of how I’d treated her rose all over again, swiftly followed by the love she’d crippled me with.

I’d apologised yet it wasn’t enough.

I hadn’t earned a response.

I hadn’t given her time to give me one.

But I’d underestimated my need to have her accept my apology and absolve me of my sins.

Fuck, I should never have left her.

She’d zoned out in the corridor, but it was different from her other panic attacks. I was used to displays of physical terror—of holding her as she sucked in useless air and seeking out the monstrous beings who threatened her.

This time the enemy she fought was one I didn’t understand. She hurt because of something unknown. Something I couldn’t see or hear or touch.

I need to know what it is.

I needed to tell her to stop lying to me.

More time passed as I listed the smaller vessels available instead of the five-hundred-million price tagged thirty-room extravaganzas, and Jethro chose a few blueprint examples from the photos on my phone for a mock-up.

He excused himself once we’d arranged to discuss his requirements via email.

The moment he slipped from the meeting under the guise of finding his wife and children, I tapped the box burning a hole over my heart and stalked to the door myself.

I hadn’t opened the gift.

I didn’t want to. It was made for Pim, and it was only right she was the first to see it.

This meeting had been twenty minutes too long, but now I was free and had every intention of finding her. She’d be fucking terrified after what’d happened the last time she was at a large function.

Why the hell did I leave her and what the fuck possessed me to ask her to steal again?

I’d had no intention of doing such a thing. She’d ended up in prison, for Christ’s sake. Her name had been entered into their database and her file found by whoever was hunting girls from the QMB.

She’d become known by people I wanted to hide her from.

And it was my fault for ever introducing her to the idea of thievery.

Goddammit, you idiot.

The moment I found her, we’d leave. I’d tell her to ignore any future idiocies of stealing on my behalf and ban her from ever taking what wasn’t hers again—not just to save her karma and reduce any chance of her being jailed again but because she had no reason to steal.

I would provide for her.

I would be proud to care for her in every way she needed.

If she’ll let me.

The only thing she needed to steal was my apology. And then, once I knew she’d forgiven me, we could both move on and decide where to sail from here.

Africa, America, China? Where would be safe and where was the best place to wage war on the Chinmoku?

As I swept from the small morning room where Jethro and I had talked, I almost collided with another gentleman.

He stuck out his hand, a flash of sharp white teeth threatening as well as respectful. “Mr. Prest, I presume?”

I shook his grip reluctantly. “You presume correctly. And you are?”

“Sully Sinclair. Hawk told me you’re in the business of creating custom yachts?”

I forced the urge to rip off the stranger’s mask. I’d tolerated Jethro’s black decoration because I’d seen photos of him and knew enough of his history to do business with him.

This man I’d never heard of or met.

A masquerade wasn’t an ideal place to discuss work or acquisitions and not because liquor was flowing and there were much better things to do than talk facts and figures but because I had no idea what this guy looked like.

Was he good or bad?

Enemy or trustworthy?

About my height, he wore a mask that covered his entire head in smoky grey. A row of ivory beads decorated his forehead, forming into horns down his skull. His tux matched the smoke of his mask, turning him metallic, mysterious, and foreign.

His blue eyes were the only thing visible along with his jaw.

“Are you in the market?” I forced myself to ask, keeping up appearances when all I wanted to do was shove him aside and stalk after Pim.

“As a matter of fact, yes. I own a few islands in the Pacific, and my clients are used to a certain level of luxury.” He flashed a shark-like smile. “Let’s just say…I like to keep them happy.”

The level of darkness in his voice told me everything I needed to know.

He dabbled in business I probably wouldn’t approve of. He was a typical client—a scoundrel of the underworld who hid in dark shadows and paid in blood money.

A client I willingly sought because they paid better than white-collar billionaires, which meant I could clear my debt faster and fund my vengeance better.

Hiding my disdain for his occupation, I faked interest. “So you’re after smaller vessels?”

“I’m after quite a few. Large and small. If you have time to discuss.”

Every inch of me wanted to tell him that, no, I didn’t have time. Not tonight. I wanted to tell him if he planned to do business it would be on my terms when my mind wasn’t on my woman.

I’d set up another meeting—preferably online after I’d investigated who he was, what islands he owned, and what business he ran. I’d probably hack into his bank accounts to see if he had the funds before asking him to email me the shopping list he had in mind.

But I’d come tonight for this very reason.

And this gentleman might buy more than one—if he had money.

It could be entirely worth my while.

Hoping that Jethro Hawk had done enough vetting on his guests that I was safe to waste my time on Sully Sinclair, I kept my temper and smiled politely. “I can spare ten minutes.”