Chapter Twenty-Two
The Den is quieter in early afternoon, a steady hum of conversation instead of the raucous crowd. I’m surprised to see Sutton sitting in an armchair in front of the fire, a beer dangling from its neck, the glass beaded with condensation.
I sit down in the chair next to him. “A little early,” I say, nodding toward the beer.
It’s an invitation for him to tell me what’s wrong. He takes a swallow before answering. “Needed a break from the office.”
“Problems in paradise?” I ask, my voice light. The construction and real estate company he owns with Christopher does well. And so far there hasn’t been conflict between the two men. I suppose it’s only a matter of time. They’re both strong-willed and stubborn in their own ways.
“You could say that.” Sutton leans forward and sets down the beer between his boots, studying the ground like it has the solution to life’s problems. “There’s this woman.”
I groan. “No talk of women. Not today.”
His eyebrows go up. “You love talking about women.”
“Only good things. And I have no good things to say today.”
He laughs. “Don’t tell me Hugo Bellmont finally met his match. The virgin?”
She’s not a virgin anymore, but I don’t mention that. I’m sure he can fill in the blanks. I put up a finger for the cocktail waitress, because today we are drinking early. “Apparently you’ve met your match, too. Tell me about her.”
“It’s not like that. I mean, she’s beautiful. Smart. Like crazy smart.”
“Does she use words too big for you?”
He snorts, not bothering to argue the point. Sutton is basically a genius; he just hides it behind a Southern drawl. “That’s not exactly the problem.”
“Then what is it?” The waitress brings my brandy, and I take a sip.
“Christopher. She’s his stepsister. Or at least they used to be. I’m a little hazy on the background except that I know there’s something there.”
I look into the fire so he can’t see that it troubles me. There’s history between Christopher and this Harper. And if it comes between them, it will disrupt more than the company. It will disrupt the Thieves Club, a friendship I’ve come to enjoy greatly. “History is in the past, my friend. So what are you going to do about this?”
“The only thing I can do. The only thing I’ve ever done.”
The answer is simple for a man as hard and ambitious as Sutton. “Go after her.”
He nods. “I would prefer that it didn’t interfere with business.”
“I would have preferred that also, but here we are drinking at three in the afternoon.”
We lapse into a contemplative silence. I didn’t come here expecting to see anyone I knew. Sutton knows better than to push me when I don’t want to talk. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it usually has to do with Melissande. And history. But history is in the past, as I said.
So what am I going to do about it?
The moments that follow are a brief reprieve, but in the back of my mind I know what I have to do. Revenge has been the thing that drove me for years. Now it will be something else, but no matter what I choose to do, I’ll be left alone. That’s all I deserve, really.
The waitress returns, this time with a note on her tray. Hugo Bellmont, it says on the front.
And inside: Come upstairs. – D
“I have been summoned,” I say to Sutton, dropping the note on the small oak table between us.
He reads it with surprise. “What’s your business with him? Do you need backup?”
It does feel good to have friends who would have my back, but he has his own problems. Problems of the female persuasion. And I need to solve this one myself. Need to solve it alone.
At the bottom of the stairs I pass by Penny, who is Damon’s girl. I recognize her from around the Den and from our one meeting at Beau Ciel. “Good afternoon,” I tell her with a small bow.
Her cheeks turn a little pink. It used to bring me pleasure that I could make any woman—even ones contented in their relationships—blush, but instead there’s only emptiness. “Damon’s waiting for you,” she says, revealing that she knows more about his business than some people would suspect.
“Merci. And do you have any words of advice for me? He has quite a reputation.”
“Don’t believe a word they say. I mean, some of it’s real, but you’ll never really know which parts.”
“Very reassuring,” I say drily. “You are a good match for him, to be sure.”
She laughs. “He’s a softie inside.”
I’m still shaking my head, a small smile on my face, when I reach the top of the stairs. It is only such a ridiculous statement as Damon Scott being a softie that could make me laugh. It occurs to me that perhaps that’s Penny’s goal, to cheer me up against all odds. In which case she truly is a good match for the man who sits at a desk set far back in a dark room.
He does not look up when I enter, but I know he hears me. There’s nothing that happens in the Den that he doesn’t know about. Maybe even in the whole of Tanglewood.
“Good afternoon,” I say, neutral. “You asked for me?”
Of course he did not ask. It was a command. I do not take offense, not if he delivers what I need him to do. He looks up and sets his pen down. “Our deal. Do you still want it?”
I step farther into the room but don’t bother to sit, not even when he inclines his head at the oversize leather chairs in front of the desk. This isn’t a deal I want to sit for. “Melissande. You want her ruined. You haven’t told me why, and I don’t imagine you will. But I agree to that.”
“And in return I will ruin Edward Marchand. The owner of L’Etoile.”
This is what it feels like to be torn in half, the halves pulled away completely. I’m two pieces now, the one from the past and the one adrift. “No.”
One eyebrow rises. “No?”
Well, that’s something at the least. I have managed to surprise Damon Scott. “Instead I wish for you to purchase the hotel for me. I will provide the money, but the owner may take some persuasion.”
Damon leans back, pondering. “I have some knowledge of your portfolio. It’s significant. Probably enough, but only barely. You won’t have anything left.”
And with Melissande ruined, I won’t be able to work in this town. At least not for the prices I normally command. She will do her best to blackball me and probably succeed.
It does not matter. I don’t matter, not if it means Bea can be safe.
“Do we have a deal?” I ask, my voice even.
“Consider it done.”
I set down a flash drive on his desk. It contains photographs I took in her office late last night of her ledger, written in her own handwriting. Names and dates and dollar amounts. The fact that she’s a madam is well-known in the underworld of the city. No cop would make a move on her for selling sex. Half of them are under her payroll. And the other half… well, she would be out within twenty-four hours and make it her mission to destroy them.
That’s why I’ve circled the names of boys and girls I know to be under eighteen. It’s a dark truth of the sex industry that this happens. When they don’t have a good family, when the system fails them, it’s the only way they survive. There are clients who prefer the young ones.
Which is one of the reasons Melissande wanted me all those years ago. She probably enjoyed that I worshipped her at the beginning, as well. But it wasn’t long before she put me to work.
Damon nods. “A pleasure doing business with you.”
No, I have experience with pleasure. This was something else. “You’ll let me know?”
“It will take a couple days. I’ll be in touch.”
And this is how you make a deal with the devil. By selling the most valuable thing I have for the only person worth anything to me. Losing L’Etoile will be nothing to a man like Edward Marchand. It will not ruin him, not when he has a hundred other more valuable properties. Decades of searching for revenge, only to give it up in a single afternoon.
But it will mean freedom for Bea, which is the most important thing now. The only thing. I traded everything for her to feel safe, for her to never again tremble in fear.