She’s lying. She has to be lying. I hate I have even a shadow of doubt. I know what we had few people experience in a whole fucking lifetime. It was rare and beautiful, and I fucked it up. So perhaps it’s not so shocking she fell in love with someone else. The notion rocks my foundation and makes my guts twist in agony. I believe our connection is undeniably strong. Her body wouldn’t react the way it does. She wouldn’t be wrestling with her conscience at all if she didn’t still feel something for me. Something more than the stubborn defiance sparkling in her eyes, that is.
“You changed the code.” I know this statement is redundant. I tried to open the safe yesterday and thought for a misplaced moment I’d forgotten the sequence of numbers. I knew I hadn’t. It took all of a second to connect the disturbed dust, Tia’s throwaway comment about visiting the place just once, and put two and two together. She’s smart, resourceful, and clearly learned a particular set of skills to help in her quest for vengeance.
“I did,” she says in a sweet, self-satisfied tone. Her lips quirk to one side in an openly shameless smirk.
“What is it?” I reply flatly.
“Twenty-one left, forty right, seven right, three left and eighteen right.” She recites the numbers so efficiently I’m a little stunned.
“Really?”
“No dumbass, of course not.” Her head snaps to a low level shuffling noise in the darkness and she shifts around in her seat, her arms set to help her move.
“Sit back down!” I boom and she shrinks back against the cushion, fear colouring her pretty green eyes. “Stop playing around, Tia, and tell me the fucking code.”
“Why? So you can destroy the only evidence that I’m a Kraus, that I’m the only living heir, because the only thing in there is the Will.” Her eyes widen a fraction, it’s barely noticeable but I see if for the flashing beacon of a ‘tell’ that it is.
She knows about the false back.
Wow, I can’t believe my grandfather told her everything. Still, I’m done playing games.
“Oh princess, now we both know that’s not true.” I hum out an amused sound and waggle my finger in a light reprimand as I reveal her error. “But the fact you’re reluctant to tell me the code does at least confirm they are still in there.” She has the grace not to argue, and I have to concede the pride in her expression is justified. Grandfather may have given her the code, although I doubt it. Even so, my mother had all the security changed when he died. Either way, Tia has cracked the safe and reset a complicated security device. I’m torn between being impressed at her talent and incredulous at her stupidity. “You should’ve taken the contents when you had the chance.”
“The contents didn’t matter. I have a copy, and it doesn’t name me as the heir. It mentions the true bloodline several times; I assumed it was referring to you. Yes, I had my suspicions after your grandfather told me what he did. Since it didn’t have my name specifically in relation to bloodline, it just left me confused and more inclined to believe what your grandfather told me were the mere ramblings of a very sick man. Especially as it does mention me by name as beneficiary of the diamond bracelet.” She shrugs. “For me, the Will was simply proof of your betrayal. I told you before, the only thing I wanted to know was why you abandoned me. The only thing I wanted to do was make you suffer in the only way a Kraus can suffer: by loosing their money.”
“You only took the hundred million, Tia. It stings, but it won’t destroy us.” I pause as her eyes fucking widen again.
What the hell?
“You took the rest?” I roar. Fuming with rage, I step closer, and my hands slam on the arm rests, her face now millimetres from my own. Her eyes are like fucking saucers. She holds her breath as mine washes over her terrified features. “Perhaps you do want to die after all.” I hold her gaze for long seconds, trying to get a read on what must be racing across her mind. I don’t know what she knows about why I need the money or if she really doesn’t care but she has to know I’m not fucking joking. She has to know this isn’t a fucking game. I dip to keep the eye contact, and keeping my voice soft, yet deadly serious, I continue. “That was never our money, Tia. We were laundering it for some very nasty Russians. I’m going to credit you with enough intelligence to understand what that means and what the consequences are if I don’t give it back.”
“I can’t give it back, even if I wanted to. I don’t have it.”
“Stop fucking lying to me!” I thump my fists on the armrest even if shouting made her jump first.
“I’m not. I don’t have it!” she yells back. She crosses her arms defensively, and her body is rigid. I wonder if she’s trying to hide further exposure of her subconscious non-verbal cues. It’s a little late for that; she’s like an open fucking book.
“Oh really?” I drop my voice to a menacing whisper and watch her throat as she struggles to swallow at the threatening tone. Pushing myself back up, I walk over to the row of windows that stretch the length of the room. I drag each of the heavy curtains wide and watch clouds of dust swirl in large gusts in the sunlight bursting across the room. Once I have finished, I turn and kick the Oriental room divider at the far end hard enough to shatter the hinges and send it crashing across the floor. The noise is eclipsed by the sharp, harrowing cry from Tia as she stands and rushes toward the broken body of the asshole she claims to love more than me.
Logan.
“Don’t fucking move!” I yell, and she skids to stop a few feet from him. His eyes, swollen and bruised—one is barely open at all—fix on hers. Dried blood is caked on his face, flaking in his overgrown beard. His long hair is clumped in strands and hangs limply around his face. He mumbles against the gag and jerks in his restraints, but the ties are too firm to budge. The chair is solid oak, heavy, and sturdy enough not to move an inch, even as he tries to throw his considerable bulk around. A slight scuffing sound against the rug is the only audible result of a fit of pure fury and frustration.
“Let him go!” Tia cries, tears free-falling down her cheeks. Her voice cracks with emotion, and she actually presses her hands together as if in prayer.
“Give me my money.” I let out an exhausted breath, tired of the same damn question.
“I-I…” She stutters, sniffs and rubs the back of her hand roughly across her cheek. Her jaw sets, and rage eclipses her desperate sadness. Her eyes flit around the room, and I stop her before she settles on finding something stupid, like a weapon.
“Don’t even think about it.” I pull my own brand of stupid from inside its scabbard tucked in the back of my jeans. A long blade dagger, curved, with one jagged edge, unbelievably sharp, with an intricately carved silver handle. The sunlight bounces beautifully off the smooth and spotless surface of the blade, refracting light shards across the room and catching Tia full in the face, enough to make her raise her hand to protect her eyes. I’m standing close enough to Logan to stop her thinking about anything other than me, the knife in my hand, and hopefully, my fucking money.
“I didn’t want it to be like this.” She snorts and sucks in a sharp breath when I press the blade against Logan’s cheek. “Don’t be like that, Tia. I’m telling the truth.”
“Really, Cass? What did you want it to be like? For me to give you the money? Give you the code and for us to waltz off into the sunset hand-in-hand with your mother toasting our happiness?” She spews the words with contempt and bitterness.
“Let’s not go crazy, princess. Mother is never going to drink to your happiness, but yes, that’s pretty much what I wanted.” I tilt my head and raise my brow with surprise since I’m stating the fucking obvious. “Ever since I saw you in the interview room, I wanted you. I mean, don’t get me wrong, Logan…I had her.” I lean down, dropping my voice low and sensually emphasising the pertinent word so the meaning is not lost. He fights and growls against the gag, ignoring the blade at his cheek. It slices deep enough for a spurt of blood to shoot out covering the dagger with a thick, warm splash of colour.
“Stop! For fuck sake, Atticus, just stop.” Tia lurches forward, pulling back when I angle the knife to take another cut. I tut and let out a heavy breath.
“Women. The women in my life always cause the most fucking trouble,” I muse aloud the honest fucking truth to the near silent room. The only sounds are Logan’s stunted grunts of pain and the heartfelt sobs Tia fails to suppress. “I know you didn’t get the company into this mess, Tia. Unfortunately, you are the reason I can’t get us out, and I can’t let that happen.” I momentarily take the knife away from Logan’s face and wave it in her direction. “Despite what you think, princess, I’m doing this for you. I won’t let you die.”
“I don’t have the other money. I really don’t, but I can give you the account details where the hundred million is.” She forces the offer from her tight, thin lips. I don’t much care how I get the offer handed to me.
“It’s a start.”
“I’ll need a laptop.”
“On the desk.” I nod over her head to the other end of the room, closer to the fireplace in front of one of the windows where Grandfather’s freestanding desk overlooks the rose garden. She remains transfixed, her eyes on mine, fear and loathing swirling in those emerald depths.
I move the knife to Logan’s neck for encouragement.
He moans and shakes his head at Tia, but he has the sense to stop moving when I press the serrated edge against his jugular.
“I’m doing it, Cass, just take the fucking knife away okay?” She keeps her eyes on me, my hand, the knife, and Logan.
“Money, Tia.”
“God you’re an arsehole.” She rushes to the desk. Her eyes flit from the open laptop to me. Assessing where the real risk currently is in this room, I decide I need to watch closer over what Tia is doing. I twirl the blade in my hand and casually walk over until I am towering at her side. Her fingers fly over the keyboard. Several screens open and close, passwords, codes and firewalls come and go until she has a screen with a bank account showing only one transaction. My hundred million pounds.
“There, that wasn’t so hard was it?” I squeeze her shoulder. It’s rock solid with tension under my fingers, but she shucks out from under my touch. I take the anger on the chin. It’s the least I deserve, and I know I’m not done, not by a long way. “Now if you’d just transfer it to this account.” I call out the numbers and watch her make the transfer. Her eyes keep peeking over to Logan as he fights and struggles to get free. She slams the laptop shut.
“Now let him go.”
“Not quite, princess. I still need the rest of the money.” She spins in the chair, and if intentions could kill, she fires a glare that would turn me into a smouldering pile of ash.
“And I said I don’t have it.” She stands, indignation and fury flushing her skin red with righteous outrage. She squares her body to mine, which is comical since she’s five foot nothing and I’m holding the only weapon in the room. I push her back into the chair, catching her off balance and dismissing her claim like the one before.
“And I don’t believe you.”
“Cass, please.” She sounds exasperated enough I might actually believe her. Still we’ve come this far on a mountain of lies and secrets, and I need to be sure. Several purposeful strides cover the distance until I am back beside Logan.
I flip the dagger in my hand, spinning the blade high, and without hesitation, plunge it deep into Logan’s side. Only the sound of his guttural pain is enough to block out her shrill scream. It fills the room, ricocheting off the ancient oak beams, rattling the ribcage of the room and leaving only the sound of desperation in its wake.
“Noooooo!” She scrambles away from the desk and sprints to his side. Rivers of garnet-red blood ooze around the edges of the blade. His eyes have already started to roll back, and his head lops heavily to one side. “No, no, no, no. What have you done?” She sobs hysterically, her hands replace mine on the blade and she’s smart enough to keep it there, keep the pressure on. I walk back to the laptop, wiping the blood down my jeans to clean my fingertips.
“You want to tell me where my money is now?”
“I told you I don’t have it, you fucking lunatic!” She yells and sobs. “It’s still in your fucking company, hidden. I just don’t have the codes to find it.”
“Well, who does?”
“I give you two guesses but you might only need one, you piece of shit.” She sniffs, her eyes narrowed to tiny slits, and I feel the full force along with the untimely enlightenment.
“Shit! Really? Logan has the codes?” Not what I was expecting, not what I was expecting at all. Shit.
“Yes, and if you don’t call an ambulance, he’s going to fucking die!” she screeches, and the piercing pitch of her voice is not helping me think.
“Shit!”
“Atticus! Call a fucking ambulance!”
“Give me the code for the safe.” I walk over to the wall.
“What!” Her jaw drops. “What the fuck, Cass!”
“I’m going to need those diamonds if I can’t find the money Tia.” I state this with as much patience as I can muster. She hesitates, worry and heartache draining the colour from her face. “You’re wasting precious time here, Tia, time your lover-boy doesn’t have.”
“Twenty-six right, six left, twenty left and eleven right. The date I went to jail. The date your fucking family ruined my life.” Her accusatory tone hits the mark, but I don’t have time to dwell. I have to fix this fucking mess, and I have to get out of here quickly or that arsehole she loves is really going to die. I spin the dial and wait for the cogs to release, turn the handle, and the safe opens. I rummage inside and push the back until it falls into my hand. I reach in and grab the soft velvet bag. It’s heavy enough to know very little, if anything, has been removed. I shake it and let the weight settle in my palm.
“It’s all there,” she quips with no humour.
“I believe you.” I slip the phone from my pocket and walk over to her.
“You’re not taking the Will?” She cranes her neck to see past me, the small folder containing Grandfather’s Will is very much where she left it.
“It’s about time you get what’s rightfully yours, don’t you think?”
“I don’t think it’s going to be easy even with a Will.” She shakes her head.
“I’m not going to be around to fight it, princess, and I’ll make sure Mother doesn’t contest.”
“What? Why? I don’t understand.” She looks up as I look down. She doesn’t move away when I twist a lock of her soft chestnut hair away from her face.
“I have to make this mess go away, but I’ll be back, and I’ll be back for you.” My knuckles graze her jawline, and I take the explosion of heat in my chest that she hasn’t moved from my touch. She may still be in shock, but I have to hope it’s more. These next few months are going to be tough enough. If I can’t hold on to that hope, I may as well take the dagger and—
“You think I want anything to do with you after this?” she asks before I draw my own morbid conclusion.
“You will, princess, because at the end of the day, you’re mine.” I flick the lock on the collar she is still wearing and grab the back of her head, pulling her in for a final, brutally honest, breath-stealing kiss. I slip my phone into her hand.
“You have one call. You can call the police for me, or you can call the ambulance for him. Your choice, princess.” I stand and watch her swipe the screen, the phone starts to ring out loud in the quite of the room.
“Ambulance. I need an ambulance!” Her voice waivers with emotion, and I turn and exit the wreckage without a backward glance. The hatred in her eyes I can handle; however, her bent and broken over that motherfucker is too much for me to stomach.
Clarke has the car running, and I jump in the passenger seat. My laptop is tucked under my arm.
“Drive.” The door slams, and I let out a sharp, heavy breath I’m not sure is filled with relief or regret. Either way, I don’t have time to process right now.
“Where to?”
“The airport.”
He floors the gas and we leave a wake of gravel and dust kicking up into the air as we pull away for Tartarus, from Tia. I don’t look back.
We slow down on the outskirts of the village. The windy roads make it difficult to hit anything above twenty miles an hour, and the last thing I need is to be pulled over for a speeding ticket when I really need to not be in this country for the foreseeable future.
“Stop the car!” I point to the pub car park where my mother’s Range Rover is fucking parked. “What the fuck is she still doing here?” It’s a rhetorical question, and Clarke dignifies me with his silence on the subject and pulls into the space beside my mother’s car. I jump out and head inside the quiet country pub. There are a few patrons, finishing up their late lunches, and several elderly locals at the bar. My mother is holding court in the corner of the Line Bar area, next to the open fireplace where a stack of dry logs is ready for burning when the weather turns.
I recognise the old Chief Inspector, his partner, and the landlord, all laughing and seemingly enjoying their trip down memory lane. My mother stiffens when she see me approach. Her smile freezes, her glossy, bright red lips sticking on her perfect white teeth. It takes a moment to regain her composure. Her hands absently drift to her scarf-covered neck, and I wonder if I really left a mark the last time we met. It’s possible; she made me fucking mad enough, and frankly, it’s the least she deserves, considering the shit-storm she created.
“Atticus,” She gushes. “I didn’t know you would be joining us.”
“I’m not. Why are you here?” I snap with open hostility.
“I was waiting to hear you had left the Hall before I followed you back to town. Still, now you are here, why don’t you join me for a celebratory drink and we can head off together.” She eases herself along the cushioned bench and pats at the space she’s just created.
“It’s a little premature for a celebration, don’t you think?” I ignore the offer to take a seat. My derisive response has little effect.
“Not at all.” She continues to lightly pat the seat beside her, and giggling, she turns to wink at the Chief Inspector. She actually winks. What the hell?
“A moment alone with my mother, gentlemen.” I demand and watch as they all stiffen and reluctantly edge away from their idol. It’s pathetic. My mother would no more give them the time of day than she would a tramp on the street if she wasn’t getting something in return. That in itself makes my blood boil.
“I said I would handle this.” I grit out through my increasingly tight jaw once the room is cleared.
“I know, darling, only I had a genius idea and just went with it.” She claps her fingertips together lightly with giddy excitement.
“Fucking hell.” I run my hand through my hair, tension spiking in my blood, and an unnerving twist in my guts makes me snap. “Your last genius idea is why we’re in this fucking mess, Mother. What have you done?”
“The Hall is heavily insured and The Chief Inspector knows just the right person to—”
“Stop. Don’t say another fucking word. You’re not burning Tartarus to the ground for the insurance.” I can’t fucking believe this woman.
“Not just Tartarus.” She winks at me and I feel the blood drain from my face. I can’t speak but that doesn’t stop her. “You did leave Tia there didn’t you? Two birds, one stone…or one very old, very leaky heating system should I say.” Her smile could freeze ice, and I feel its chill in my bones.
“What have you done? How did you know I left Tia there? It was five fucking minutes ago.” The volume rises in direct proportion to a rocketing rage I can’t control.
“Keep your voice down. I have my sources,” she whispers, her hand cupping the side of her mouth like we are sharing some juicy secret. She’s fucking insane.
“Angus, the groundskeeper, he must have seen me leave.” I wrack my brains because I didn’t see a soul.
“Not the groundskeeper; he’s on holiday, but I do have my spies.” She glances at her watch and grins like the fucking Cheshire cat on Christmas morning, clapping her hands together with glee. “It’s done,” she squeals
“What? What’s done?” I ask but the faint sound of sirens screeching outside distracts me. There’s a thunderous boom in the distance. I rush to the window. In the sky above the tree-line, there’s a dark cloud mushrooming. I think I feel the ground shake, but looking down, I can see it’s my legs trembling. I grab the windowsill to stop myself from collapsing. My fingertips hang on to the glossy black wood with a vice-like grip. It’s futile; I buckle and fall to my knees. My head drops to my empty hands, and I mouth one more rhetorical question.
“What have we done?”