Page 35 of Arrogant Bastard

His eyes narrow for another minute. Then he holds out his hand. When I reach him, he yanks me close and rakes his fingers through my hair. “I should take a belt to your tight little ass for worrying me like this,” he mutters against my lips. “But you also happen to be the most intelligent woman I know. I need your A-game tonight, Faith. Please.”

“You’ll have it. I promise.” I kiss the corner of his mouth in gratitude. He sighs and returns the kiss. It’s whisper-soft at first. Then it isn’t, because soft and cuddly isn’t us when it comes to sex. Teeth nip, tongues duel. Fingers dig in and claim.

And then because he deserves a reward for sticking by me and because I’m utterly weak when it comes to him, I strip right there in our little communications room. And he bends me over his desk and shows me who’s boss.

By the time our guests of honor arrive, my mask is in place. Arkansas born and bred means Southern hospitality was fully ingrained by the time I turned three. I learned to smile through killer migraines and foxtrot with giant blisters on my feet.

At my sweet sixteen party, I spent a solid hour laughing and gossiping with Heather Jane Fitzgerald, all the while knowing she’d fucked the boy she knew I had a huge crush on before coming to my party. Sweet revenge came by way of spiking her drink with two doses of Nana’s extra-strong lithium tablets, thus ensuring she suffered three days of the trots. The get-well card I sent her was sealed with a kiss imprinted by my favorite pink lipstick.

Of course, these days the stakes are much higher. But still I smile and offer champagne to child rapists and allow myself to be hugged by Moses Black, the man who was filmed throwing the body of a boy overboard his yacht because one of his guests got too rough and accidentally strangled him during sex. I’ve thrown up twice since the party started two hours ago, each time after coming into physical contact with one of the men.

Despite my assurances to Killian, I’m finding it hard to keep it together when I want nothing more than to slide out the stiletto knife strapped to my thigh and drive it between Paul Galveston’s ribs. Or grab the Glock strapped under the canapé table and shoot Moses Black in the face.

“Darling, come and join us for the fireworks.”

My smile is flawless as I end my conversation with an aging rock star with an affinity for underage girls and join Killian and Raj Phillips. Killian is wearing a pristine white collarless linen tunic and black pants. The hair he’s let grow a little wild and long brushes his shoulders, and with his bright eyes and designer stubble, he’s easily the most breathtaking man at the party.

I take his hand, and we walk past the huge, sparkling pool to the edge of the landscaped garden that costs thousands of dollars a month to maintain. The pyrotechnicians are ready to begin. Our guests are all waiting with bated breaths for the display that set the agency back another twenty thousand.

“I’m looking forward to the display,” Raj says as he tosses back a mouthful of Angostura rum. “But I hope what comes afterward lives up to expectation. Just thinking about it has me harder than a priest next to a choirboy.”

My vision goes black for a single second as he laughs darkly at his own sick joke. For a moment I wonder whether he knows. About Julia. About everything that happened nine years ago. The records were sealed because of her age. But I’ve recently discovered that if you have the right connections and you look hard enough, you can find just about anything. Jesus, is he toying with me? Do they know why we’ve invited them here? Does—?

Killian links his fingers with mine, pulls me to stand in front of him, and winds both arms around my waist. A second later, his mouth brushes my cheek. With my hair caught up and my dark orange cocktail dress designed to leave my shoulders bare, he has access to my neck and shoulders too. He takes his time to trail a few kisses there before he looks over at Raj. “Well, we’ve thrown a few of these parties, and we’ve never had a guest leave us unhappy before, have we, sweetheart?” he says.

I pull myself together, take a sustaining breath, and turn my head, carefully avoiding Raj’s gaze, and look into Killian’s eyes. “No, honey. Never. I hate to brag, but we have a very difficult time choosing who to invite these days. It’ll break my heart if anyone here tonight isn’t fully satisfied with what we have planned downstairs.” I clench my gut and transfer my gaze to Raj. “We have everyone’s taste covered. I assure you.”

Raj’s smile widens, and he all but rubs his hands in glee. “Fantastic.”

I smile some more and dutifully gasp as the first set of fireworks rips through the sky. Since every one of the twenty-five guests invited knows what’s coming next, the closer the display gets to its denouement, the higher the depraved sexual energy builds in the crowd. Once it’s over and the applause dies down, all eyes turn to Killian.

He waits for a full minute, keeping them on tenterhooks while he kisses me. Then his gaze flicks over the crowd. “Sorry, folks, I don’t like to miss a chance to thank my lovely woman for everything she does for me,” he drawls.

Laughter is tinged with dark, fevered anticipation.

“Okay, we’ve kept you waiting long enough. Shall we head to the sin bin?” he asks.

Without waiting for a response, he takes my hand and walks me around the pool and back inside the villa. Our guests trail behind us, the three men who are the reason for all of this first in the group.

We reach the far end of the wide living room. Killian pulls down a glass panel in the wall and enters a code. A secret floor about the size of a door clicks and lowers three feet away. Subdued lighting illuminates the stairs leading down into the sublevel, which holds the same square footage as the floor above.

Again, Killian leads the way, his fingers linked with mine to help me down the stairs. When we reach the middle of the room, I take a beat to ground myself before I turn to smile at our guests.

“Holy shit,” Moses mutters under his breath as he turns a full circle.

Every imaginable sex gadget and accessory, and some that are in prototype stages, is displayed in the room illuminated by strategically placed gold lights. The objective was to blow the minds of men who already think they know everything there is to know about sex.

“This is like Eyes Wide Shut meets Space Odyssey meets Game of Thrones. The sexy bits, not all that blood and gore shit,” Raj expands as his gaze lights on a spank bench a few feet away and the scantily clad young woman sitting cross-legged on it. “Fuck me, I can spend a full week down here, no problem at all.”

Paul heads for the nearest group of girls reclining in suggestive poses around the room. There are twenty women and five men in total hired for the event.

As predicted, all three men go for the youngest looking in the group. I’m still nauseated that this part of the op involved dressing them up to look and act like they were underage. It doesn’t matter that they’re carefully chosen escorts flown in from across Europe. Or that they are being paid handsomely for a night’s work. I can barely bring myself to look at any of them.

But I have a part to play. I wait until all the guests are situated and busy with their chosen partners. The waiters, who are also part of the team, specifically here to ensure booze flows and the escorts are protected, ease my anxiety a little.

Enough for me to approach Paul and Raj. “Gentlemen, if you’d like to come with me. We have a further surprise for you. You can bring your new friends with you,” I say with a perfect smile.

Paul tugs a girl after him, as does Raj. “Hey, Mo,” he calls out to Moses, who’s sprawled out on a lounger, about to unzip his pants, “keep it wrapped for another minute, would you? We’ve been invited to the inner inner sanctum.”

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