Page 39 of Chandelier Sin
“What didyoudiscuss with Atticus Sinclair when you met him in the ballroom? At the bar? And talked with him for over twenty minutes.”
The gin I drank threatened to rise in my throat, and I couldn’t swallow.
He knows.
He’d hardly care about Atticus, the stranger who he saw as no threat to himself and his larger-than-life ego. This was about me asking Ben to find Eloise.
Staff wanting to gain favor had ratted me out. I could ask him who had snitched, but that would confirm my guilt.
I raised my chin. “I’m an asset, Aemon.”
He closed the space between us and reached out to brush a strand of hair off my shoulder, then rested his palm there.
I resisted the urge to shrug him off.
“My love,” he said, his tone sinister. “Let me handle him.”
“Of course.”
I racked my memory for something that might placate Aemon. I needed to tell him my conversation with Atticus garnered something beneficial, but not the kind of intel that would see him placed in harm’s way—any more than he was already.
I hid my emotions. “You don’t think they’ll steal Pendulum from you?”
Unforgiving eyes met mine. “No one can.”
“The contract moved forward though.”
“A situation for legal minds.” He tilted his head. “You’re very interested in the fate of Pendulum all of a sudden.”
“Because it’s important to you.”
The club was his lovechild. Evolving into a sinister setting over the decades, designed for those wanting a higher level of erotic theater.
Aemon would do anything to protect Pendulum, even if it meant killing. And he had done so with shocking velocity.
Lance Merrill had that reputation, too. He got off on other people’s suffering. Both men were rich beyond all understanding, and that money bought them everything their sick hearts desired. Their devilish games were infused with evil.
“I’ll ask you again, what did Atticus say?” Aemon grew impatient.
“All very boring.” I couldn’t look away from his intense dark gaze.
Perhaps this evil had always lived inside him, lurking and waiting to rise, and the man who’d once seemed reasonable had been changed beyond recognition by life’s failures.
He’d kept this side of himself hidden for decades, but then, as the cracks in our relationship grew, so had my insight into the man who’d professed to be my savior.
“Tell me about him?” said Aemon.
“Who?”
He sent me a warning glare.
“Atticus?” I made it sound formal. “He’s rude and uninteresting. As you’d expect.”
Aemon watched me carefully. “He’s a surgeon.”
My mouth was forming words, but none escaped. I was surprised to hear this about the man who’d captured my imagination. He’d need steady hands and a keen eye, the kind that sees into theheart of the matter. Precise, yes, but also wielding a touch of artistry…knowing when to cut, when to—
“Eve!”
