Page 120 of House of Payne
It’s only our history that’s keeping me from taking more serious action against her.
That and the niggling voice in the back of my head screaming at me that she’s right.
When did she become so goddamn observant?
When Carlisle knocks on the door, I take a step back and reach for my drink. Katia exits the room but not before scowling at Carlisle. He enters, and I give him a blank look.
The entire time he talks, I can’t stop thinking about London.
***
London
“Don’t do anything stupid,” I mutter. With one last look over my shoulder at the door left ajar, I sit behind Miss Deveroux’s desk. My fingers are trembling as I pry the laptop open and wait for it to boot up.
I don’t know if being in here is going to get me in trouble.
I’m only allowed to escape to her office because she likes me, but what happens if she finds out how often I’ve been hiding out here?
Will she get into trouble?
You’ve seen how much influence she has. I’m sure she’ll be fine. Also, it’s not like you can do this on your own. Who knows where Mason has eyes and ears? I don’t even trust that he hasn’t bugged my phone.
The screen in front of me lights up, interrupting my thoughts, and I log onto the computer and pull up a browser. I type in Mason’s name and wait. A heartbeat later, several articles pop up, many with pictures of him at the club and with various gorgeous women.
My stomach tightens as I scroll through the articles, my heart hammering.
Mason looks put-together and powerful in every photo.
Even in pictures, his presence and aura are magnetic and undeniable.
Did I ever stand a chance against him?
I’m not sure what I’m looking for, but I know I won’t find it on the first try.
With a frown, I launch an incognito browser and glance at the door.
Laughter and music spill in through the crack.
I type in Mason’s name again and scroll farther down, alternating between glancing at the door and ignoring the pit in my stomach. When I feel the frustration and anger creep in, I finally come across Mason’s name in a forum. Despite my better judgment, I click on the link and lick my dry lips.
Holy shit.
Come on, you can’t be that surprised that the club is a front.
Since the first day he showed me around, I’ve known the club was a place for the elite to socialize and conduct business away from prying eyes. After I learned about the seedy underbelly operating below the surface, I’ve been dying to know the real purpose.
Now that I know, my mind races to put the pieces together.
According to the forum, the Paynes are the bankers of the underworld, investment powerhouses who finance short-term deals.
It’s no wonder my father went to them.
No one else would’ve given him that kind of money without collateral, and, given the state of the diner, he must’ve been desperate.
The farther I scroll down in the forum, the worse I feel.
By the time I reach a paragraph written by one of the survivors of a human trafficking ring conducted by the Paynes, I feel like I’m going to be sick all over Miss Deveroux’s expensive carpet. I stop and lean forward in my chair, but the roaring in my ears is still there.
