Kai’s expression turned serious for the first time in the last couple of hours. He leaned forward, forearms on his knees, and flashed me a look of genuine sympathy.
“Leni, girl, tell me what you need from me, and I’ll do it. I don’t have to be in Toronto for another five days.”
“Cillian already knows about Melina’s death, and since I’m nowhere to be found, I’m his prime suspect. I can’t go to the top to find out if I’ve been jerked around this whole time with a false contract because I trust no one. Someone in our circle killed my father, Kai. And they’re probably the same people who had us kidnapped.”
My father’s memory now was fueled by rage, keeping all the sadness locked up tight.
Kai shifted his piercing blue eyes to Silas. “So, where do you come into play in all this? Did you know each other before?”
“No,” we answered in unison. “That’s another unanswered question. We have something, someone in common. And the only people I trust right now are in this room. And, of course, Franco and Eva.”
“Who?” Silas asked, his grip on my hip tightening.
“Friends of ours back in the States.”
He nodded his understanding.
Kai relaxed again, back against the couch. “In the meantime, it would probably be best to lay low and leave the country. Your father lived here most of the year, Leni. He was here when you last saw him alive. They’d know you’d come looking.”
“No one knows of this property except you. I won’t leave until I’ve quite literally bathed in their blood.”
Twenty-Four
LENI
Igripped the edge of the sink and stared at my reflection. On the outside, I was flawless, not a hair out of place, my face contoured to perfection and glowing. But for the first time in a long time, I had to breathe deeply and meditate about what I was about to do. It would take everything in me not to kill the bastard right then and there. Whether my father had died by his hand or not, he was guilty by association. Rupert Halloway was a Scottish man with businesses in Greece. According to Kai’s intel, he’d sent my father an email, a business lunch at a cafe. It was the last pings on my father’s cell phone, and the last anyone would see of him or his closest associates alive. I adjusted the blonde wig, a little peeved I had to look so unnatural, but it was either this or run the risk of being recognized.
Dabbing at the corner of my lashes, I took one last sharp glance at my face before closing my eyes. The switch was flipped, and the mask of seduction replaced any traces of emotion.
As I stepped into the lounge, I saw the man in question sitting at the bar in the company of an older acquaintance. He read like a book, a wealthy douchebag with a god complex. He looked like too much of a pussy to take on my father without help, or even at all. He was most likely a pawn. One paid a hefty amount to lure him away by someone he thought he could trust.
A tremor moved through me as I recognized the signs of a spiral.
Rein it in.
“Martini, please,” I said, leaning against the marble. It wasn’t long before his conversation trailed off, and I felt the heat of his gaze.
“Good evening.” He deepened his voice and twisted his body in my direction.
I offered him a slow smile. “Hello,” I replied in my best British accent.
“Rupert,” he said, extending his hand.
“Celia.”
“Celia,” he repeated, caressing each syllable as he brought my hand to his lips, kissing my knuckles softly. He closed his eyes briefly and drew a breath, shaking his head. “Celia, you smell absolutely divine.”
“Thank you.” The bartender placed my drink in front of me, and I slowly brought the glass to my lips.
“On my tab,” he said to the younger man on the other side of the bar, eyes focused solely on me. “Are you from around here?”
“London.” I dabbed my bottom lip, seductively licking the remnants from the pad of my thumb. The tension in his jaw was visible even from just a side glance. This was far too easy.
On a typical assignment, the banter, the flirting, the innuendos would last until I knew I’d established trust, and they couldn’t think straight because the anticipation of sliding their dicks inside me inhibited their judgment, coupled with the alcohol I subtly encouraged. But tonight was different. My patience was thin, rage on the fringes of escape. Dragging this out would only cause a slip-up I couldn’t afford.
“Rupert,” I said, slamming down my glass and abruptly cutting him off from whatever lame pick-up line he was in the middle of spewing. “I’m not looking for a boyfriend or deep conversation. I don’t give a damn about anything you’ve got to say. And I don’t care about your money. I just want a good fuck.” His eyes widened, and I leaned close to his ear, hand caressing his inner thigh. “My pussy is wet, Rupert. You can either help me or watch as I squirt all over my fingers.”
“Oh…fuck.” He grabbed my hand. “Close my tab, Alex,” he called over his shoulder as he dragged me through the lounge, phone to his ear, alerting his driver.
