“Have your fun,” I huff over my beer.
“Oh, I will, brother. Trust me.” Griffin loves to poke holes in people’s confidence. He is a good friend, but also a lawyer; he is always looking for loopholes.
“So why did you marry your one-night stand again?” Cade is at least a little more diplomatic.
“My father probably had a slew of children he never claimed. I have one illegitimate sister that I know about, and I just didn’t want my child growing up like that. It’s a paper marriage. I don’t plan to see my wife that often but, between us and only between us, I would sure like to fuck her again. She was delicious.”
“Bennies to being married, my friend,” Marcel chimes in. “You may fuck her at will.”
“There is the matter of consent to consider, and since we’re essentially strangers, that’ll be a stumbling block.”
“Sincerely, when have you ever had a problem getting a woman in bed?” Marcel does have a point.
I am stately and mature. My money is attractive, but my jawline and physique definitely have equal appeal.
“She’s also a mess after the accident, and nursing… but yeah, someday I’ll hit it again, I’m sure. I only plan to be married for five years or so. My publicist and I are ironing out the details. I also can send them to live in Canada if they get to be too much. I’m not worried.”
“Well, you’re brave, brother,” Griffin says. “You are the first of us to fall.”
“I wouldn’t consider this a full descent, more like a trip. I’m the first one of us to trip.” We are all richer than God and all confirmed bachelors. We like pussy without strings attached.
I have a great evening with the guys and stay out for a while, drinking and just catching up. By the time I make it home, I check in on Scarlett, and she is fast asleep. I get an update on the baby from the night nurse and peek into Rayne’s room. She is such a tiny, beautiful little thing. Itsy bitsy toes, sweet little fingers… I won't admit it to Scarlett or anyone else, but I also am happy to have her. I never really thought about having a child, but seeing her sweet little face, innocent and untouched by the ugliness of the world… something warms in my cold-ass heart a little.
The next day I leave my loft without checking on Scarlett or Rayne and meet Carl at his office.
“Walk with me,” he says. That is code for CSS secrets.
We get a bagel from a street vendor and walk together on the crowded New York street. As public as the environment is, it is the safest place for a secret conversation. If we keep it to ourselves and use code words while moving, no one will overhear us.
“So I’m glad Omexadol is the miracle drug that you’ve hoped it would be. The research is looking very promising. I’m proud of you.”
I certainly don’t need Carl’s pride, nor do I respect it. “You called me to meet with you so you could tell me you're proud of me like I am a seven-year-old?” I make sure to keep the ice in my tone.
He laughs, but it is fake. This is a well-planned game piece, this walk down 42nd Street.
“No. You of all people don’t need my praise. I want you to create a mirror drug, one that will deconstruct the immunity you’ve trained it to boost. Omexadol can fortify cells to effectively fight cancer, making them tough as hell but virtually undetectable. The DNA code in them simply instructs the cell to mutate, as I understand, and there is no trace of the drug left behind because all it does is act as a teacher. Am I correct?”
He is, but what is he getting at?
“Yes, so you’re asking for me to deconstruct the science behind Omexadol so that I can do what? Create a drug that will instruct cells to drop their defenses?”
“In essence, yes. CSS wants a drug that will be undetectable and can work over a period of time. If we had a mirror of Omexadol, something that could do the opposite, we’d have a powerful weapon. Just imagine, we could take out our enemies with a glass of water. Pour a portion of your tasteless drug in there and, over time, their cells would break down, and they’d either die of whatever bug was going aroundor organ failure. No guns, no hitmen… just your brilliant science.”
“I’m a doctor, Carl, not a murderer. I’m not doing it. I took an oath. I may be loyal to CSS because of my family, and I may not have many scruples, but I draw the line at mass murder. A mirror drug in the wrong hands would create world domination; we’d have genocide, we’d have the end of human civilization. I won’t do it.”
Fuck you, is what I should say.
“Think it over,” is his response, and he doesn’t break a sweat or crack his grandfatherly smile.
“No need. Good day, Carl.” I stop in front of a high-end baby boutique, which is another instance of serendipity. “I need to duck in here.”
“A baby store?” His brows furrow.
“It’s where one goes when one has a baby. This conversation is over.” I walk into the store and away from the monster in a wool cardigan.
Chapter Ten
Scarlett
