“You can’t amuse yourself, playing with what’s mine.”
“Relax, Roy.” He finally faces me. The gods took their time when they made him. His face and frame are perfectly sculpted, but there’s something cold and reptilian about his colorless eyes. People are drawn to him, drawn to his beauty and wealth, until they get close. Then they scurry away, avoiding him as if they can tell he’s missing a soul. “I was never going to scene with her.”
“And yet you’re here.”
“In my own club? You’re not the sole owner, remember.”
I hold my temper. My father and Hamish taught me this, how to act calm when rage claws my chest like a rabid dog. “We’ve always been careful not to trespass on each other’s territory.”
“We’re more powerful when we work together for our mutual benefit. But it’s come to my attention that you might no longer be committed to the best interests of our businesses.”
“I’ve always held up my side of any bargain.” I narrow my eyes, but I know I don’t have to remind him of how I seeded his first investments. He came to me, young and hungry, with an eye for opportunity.
Some part of me knew he’d never be a friend, knew he might turn on me at any time. His loyalty has always lain elsewhere. I was a means to an end in his eyes. And now that he’s built his fortune and position to equal mine, he might feel like he has no use for me.
“Let’s speak plainly. You made a move on my submissive.”
“I told you I wasn’t going through with it. I could, but I won’t. But it’s interesting that you call her yours.”
“She is. Mine.”
“Does she know that?”
“She will. I’ll make it clear to her. First, I’m going to deal with you.”
“Oh? How are you going to deal with me? Put on your body armor and hunt me the way you do petty criminals in dark alleyways?”
Only St. James would risk baiting me like this. I control my expression, but my lack of reaction is a reaction, and he reads it like front-page news.
“Yes, Roy, I know how you get your jollies. Hunting humans. The streets were my home first, remember?”
And now he’s bringing up his past before I can needle him with it. Exploding my ammunition before I can use it. Typical tricks.
“What is your intention toward Inara?”
“Inara. . .” He draws out each syllable, and I want to punch him for daring to hold her name in his mouth. “She’s lovely. Not my type. I prefer them more. . . compliant.”
I want to shut him up, but I don’t trust myself to move or speak. I’m close to strangling him with my bare hands. I’ve had plenty of practice choking a man to death and quite enjoy it. Such a thrill to be face to face with a victim as the light leaves their eyes.
“She was intrigued enough to come here to speak to me, but it wouldn’t have gone any further. She won’t admit it, but she’s as enamored with you as you are of her.”
This is why St. James is dangerous. He understands people with one look, one glance. He honed this gift early when he had to live by his wits as a street urchin and every hour was a fight for survival.
In one sentence, he tells me exactly what I want to hear, calming my fear and taming the beast. “You think she’s enamored with me?” I keep my voice level, hiding the hope.
St. James hears it all the same. His lips quirk in the closest thing he has to a smile.
“She’s in denial about it. She hasn’t chosen you yet.”
“She will.”
St. James makes a non-committal noise.
The tension in the room unravels.
“You don’t want her,” I say.
He shakes his head. “I want to know why you do.”
