Chapter Fifteen
Jacob Stone fastened his diamond cuff links—a wedding gift from one of his Faithful in South Africa—irritated that the current conversation had already gone on so long. “In case the message is unclear, Kozlov, this is my pissed-off voice.”
“Forgive me,” Kozlov beseeched on the other end of the line. “I had intended the car bomb for our mutual acquaintance. I will not fail you again, Master.”
“I expect not,” Jacob returned. “I want this business with Antonovich resolved. That son of a bitch has outlived his usefulness. Double-crossing my grandfather was supposed to provide me with all the data Antonovich had pilfered. And I have yet to receive it. I thought bringing you in would rectify that. But I have to say, Kozlov, so far I’m unimpressed.”
“I will take care of Antonovich immediately,” Kozlov assured him.
Jacob removed the jacket of his charcoal-gray suit from its hanger and shrugged into it, vaguely noting that his tailor was a genius. The fit was perfect. “Good,” he said. “Because if the Alliance gets to Antonovich, I will be extremely disappointed. And I’m afraid someone will have to pay the price for my disappointment.”
“Understood.”
“And what of Jack Grayson?” Jacob prompted. “I gave him up so that you could take your retribution. But I don’t want him figuring out your connection to me. He goes to his grave not knowing the truth. Is that clear?”
“Perfectly clear,” Kozlov agreed. “I pledged my loyalty to you, Master. I will not betray you. Antonovich will be eliminated and Jack Grayson will be punished for his sins. You have my word.”
Jacob grunted, wishing someone’s word mattered a damn these days. But he knew how to play the game. “Very well. I will look forward to hearing an update soon.”
Jacob hung up and adjusted his tie in the mirror, giving his reflection a self-satisfied smirk. It gratified him to know that he still had loyal support where it counted. Soon loose ends with the Russians would be tied up with a neat little bow and Jack Grayson would cease to be an issue.
He raked his hands through his hair, then turned his head from side to side, taking in the debonair man who stared back at him. The new patches of gray at his temples gave him a distinguished, sophisticated appearance—exactly what was needed for a world leader. He chuckled as he left his dressing room and strode down the hallway that led to his study. He gave his security detail a mock salute as he passed.
“Please give my grandfather my regards,” he snarked. Calling over his shoulder, he added, “And by regards, I mean ‘tell him to go fuck himself.’”
He threw open the door to his study, his smile instantly fading when he saw he had guests. And that they were already being waited upon by his lovely wife.
Allison sat on the very settee where he’d screwed her earlier, Stefan Shepherd next to her, his eyes openly devouring her in spite of Jacob’s sudden appearance. The son of a bitch didn’t even have the decency to disguise the fact that he wanted Jacob’s wife, didn’t turn away, didn’t even remove his hand from where it rested upon her thigh, just below the hem of her skirt.
Allison offered Jacob an overly bright smile, her cheeks flushing—but whether out of embarrassment at being caught allowing another man to feel her up or from her own arousal, Jacob couldn’t tell.
“I don’t recall requesting your presence,” Jacob said, keeping his tone flat, unemotional in spite of his fury.
Demetrius Shepherd, who sat in one of the high-back chairs, slowly dragged his hungry gaze away from his brother and Allison, and rose to his feet, his movements surprisingly elegant and polished. “Perhaps not. But your wife was good enough to show us her hospitality while we waited, so I assure you it was no inconvenience to us whatsoever.” He turned a sly smile on the others in the room as if they shared a private joke at Jacob’s expense.
“Why are you here?” Jacob demanded. “Surely you didn’t come all this way just to molest my wife.”
He turned a pointed look on Stefan, who sneered but lifted his hands away from Allison to lean back against the settee with a chuckle. “My apologies, Stone,” he said, although the wicked twinkle in his eyes belied his words. “I just couldn’t help touching the silky soft skin peeking out at me from the inside of her thigh. It’s really too much for any man to resist.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Jacob ground out, clenching his fists. “I’m warning you—”
“Had you waited another moment,” Stefan continued in his lazy drawl, “I would’ve had to taste it too. But I don’t think I could’ve stopped there.” He looked back at Allison, his gaze taking her in slowly. Her eyes were wide as she sent a panicked glance Jacob’s way. “Not until I’d buried my face between her legs and—”
Jacob lunged forward, dragging Stefan up by the front of his shirt and slamming him against the wall. “Say another fucking word, Stefan,” he growled. “One. Fucking. Word. All I need is a reason to break your goddamned neck.”
Stefan merely laughed in his face, not intimidated in the least. It was enough to make Jacob snap the asshole’s neck like a twig, but before he could react, he felt the tip of a dagger pressed to the side of his throat.
“I would not advise such a drastic course of action,” Demetrius said mildly. “I realize my brother can be a bit forward, Mr. Stone, but I hope you can overlook his bad manners this time for the sake of our business relationship.”
Jacob’s mind raced, trying to determine what the odds were that he’d be able to disarm Demetrius and kill both brothers before he or Allison suffered injury. But the increased pressure of the dagger against his carotid made him shove Stefan away, pegging the man with a furious glare.
“Brother, would you mind giving us the room for a moment?” Demetrius asked.
Stefan straightened his clothing, his eyes burning with fury as he returned Jacob’s glare. “Of course.”
Stefan moved toward the door like a good little pawn in his brother’s game, but when he turned his gaze on Demetrius, something unspoken passed between them that made Jacob glance from one to the other. And he saw what appeared to befearpass over Demetrius’s features, making Jacob wonder exactly which brother was running the show. He’d always thought it was Demetrius—ever polished and polite, the consummate mastermind. But now he wasn’t so sure.
The moment Stefan closed the door behind him, Demetrius tucked his dagger into the pocket of his suit jacket and offered Jacob a tight smile. “To your question, Mr. Stone, we came for payment. I assume the display in Boston was to your satisfaction?”
