Twice.
Oh, that beast. Had he not seen it, he would ne’er have believed its existence.
Assail pushed his chair around with his foot such that he could peer out the windows to the river beyond. A subtle chiming rang from the corner of the room where an old French clock was placed. In the background, over in the rear part of the house, he could hear his cousins moving around in the kitchen.
When he decided to use his cell phone, all he had to do was reach into the pocket of his shredded leather jacket. He had neglected to remove the ruined outerwear even though his house was well-heated against the cold October night.
Then again, all he had cared to do when he had arrived back home was sequester himself in private so he could play catch-up with his little problem.
He could not abide doing lines in front of his cousins. Not that he had any intention of altering his behavior for anybody.
Summoning a number up out of his contacts, he hesitated before initiating the call. As his thumb hovered over the screen, he was acutely aware that if he followed through on this, he was going to become something he had always disdained.
An agent of the King.
Or more to the point … an agent of another.
With a strange feeling of dread, he gave into the impulse and put the device to his ear, listening to the ringing commence. In the end, he decided to give himself up to Wrath’s demand for the simple reason that it seemed like the only good thing he could do with himself.
A right thing.
A positive thing.
He was beginning to feel as if it were about time. And mayhap he was taking a page from his Marisol’s book because it was the only way he could be close to her now.
No more drug dealing for him.
Although what he was about to do might well prove to be just as dangerous. So at least he would not grow bored.
“Hello, darling,” he said when the call was answered by a female. “Yes, I do need to feed, thank you. Tonight would be preferable, yes. And I have missed you as well. Indeed, very much so.” He let her go on a bit as she took his lie and swallowed it whole. “Actually, at your main house, please. No, the cottage does not suit a male such as myself. I was willing to make the accommodation at first due to your hellren’s presence, but now that he has taken unto his bed, I find myself unable to make that concession any further. You understand.”
There was a long pause, but he knew that she would relent. “Thank you, nalla,” he intoned evenly. “I shall see you very soon—oh, be in something red. No panties. That is all.”
He hung up on her because she was a female who required schooling if one was to capture and hold her attention. Too easygoing? Too charming? She would lose interest, and that couldn’t happen until he had acquired what he needed from her.
His next call was to the Brother Vishous. When the male answered, Assail uttered only three words prior to hanging up once again.
“I am in.”
“Suuuuure, I’ll stay late. No problem. Not like I have anything better to do.”
As Jo Early sat behind her reception desk, the rest of the real estate office was empty, nothing but a lingering mishmash of colognes and the strangely depressing Muzak overhead to keep her company. Well, that and the frickin’ ficus bushes on either side of her.
Those things dropped their leaves like they were on a constant molt-down—and her OCD just wouldn’t let her relax unless the floor was clean. Then again, she didn’t have to do stomach crunches at the gym.
Not that she went to a gym.
Checking her phone, she shook her head. Seven o’clock.
The plan, the “favor,” she was doing for her boss was to stay here until he brought three contracts in with signatures so she could scan them and e-mail them over to the various buyers’ brokers. Why he couldn’t feed the things into the machine himself and do a little PDF’ing was a mystery.
And okay, maybe she was part of the problem, too.
Not that she was proud to admit it.
Looking up over the lip of the desk counter, she focused on the smoky glass doors that opened to the outside. The office was located in an up-market strip mall that had a hair salon where the cuts started at a hundred bucks—and that was just for the men, a boutique that displayed two pieces of barely-there clothing in its window, a glass-and-china shop that sparkled even on gray days, and, at the far end, a jewelry store that the trophy wives of Caldwell seemed to approve of.
Going by the place’s pneumatic clientele.
“Come on, Bryant. Come on…”
Although really, where did she have to go. Home to Dougie and the crop circle arguments? Now there was a party.
As a telephone rang back where the offices were, she woke up her computer and stared at Bryant’s calendar. She put his appointments into Outlook when he texted or called to tell her to. Scheduled things like valid real estate meetings, but also the service for his BMW and visits by the pool man for his place over in that new development. Reminded him to call his mother on her birthday, and ordered flowers for the women he dated.
All the while wondering what he would think if he knew who her parents were.
That little secret was what she soothed herself with when he’d come in on a Monday morning and whisper that he’d been out with a divorcée on Friday and a personal trainer on Saturday and then had a brunch with someone else on Sunday.
Her true identity was armor she used to fight against him. In a war he was utterly unaware of them being engaged in.
Closing out his busy life, she stared at the logo on the screen. Bryant’s last name, Drumm, was the second in line—because the firm had been started by his father. When the man had died nearly two years ago, Bryant had stepped into his shoes, as well as his prime office space, in the same way he did everything else—smiling and with charm. And hey, it wasn’t a bad strategy. Say what you would about the guy’s playboy lifestyle, he could move a ton of real estate and look good doing it.
Caldwell, NY’s own Million Dollar Listing star.
“Come on, Bryant … where are you?”
After a re-visit of her already-twice tidied desk, she checked the floor under the right ficus, picked up a leaf and tossed it, sat back and …
What the hell, she went onto YouTube.
Dougie had posted that stupid footage on his channel—a rocking destination with a grand total of twenty-nine subscribers. Of which, like, four were Dougie himself in different sock puppets and two were spammers with low standards. As she hit the arrow to watch the forty-two-second clip all over again, she turned on the speakers. The sound track was right out of amateur-central, a combination of too-loud rustling as her roommate held the iPhone up and a distant, not-so-quiet roaring.
Okay, so yes, it certainly looked like something Jurassic-ish out in the middle of that field. And yeah, there seemed to be a lot of clutter on the ground, but who knew what all that was. It was only a camera phone capturing the footage, and maybe that was just the way the trampled area looked to its lens.
She played things a couple more times. Then sat back.
There were five comments. Three were from Dougie and their roommates. One was a testimonial from someone who was making $1750 a month at home!!!!$$$!!!!!. The last was … just four words that didn’t make a whole lot of sense.
vamp9120 shit allova again
Left by someone named ghstrydr11.
Frowning, she went on a hunt-and-peck and found vamp9120’s channel. Wow. Okay, three thousand subscribers, and what looked like a hundred videos. Firing one up, she—
Laughed out loud.
The guy talking at the camera was like a LEGO character of Dracula, with a point in the middle of his forehead and even pointier canines, facial hair that looked like it had been painted on rather than shaved around, and a swear-to-God, that must be Elvis collar on his shirt. The guy’s skin was too white, his hair too black, his red lips right out of a MAC tube. And that voice? It was part evangelist, part neo-Victorian, Bram-Stoker-almost.