You've got a lot of questions, and I'll be back to answer them soon. Until then, do your own research. Find out everything you can. Don't take my word for it. And don't you fucking think about calling for help – it's read only. Nothing gets past this house's encryption. – A. Ivankov
I shrugged and complied. It wasn't like I had anything better to do, and how the hell could I help it when he'd dropped such a juicy invitation in front of me?
I sat on the bed with the little device, wondering if the encryption was really as tight as he'd claimed.
Yup. Email, apps, and all the chat sites I knew were off limits. The browser wouldn't let me move through the web fluidly. There seemed to be a list of bookmarks, and nothing else.
The first page I pulled up was an old profile on a fetish site. The face belonged to Michael Wilkins, the investment banker killed in the attack. I recognized his smug face from the obituaries I'd read for my piece.
I only browsed a few lines of his interests. It was enough.
Not a fucking game...real pain...I like to leave permanent marks.
Another page opened up a large PDF. It was an account statement from a dead city councilman with monstrous amounts marked gratuity for the Club Duce. The last transaction was just an hour or two before the bombing, about what you'd expect a multi-millionaire to tip for exceptional service.
On and on the evidence ran.
Sick profiles. Financials he'd gotten by some black magic. A carefully suppressed draft of a story that was never published in a major paper about one of the dead businessmen breaking his wife's jaw when she confronted him about his depraved affairs. The reporter's boss was on the dead man's payroll.
Over and over, I saw GIOULIO LIGIOTTI in big letters whenever the owning party was named for Club Duce. Anton left it there, as if to shove it in my face, constant reminders saying, you see this shit, babe? You see who's responsible? Fucking look!
Oh, I did. I saw it all.
I took the longest, harshest look I could until my eyes wouldn't work anymore and my fingers went numb on the little device. Then I picked it up, stood on the bed, and hurled it through the opening in the curtain.
The thing went flying towards the vanity and smashed with a clatter like fireworks. I collapsed, clawing at my face, sick to death and shaking.
I was beyond fucked. Only, I didn't know who to blame. I didn't know whether I should hate my own dirty blood or the bastard who'd made me think my Uncle was the filthiest man on earth. Maybe both.
The truth wasn't necessarily any clearer. There were a million ways he could've doctored everything on the screen.
The man seized me, and he was holding me prisoner right now, after all. How far would he really go to get his way, to get me to help him destroy the only man who'd ever offered me his protective hand?
I was still wondering when I crashed, exhausted, stuffing my face in the pillow to dry my hot tears.
At some point, I must've fallen asleep. Next thing I heard was the door swinging open. I sat up in the darkness. Didn't need to make out the dark silhouette near the entrance to know who it was.
A piece of busted plastic from the tablet crunched under one of his shoes. He stopped, ground his foot into the tile, and whistled.
I glared as he looked at me through the dimness, folding his arms. “Fucking shit, babe. I knew you'd get upset when I confronted you with what was on that thing...never knew you were the smashing type.”
“I wish I'd saved it for later. I'd have held it and waited until you came in.”
God, it would've felt so fucking good to belt him in his stupid handsome face with that thing.
A smile pulled at his lips. An instant later, he was on me like a wolf, pinning me to the bed with ease.
“I'm gonna let you up, and you're gonna get dressed. We got shit to talk about. But not here. I'm not comfortable keeping you cooped up in this room forever.”
Something about the icy, commanding tone in his voice tasted extra bitter. I narrowed my eyes, pouring heat through his dark blue gaze.
“No.”
One of his eyebrows twitched. “Don't fucking make me stuff you into a dress. I'll do it with my own bare hands if I have to. It's been a rough few days. That's why I'm gonna go easy on your sweet ass. Work with me. Don't make the rest of your week hell, babe.”
“I don't care anymore. It's not like I have a choice. I never did.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” He growled.
“I don't believe a word of what I saw on that tablet. Did you really think I'd buy it when I couldn't connect to the web on my own? How was I supposed to fact check anything?”
“I was doing you a goddamned favor.” More thunder in his voice. “I laid it all out. You wouldn't have found shit anywhere that wasn't already in those documents.”
His muscles tightened around me. His hands had slid behind my back. It took all my energy not to flinch, not to let the heat smoldering beneath my skin reach an inferno.
Bastard! Even when I wanted to hate him, bite him, kick and scratch, being this close activated more primal instincts that weren't ruled by sane emotions.