“Noah, please, come sit,” he chirps around a mouthful.
I check my surroundings for the exit, always wanting to be prepared and able to make a hasty retreat, then take the seat opposite him. Father taught us everything there was to protect ourselves: combat, weapon handling, survival skills. First rule when walking into any room: know your exits.
A different girl, wearing the same red lipstick, places a menu in front of me before pouring me a glass of water.
“Have the lobster. It’s fresh,” Antonio suggests, swigging something from a small mug.
“I’ll pass. Thank you,” I inform the girl, dismissing her.
“I heard about the last meeting. What happened is unacceptable. I apologize. The men responsible for clearing the meeting place have been dealt with and I sent your father an inconvenience fee.”
Ignoring his drivel, I ask, “Why are you taking this meeting? I was told you have a tail on you. Feds.”
Chomping through a slab of meat, the juice spurting up his cheeks and dribbling down his chin, he grabs a napkin, roughly swiping it across his face.
“My younger brother is under some heat, so I’ve been laying low for a while. However, after the upset of the last meet, I thought it paramount I rectified that and come myself. This,” he gestures around the room, “is a hidden gem I own. It’s more a personal thing that I don’t invite anyone for business here.”
“I’m honored,” I lie, already wondering why he’s kissing my ass so hard.
“Your father and I go way back. I respect our friendship. It’s why I asked him for this favor.”
“I’m still confused as to why you can’t host somewhere else. There are plenty of places to host kink parties.”
“Yes, but this needs to fly under the radar of more than just the authorities. This client is a man of influence. He’s in the public eye. His activities are scrutinized.”
“A politician,” I conclude.
He offers me a wicked grin, picking up an envelope and sliding it across the table. “Everything you want to know is in there. He flies in three nights from now, so time is of the essence.”
“I’ll start making preparations.”
“Excellent.”
Twenty-One
Remi
All our life, we’ve lived in this house, and not once have I ever thought there’d be a sex dungeon in the basement. Dad must have drummed it into us as kids not to go down there or ask about it. It had never crossed my mind, not that I ever had reason to go in the garage. We had a detatched one for my and Noah’s cars. Dominque lived above it. I wonder if she knows about what’s in this one.
Freya sits by the pool, flicking through some papers when I walk through the dining room, her presence summoning me outside.
“Hey, beautiful, what you reading?” She startles, making me chuckle. Holding up my hands, I say, “Sorry, it must be interesting.”
Lifting up the stack, she shrugs her shoulders. “Father said I should pick a college.”
I hadn’t thought about her going off to college. “Is that what you want?” I ask, dropping myself into the lounger next to her.
“I don’t know.” She tucks her hair behind her ear. “I honestly haven’t thought about it.”
“Really? You don’t think about the future?” The sun is scorching today. The trees still around us. The pool looks like a pane of glass.
A bead of sweat forms on her furrowed brow. “Is it weird if I say no?” She brushes her fingers over the stack of paper. “I don’t know why, I just kind of take each year as it comes. I always see myself here, in that room.” Her eyes stray to the balcony. “I imprisoned myself,” she breathes, “manifested my role here into one of a lesser being, a captive in a way, but the truth is, the door has always been there for me to walk through.”
That’s not entirely true. She spent a lot of her first years here locked away like Rapunzel in her tower. But that was for her safety. There were things she wasn’t allowed to hear, see—and for Noah to come around to the fact that she existed in the same space with us. “Do you like being here with us?” The question makes my chest crack. What if she doesn’t want to be here anymore? Picks a college far away from us?
“You’re the reason I came home.” She smiles, reaching out, stroking her palm down my face. “I don’t want to think about this stuff,” she scoffs, shaking her head.
“You want to get high?” I ask, pulling out a joint.
Grinning like a loon, she jerks her head. “Absolutely.”
By our third joint, my bones feel like they’re made of marshmallows and every word from Freya’s lips sounds like music.
“Does it really help with the headaches?” she asks, slipping onto my lounger, her warm, soft body curling around me like a monkey hugging a tree limb.