As a rule, Damien didn’t get personally involved with the minutiae of the various projects under the Stark International umbrella. Absent cloning himself, that would be a physical impossibility. He’d been hands-on with The Domino, however. Not only because the impetus had been his own unique vision of what an office complex campus should look like, but also because he intended to eventually move all of Stark Applied Technology—the first Stark entity he’d created back in the day—from Stark Tower in downtown Los Angeles to The Domino in Santa Monica.
As both the architect and co-developer, Jackson had been neck deep in the project from its conception. Recently, he’d fully taken the reins so that Damien and Nikki could recover with Anne after the kidnapping, and Damien had been relieved to have the project watched over by someone he trusted so deeply.
Ironic, considering that for most of his life, Damien hadn’t even been aware he had a brother. Half-brother, technically. And when they first met, Damien hadn’t trusted Jackson at all. And that distrust had been reciprocated.
But that discord had long ago evaporated. They were family now, as well as friends. And they’d bonded over a shared contempt for their father, Jeremiah Stark. The man who’d kept them apart and had spent their respective childhoods tormenting each in different ways.
He hadn’t yet started the email to Jackson when an incoming call notification flashed on his phone’s screen. Ryan.
He pressed the button to answer. “Trouble?”
“I saw your email. Thought I’d call.”
“The morning would have been soon enough.”
“I was up anyway. Waiting for Jamie to get home. She’s out with Matthew.”
“Is she?” A mutual friend, Matthew Holt was fast becoming a legend in town. With shelves full of Grammy Awards, Emmy Awards, and Academy Awards, the producer and owner of Hardline Entertainment had his finger in all aspects of the entertainment industry. He also had a reputation for being reclusive, dangerous, and brilliant. Not to mention being a total manwhore, bedding any woman who showed a hint of interest—single, married, attached, it didn’t matter—and then cavalierly moving on to the next.
Of course, Damien knew better than anyone that reputations could be deceiving, but considering Holt’s mostly secret ownership of Masque, a private sex club, Damien had reason to believe that the rumors about Holt had some basis in fact. Enough basis that he was surprised to learn that Ryan had consented to let the man escort his wife.
After all, Ryan had a need for control that rivaled his own. More than that, despite the level of kink that Damien knew intrigued both Ryan and Jamie, he also knew that Ryan wasn’t the type to share.
“I didn’t think that was your style, my friend.”
“Funny,” Ryan retorted. “Holt tries anything more intimate than guiding her through a room with his hand on her elbow and he’ll be making an intimate connection with my fist.”
Damien bit back a grin. This was the Ryan he knew well. “So?”
“Holt took her to some Hollywood shindig. Camera crew, the whole nine yards. She’s doing interviews with the celebs, then they’re going to edit it into a special. It was Evelyn’s doing.”
“I hadn’t heard, but I’m not at all surprised.” A Hollywood staple, Evelyn Dodge had represented Damien back in his tennis days. She’d been responsible for keeping his secrets out of the public eye while at the same time making him a fortune in endorsements by being both clever and relentless, not to mention elegant and savvy. She was a woman who said what she meant, never looked back, and had the kind of self-confidence that came from genuine skill and intelligence.
Most of all, she’d always had his back, and he loved her for it. Jamie, he knew, was in damn good hands.
“It happened fast,” Ryan continued. “And with the timing—well, I think Jamie figured that Nikki had other things on her mind.”
Nikki and Jamie had been as close as sisters since high school in Dallas, and there was rarely a time when one didn’t know what the other was up to. Which meant that this was more fallout from the kidnapping.
“The whole thing came together less than forty-eight hours after Anne was home,” Ryan said, as if reading Damien’s mind. “She’ll tell Nikki the next time they’re together, I’m sure. Especially since Lacey Dunlop is already seeing red.”
Damien didn’t purposefully keep up with Hollywood gossip, but he did pay attention to the lives of his friends. And he knew that Jamie had lost her job to the rising entertainment reporter. Who, he assumed, Jamie was now hoping to take down a peg or two.
“Good for Jamie,” he said, meaning it. “Nikki’s going to be thrilled. Any update on who trashed her office?”
“Nothing firm. My gut says he had nothing to do with the kidnapping. But I wouldn’t be surprised if the vandalism turned out to be Breckenridge’s handiwork.”
“Agreed,” Damien said, his temper rising as he recalled the horrible words that had been spray painted on the wall of his wife’s then-unoccupied new office space. He hadn’t been able to prevent it. And he didn’t know for certain who was behind it.
All he’d been able to do was comfort her after the fact, something she repeatedly told him was enough. But as far as Damien was concerned, it barely scratched the surface.
He wanted retribution, but how could he get that without proof?
He agreed with Ryan’s assessment that Richard Breckenridge was a likely suspect. After all, the former investor in The Domino had been none too pleased when Damien had cut him loose after a series of #metoo allegations went public.
Damien had originally been thrilled when Breckenridge, the brains behind a high-profile med tech company, wanted a stake. But the scandal had been both vile and credible, and after Damien terminated the relationship, the man had promised trouble. He’d even gone so far as to phone Nikki the day that the vandalism of her office had been discovered. He’d called her a whore for taking a million dollars from Damien in exchange for her portrait and essentially called Damien a hypocrite for cutting Breckenridge out because of the press coverage of Breckenridge’s extremely inappropriate advances and non-consensual demands.
Nikki had told him about the phone call the day of the Stark Children’s Foundation brunch, and Damien had fully intended to confront the bastard in person the next day, making it very clear that Breckenridge needed to stay far, far away from Nikki.
But that was the morning that Anne had been taken, and suddenly Breckenridge’s bullshit phone call had seemed like nothing more annoying than a telemarketer by comparison.
“Any update on the video?” Damien asked, referring to security footage that caught the image of someone who looked like a teen entering the building and carrying a shopping bag that might well have been weighted down with spray paint cans. Someone thin and hooded who just might have been hired to go in and tag the walls.
“So far, still no ID,” Ryan told him. “But we may have found some footage of our suspect from another angle. I’ll know more soon.”
“Good. Keep me posted. Whoever did that to her office is going to pay. And if it turns out to be Breckenridge, all the better.” He rubbed his temples, the need to lash out growing in him once again. A need that he’d been battling down more and more ever since Anne was taken. A desire to batter his fists against all the wrongs in the world, and then the growing need for self-flagellation because no matter how much he wished it, that just wasn’t possible.
“What else?” he demanded. “Tell me something good.”
“I think Quince is taking our offer seriously,” Ryan said. “I don’t have a sense of what he’ll decide, but I think he’s giving it due consideration.”
“Is he?” Damien was surprised. Quincy Radcliffe was a talented British MI6 agent who moonlighted—apparently with his government’s knowledge and unofficial support—for a vigilante organization known as Deliverance. An organization that had been created by billionaire playboy Dallas Sykes for the purpose of tracking down the bastard who’d kidna
pped him and his sister when they were teens. It had, of course, expanded into a whole lot more.
Quincy had been an asset to Anne’s recovery, and Damien had told Ryan to float the possibility of Quincy becoming a permanent member of Stark International’s security team. Considering his role in Deliverance, however, Damien didn’t expect Quincy to give the offer any real consideration.
“Deliverance is slowing down,” Ryan explained. “I think it’s had some difficulty operating. I don’t think the government officially knows Deliverance exists, but—”
“I get it. The main asset of Deliverance was its ability to fly under the radar. If it’s lost that advantage…”
“Exactly,” Ryan said.
“I’ll speak to Quince myself. If he’s on the fence, I want to push him over. And I’m told I can be very persuasive. Or at least my checkbook can.”
Ryan chuckled. “You have your moments.”
“And the security upgrades?”
“We’re finishing the install of the additional perimeter cameras around the Malibu property in the morning. Nikki’s office is already complete, and we’re upping the garage security at Stark Tower. That’ll be complete by end of the day on Monday. But, Damien—”
“I know.” His words were sharp. He knew what his friend was going to say. That security around all the properties was already tight. State of the art. And this tweak was overkill. That Anne’s kidnapping had been one of those freak things. Maybe a personal, full-time bodyguard could have prevented it, but maybe not.