Page 42 of Controlled

Sighing, I noticed a couple of the admin staff were crowded around Marcia and she looked very distraught.

“I wonder what that’s all about?”

“Maybe Gregor is getting fired,” I teased. Gregor had stormed out of the practice session after receiving yet another phone call.

She laughed until we both noticed Marcia had placed one hand on the wall, the other over her heart. “What the fuck is wrong with her?”

“Hold on. Is that a police officer?” I asked absently, already walking toward the hallway. I was holding my breath by the time I got to the door.

“I just don’t understand,” Marcia said. “He wouldn’t do that. He had his entire life ahead of him. You don’t understand. It wasn’t suicide. I will not buy it.”

“Mrs. Casper,” I said, hating the sound of my voice. It was so tiny, full of fear.

Marcia gasped when she saw me, pushing her way through the other two administrators. “Go back to class, Bella. There’s nothing you can do here.”

The policeman eyed me like I was some criminal. I remained defiant. “I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on.”

“Bella. Please.” She was exasperated.

Well, so was I. “Does this have to do with why Jonas didn’t show up this morning?” When no one said anything, I flew off the handle. “I’m his goddamn best friend. Is Jonas alright?”

Marcia gripped my arms and I shoved her away. “Please. You don’t want to be here.”

“Ma’am. She might have some information that could prove useful.” The police officer had no emotion whatsoever. While I understood they were trained not to care because of burnout, it infuriated me.

“What happened to Jonas?” I’d raised my voice more than I’d intended, which drew the rest of the dancers toward the hallway. “Tell me!” Okay, I was being highly irrational, but my instinct was screaming that he was dead.

Dead.

Marcia couldn’t answer the question, turning around and sobbing instead but the policeman finally cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but Jonas Carrington is dead.”

Creed

There were days I hated board meetings. Today was one of them, likely because my mind was still reeling from what Kane had told me.

“So we are on track with the sale next week to the Pentagon?” Ralph Booker asked. He was one of my father’s old buddies, both men attending Harvard together. They’d roomed together, fucked women together, and passed the bar exam on the same day. They’d even opened a small but almost immediately profitable law firm together.

Bosom buddies for life.

I’d heard, although I couldn’t buy it as gospel, that my father had broken free of the tight hold our bastard of a grandfather had on him, leaving the fold to do good in the world. Just like Styx and Easton were attempting to do.

For a couple of years, evidently the demons had been pushed back into their cages. But as happened to all good psychopaths, the monsters refused to live in the darkness but for so long.

While they’d remained friends, my father holding interest in the firm until his death, they’d mostly separated their business activities. Meaning Ralph was drawn to the darker side because of his love of money and power.

Just like so many who’d lost their way.

Now he served as a reputable board member, one of two. His reputation and contacts had proven useful in getting our little weapons firm in front of other powerful people inside the US military.

Travis Kingsley, an Englishman with ties to Italy and Ireland as well, had proven his worth early on by enticing Europe and Canada into our folds. The rest of the world had fallen like dominoes through the years.

I didn’t particularly like the pompous man, his arrogance and insistence on getting his nose into every area of legitimate business becoming an irritant early on. However, the three of us had agreed not to kill him.

Or Ralph for that matter.

They were paid well, owned thousands of shares of stock, and we’d made them extremely wealthy men. For that, they owed us their complete loyalty.

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