Page 72 of Prodigal

“I know something else we can do to pass the time, and it does not involve talking about the fucking council.” Gideon licked his lips suggestively and André shook his head.

“Uh-uh. No distracting me with sex. Tell me your plans.”

Gideon huffed out a breath. “Fine.” Sitting up, he retrieved his phone from his pocket and pulled up an image. “You remember this guy from earlier? He’s on The Council.”

The image was of an older white man with thinning gray hair, heavy bags under his eyes, and skin that looked like curdled milk. “I do, yeah.”

“In a few hours, he will be arrested.”

André’s eyes narrowed. “But he’s on The Council. Aren’t you guys untouchable?”

“We are. The charges won’t stick, no. His money and power will take care of that. But the arrest is a fake-out. Social media is what we want. My people will ensure his arrest, as well as some highly incriminating videos, trends. My plan is to get him off The Council and put somebody in his place who’s loyal to me.”

André cocked his head. “But what about his proxy?” Wasn’t the whole point of a proxy to be on standby if the original member wasn’t able to conduct their duties?

“Will be handled,” Gideon reassured him. “Once I find my mother’s killer or killers, I plan to disband The Council. Permanently. But until that happens, I’ll be getting rid of the OG members, putting in replacements who are loyal to me.”

André studied his features, the fierce determination in his eyes. The depths to this man. Playing chess while everyone else played checkers. He was glad he was around to witness the power that was Gideon Winters. “Is that why you wanted me as Ennis’s proxy so badly, because I’m loyal to you?”

Gideon grinned, eyes wrinkling at the corners. “Are you?” He licked his lips again. “Are you loyal to me?”

André regarded him from under his lashes. “I might be.” He slid a hand up Gideon’s chest and began undoing the buttons on his shirt. “Depends on how good this sex at over ten thousand feet turns out to be.”

23

Gideon walkedout of the bathroom after a much-needed shower, hair still dripping, a towel around his neck, to the sound of a knock on the bedroom door. He hurried over to open it, ready to silence whoever waited on the other side.

“Miss Juliette.”

Jules didn’t answer him. Instead, she peered past him, taking in her brother, who was face down on the bed, hugging the pillow, snoring loudly. Only then did she gaze up at Gideon from her wheelchair, one eyebrow raised. “So, you and Dré are really together, huh?”

Okay. He was in no way prepared for an interrogation by a fifteen-year-old, but he would take it. For André. And for Jules. “Why don’t I get dressed and we can talk, huh?” It didn’t feel appropriate to stand in front of her wearing a pair of loose pants and nothing else. He glanced at the bodyguard he’d assigned to her, who stood a little ways off to the side, then back to Jules. “Have you eaten?” He looked over his shoulder at the digital clock on the nightstand on André’s side of the bed. Almost one p.m. He and André had crashed—hard—when they’d gotten in from meeting with The Council.

“I had breakfast,” she told him.

“Then you and I can have lunch. Give me a minute.” He tossed her a wink, then closed the door gently in her face with a soft chuckle. The way the siblings loved each other, he’d known that sooner or later Jules would want to give him a speech, and he would listen and take it to heart. He respected André’s little sister more than Gideon respected the man who was actually complicit in his lover’s birth.

He dressed quickly in jeans and a t-shirt and pulled the covers up over André before he exited the bedroom. With a tilt of his chin, he dismissed Jules’s bodyguard, and Gideon pushed her wheelchair as they made their way down to the kitchen. He was still so fucking tired he could’ve slept for another ten hours, but his body was trained to rise at a certain time, so there he was, smothering a yawn as he entered the kitchen.

He greeted the chef and the couple of other people in there, grunting his thanks when the chef immediately poured him a cup of coffee. At the large kitchen table off to the side and out of the way of the people in charge of making his food, he joined Jules, who studied him with narrowed eyes.

“How come you don’t use the actual dining room?” she asked.

The room in question was a formal dining room, very opulent, large enough to host at least a fifty-person dinner party. “The kitchen feels more like home,” he told her. It reminded him of being young and sitting down with his parents for a meal. Ironically, he and his family had shared their meals in a formal area, but it wasn’t the same. Unlike his dining room, being in the kitchen felt homey, warm, and intimate.

He guzzled his coffee, holding the cup in both hands, eyes closed, but all the while he felt Jules’s gaze on him. “Something on your mind, Miss Juliette?” He didn’t open his eyes when he urged her, “You can speak. I’m listening.”

“Sir.”

He lifted his lashes to find the chef standing over his table.

“Anything in particular you’d like us to prepare for your meal?”

“A sandwich. The way I like it, please.” He held up the cup. “More coffee. What about you, Miss Juliette? What do you feel like eating?”

She shrugged. “A sandwich is fine.”

“Very well.” The chef topped off Gideon’s coffee, then turned away. “Sandwiches coming right up.”

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