Page 92 of Scarlet Angel

Dorian stands in the window, arms spread out to his sides.

“Go let him in,” Scarlet says.

Once she’s out of sight, I turn back to the window. Dorian’s hands are on his hips, knickers twisted full circle up his tight anus.

Why is the bloody wanker here? Is it as a friend or syndicate business? The last syndicate member I spoke to was Amir. I’ve been waiting.

I swing the door open and step outside. “What’re you doing here?”

“What kind of welcome is that?”

He pushes past me, scraping his feet on a nonexistent doormat. “You Brits could take a lesson in southern hospitality.”

“You’re not Southern.”

“My mother is. Makes me half Southern.”

“You never knew your mother.” I close the door behind him, huffing in exasperation.

It’s like he’s forgotten he shared his muck with me. We were best mates at university. His mother is MIA. His father claims she’s an alcoholic, so he wrote her a check and cut her loose. Kept his son, though, if one counts shipping him off to boarding school at the first opportune moment keeping.

I follow him inside. “Are you staying? Should I prep the guesthouse?”

“Why do you always stick me in the guesthouse?”

I scratch an itch on my jaw. “It’s nice….”

“You let her stay in the main house.”

“I’ve no desire to shag you.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He heads down the corridor, and I follow.

“You never said, are you staying?—”

“No. I’ve got a flight out of Heathrow in the morning. Staying the night in London.”

“Right, then. To what do I owe the pleasure of your unexpected visit?”

“You haven’t been answering your phone.”

I knew it. Syndicate business?—

“And there’s a lot of shit that’s happened.”

I pause at the entrance of my office. He sinks into a chair.

“Sorry about Lina, by the way.”

I’ve kept that shit out of the news. I close the door and click a button on a panel by the door. The shades drop, closing us in.

“Did you hear from Amir?” He’s the only one I’ve told. Wasn’t so much telling him as conducting an inquisition.

“I watch out for you.”

My skin tingles with unease, but it’s just Dorian. “Do you want a drink?”

“Only if you’re pouring the good shit.”

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