Page 18 of Black Sheep

Not sure whether to be concerned or irritated by the distinct lack of interest, I return my gaze to her face. “You better have a damned good reason for interrupting my sleep.”

“Call me psychic but I had the distinct feeling you weren’t asleep,” she replies, her voice droll as she walks past me and enters the living room.

My irritation mounts as I kick the door shut. “Next time, rely less on nonexistent psychic powers and more on your phone. I don’t pay you to waste my time.”

A trace of emotion darts across her features briefly before she shrugs. “I was in the area and took a wild gamble. Since you’re up, I thought we could get some work out of the way.” She reaches into her slim-line briefcase and extracts a black file. “We have a new set of applications ready for approval including a couple of expedited ones. I wanted to go through them with you.”

“They couldn’t wait until tonight?”

“Sure, but why wait? You’re up so I thought I’d make hay while the sun shone.”

“A curiously bright outlook for someone who works best at night. Alone. Without the likes of your boss disturbing you. Weren’t those your exact words to me a couple of weeks ago?”

She grimaces. “Damn you and your sharp memory. Okay. Whatever. So I came to check on you—”

“It’s not your place to check up on me,” I say impatiently. Her presence stirs another pulse of anger inside me at the further evidence of my inability to control Cleo’s effect on my life.

Her lips purse. “It is when you entrust me with your care at the Club and I fail you.”

My teeth clench. “You didn’t fail me.”

Her gaze drops to my wrist. “Didn’t I?” she says softly.

Her tone rubs me almost as raw as the deep chafing on my wrists. “This is none of your business, B. Don’t forget that the reason we work well together is because we respect each other’s privacy.” It’s the reason I call her B, short for Black. I have no idea what her real name is, and I have zero interest in finding out.

“I think I’ve earned the right to be concerned about you, Axel.”

“Take it from me that that’s a stupid move.”

I admire her for not showing a single iota of emotion at my response. She stares at me for several seconds before she turns to admire the view. “I’ll leave after you let me dress your wounds,” she says eventually, her voice hard and implacable. “While I’m getting your first aid kit, you can make me a coffee and we’ll discuss the applications.”

“Leave the files—”

“No.” Her tight-lipped smile most likely hints at affront. I don’t have the capacity to decipher it. “You can find someone else to take care of you at the Club if you wish. Until you do, I owe you a duty of care. That might mean fuck all to you but I take my responsibility seriously. And I take my coffee black. Thanks.”

Throwing her out will be easier than blinking. But one of the reasons I placed her in charge of one of my most lucrative businesses was the ruthless warrior’s instinct I sensed in her. Also her soul is deeply tainted. If I believed in having kindred spirits, I would claim her as one.

It’s that respect that makes me turn toward the kitchen after I point her in the direction of the bathroom. The coffee is already brewed. I pour two mugs and bring them back to the living room as she returns with the kit.

Wordlessly, she sets up the antiseptic, and nods at me. Exhaling, I extend one wrist for her to tend.

“Now the other one,” she says.

My right wrist is in worse shape, an inch-wide layer of exposed flesh covered in dried blood.

“Jesus, Axel,” she murmurs under her breath.

“Save it.” My tone is cold, the memory of when and why that particular injury occurred playing afresh in my mind. I was mildly surprised my wrist didn’t break with the pressure I placed on it once that video started replaying for the fourth time.

The video of Finnan fucking Cleo was his present to me in my second year at West Point, two days after I informed my instructor that I wished to leave the program. After Finnan was informed of my decision, he ensured that any hopes I had of reclaiming what was mine were reduced to ashes. I stayed. I excelled. I became one of the US Army’s most lethal weapons.

Then I used my skills the best way I knew how—to extract every last secret that Finnan Rutherford possessed so I could dismantle his kingdom.

The Armenians and Albanians were relatively easy to convince to switch sides. Money buys them their number one objective—power—and I have enough of it to make it worth their while. It’s the reason Finnan’s coming after me now. The parts of me that didn’t wither and die in the far-flung places of hell where I dished out death and destruction in the name of my country welcome the deeply personal war headed my way. Another part of me is already mourning just how quickly it will all be over.

B’s mouth purses as she dabs the cotton swab over my wound. “So, the applications. Unless you have an objection, I’m going to refuse the pilot who claims he wants to spank only women who look like his mother. Something doesn’t quite jive with me about him.”

I force my mind away from blood and gore and retribution to the present. “Fine.”

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