Page 26 of Exposing Adonis

Still, there was something suspicious about this group. Something unlike the paramilitaries that I had dealt with before.

The boots were standard military grade, not whatever these guys were able to scrap together from their closets and pair up with their fatigues. The guns, too, weren’t the standard issue Chinese-made AK-47s. These were milled, probably in Bulgaria, with a solidness to them that made them last longer. Not like the later versions that allowed the metal to be stamped into shape, which made them lighter, but decreased their longevity and accuracy.

If they were a ragtag operation of militants sprung from refugees and foreign fighters, then where was their money coming from? Who was funding these newer weapons. Weapons, that, if they were truly desperate, they’d be harvesting from the bottom of the barrel?

Leo had the Hilux going. I downed one other man just to cover their escape. Again, it was necessity. The man fell to the ground, his arms and legs splayed limply around like a star fish as his blood soaked the dirt. But I did it because I needed to cover Leo and Chloe. I had to keep their attention on me. If I enjoyed it, then that wasn’t my fault.

By the time the fighters realized their high-value hostage was gone, they were pinned down by me, scared to pop their heads out. And their fear was delicious. It was the taste of power.

Chapter 12

Lea

Theydidn’tputmein the servants quarters, so that was probably a good sign. I was in a guest suite, and had my own bathroom in a modern, Mediterranean-style room with wood beams along the ceiling. This guest room was fancier than some of my apartments.

So, all in all, I wasn’t a total outcast. Especially after the wayshehad looked at me.

I locked myself in the room and rejected the invitation to lounge by the pool. I’m sure their champagne and caviar or whatever it was these people considered an afternoon snack was too rich for my blood.

Now the sun was setting, and I was getting hungry. I bet the kitchen was downstairs, like they were in downton abbey.

“Alright in there?”a voice called through the door after three distinct knocks. Alastair. “It’s almost supper. Can you open up?”

I did, pulling the door open and raising a brow. I tried to look haughty and unaffected. These people wouldn’t see weakness from me.

“So, is this place adumptoo?“ He asked with a grin, leaning on the door frame with his legs crossed at the ankles.

He was referring to my earlier remarks about Callum’s “country house”. It hadn’t been, of course. It was a glorious old house that belonged in a historical drama starring Rhys Myers.

“It seems like a lot to clean.” I shrugged my shoulders and stepped away from the door. “What can I do for you, Alastair?”

According to my research, he was Alastair Green, son of Cillian Green, younger brother to Alastair Green, the original. The older Alastair was the head of the New York Irish mafia, and had died after struggling with dementia and deteriorating mental health.

Despite all that, the Alastair in front of me had no record and had joined the British Army and the SAS. That was where he met a certain Baron Callum MacLachlan, who would later start Caledonia Security.

“You coming out for dinner, or were you planning to hide in here?”

“I’m invited to dinner? Shouldn’t I be eating downstairs with the help?” I was taking a dig at Pippa, and he chuckled.

“She got to you, eh?” He stood up straight, his head almost knocking against the top of the threshold. “The first time I met her, she looked at my ensemble and said that I was so poorly dressed, I may as well have shown up in jeans.”

“When was that?” I asked.

“At a gala fundraiser.” He chuckled. “I was wearing a tuxedo.”

“She seems to go to a lot of those events.” I remembered the first time I saw her. It wasn’t long after I had first spoken to Callum, and we shared our first drink. That was long before I knew who he really was.

I looked her up when I researched Callum. It felt like a lifetime ago, sitting in our Mojave Lair scrolling every article and every gossip column. Lady Philippa “Pippa” Fox was the elegant model, turned designer. She hung out with women like Sophie Tudor and headlined New York Fashion Week. She was praised for her philanthropy and charity work, and she and Callum were regaled as one of the most generous and sophisticated couples in the world.

When she was on the runway, she dominated in her own designs, walking on Callum’s arm, her fingers clutching his elbow in a hawk-like grip.

She had clung to his arm. An arm that belonged to me.

Bitterness tightened my guts. Jealousy. I could give this feeling a name. But was that my right? She still wore an engagement ring. The same engagement ring that had graced page 6 when they made their announcement five years ago. So who was I trying to fool?

He had said it was over. He had asked me to wait for him. When on a mission, he had asked his friend if I was still around. I had his watch on my arm. So maybe there was something else happening. But wasn’t the excuse of every cheating man?Don’t worry babe, we’re totally over…

Either way, I had to wait. If not for Callum, for my brother.

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