Page 106 of Lethal Torture
And while we may have established that Zinaida isn’t going to argue with me about security measures, I’d say that’s about the only thing that’s clear between us at all.
Apart from the fact that the sex is off the fucking charts.
But then, I knew that long before I ever even touched her.
The question was never about whether the sex would be amazing, although I admit it knocked even my wildest expectations right out of the fucking park.
The question is how the fuck we’re going to make this work—and if Zin actually wants to make it work at all.
“Have you seen this?”Later that day, I push a tablet across the glass table of Zinaida’s Mayfair office, open to that morning’s headline from theDaily Truth. “I’m surprised the home secretary hasn’t beaten your door down already.”
I hate the way her slight flush fades, the tremulous smile on her mouth disappearing behind her familiar professional mask as she scans the article.
On the other hand, I’m grateful that despite the shattering plane ride and a long night after it spent twined in my bedsheets, we seem at least able to function in a work environment.
Well, so long as I don’t allow my eyes to linger on the length of exposed thigh beneath her dress. Or on her lips, which are still noticeably swollen.
Let’s face it. We’re safe so long as I keep an entire table between her and me and try not to think about how soon I plan to rip her clothes off again.
“According to sources in the Port Authority,” she quotes, “the incident at Avonmouth was the result of criminal elements from the darkest corners of London’s underworld smuggling women in for”—her face darkens, and she throws the tablet across the table—“thetwisted games of the elite,” she breathes, shaking her head. Her eyes glitter dangerously. “They do everything but name me outright. The clear implication is that Sophie’s Houseis just a front for a human trafficking operation, the women then used as sex slaves in my clubs.”
I nod. “But there’s no point in reacting.”
Her eyes narrow, and I smile inwardly, knowing exactly where her head is going. “Don’t think I’m not also tempted to take a knife to the balls of the bastard who wrote the piece.” I lean up against the table, folding my arms to suppress the urge to touch her.
Her head jerks up, her whole body tensing, but when she sees my face, her own relaxes. “I want to kill them,” she says honestly. “Every person who repeats this utter bullshit—I want to murder them.”
“I understand that,” I say calmly. “But murder can come later. For now, theDaily Truthis convinced you’re the villain of the story. We need to make them understand that we’re on the same side—and that the villain is someone else entirely.”
Zinaida meets my eyes. “And who would that be, exactly?” Her voice is even, her face composed, but I don’t miss her clenched fingers and pale skin.
When I get to the bottom of this,I think coldly,blood is going to spill.
But that will come. For now, this is a dangerous game—one I plan to fucking win.
“Lowbridge.” I take the tablet and tap on a file containing a series of photographs I took of the vans at Avonmouth. “The vans that were used to transport the women belong to Minos, a small goods company based in Gloucestershire.” I zoom in on the bull’s head logo on the side of the vans. “Minos imports delicatessen products from all over the world: cheese from France, prosciutto from Italy, coffee from Colombia. The company supplies high-class food stores, from Harrods to Waitrose.”
Zin frowns at the photographs. “What does Lowbridge have to do with Minos? His company is software based. And surely he can’t run an import company, given his role in government?”
“He doesn’t.” I bring up the business license. “Minos is owned by a toad called Bogdan Kozlov. I don’t have a photograph of him, unfortunately. Kozlov is quite the elusive figure. I’ve put Paddy on the case of tracking him down.”
She taps the table impatiently. “If there’s no connection between Lowbridge and Minos, why are you trying to make him theDaily Truth’s target?”
“Ah.” I grin at her. “This is where it gets interesting. Guess who installed the security system at Avonmouth Docks?”
Zin’s eyes widen. “You’re kidding. That wasLowbridge?”
“Yup.” I nod. “And not just Avonmouth. Lowbridge Inc. won the government contract to do port security throughout the entire United Kingdom, which is worth billions. Now Lowbridge Inc. is bidding for similar contracts all over Europe. The company can’t afford to look incompetent.”
Zinaida sits back in her chair, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “So you think Simon Lowbridge is leaking the stories about me to distract the media from focusing on the failings of his own systems?”
“I do. It’s a smart move, too. So long as the questions in Parliament focus on your clubs and Sophie’s House, nobody is looking at Lowbridge’s clear conflict of interest or his company’s failure to adequately do the job the government has paid it billions to do. And he’s smart enough to know thatElite Sex Partiesis a much better headline thanSecurity Failure.”
“So you think we should use theDaily Truthto change the narrative.” Zin frowns, clearly thinking it through. “Shift the focus to Lowbridge Inc.’s failure to curb the problems at Avonmouth and imply that they’re behind the trafficking?”
“Exactly. And while the media is looking at Lowbridge Inc., we go after this Kozlov piece of shit—and find out who in your organization has been leaking information to him. If we’re going to get to the bottom of this, not to mention deal with Kozlov in the way he deserves, then the last thing we want is for theDaily Truthto be sniffing around the same target. Far better that we turn their paps loose on Lowbridge. Kill two birds with one stone: put a stop to Kozlov, as well as put an extremely destructive bomb under our friend Lowbridge. And it’s a win for the tabloids. The combination of corrupt government contracts, cover-ups, and sex trafficking is every bit as juicy as an elite underworld club.”
Zin looks at me across the table with a rather curious expression. “You’ve worked all this out since Avonmouth?” She scrutinizes my face. “How did you put it together? I thought Niamh said her people didn’t get clear images.”
