CHAPTER 43

“Down there.” Darius hooked a thumb past a long row of shelves and cupboards, and Zion raced to the bathroom as if he’d suddenly realized he might not make it in time. Literally the second the door closed behind him, Darius was standing right in front of her, pulling her up, pushing the stool she sat on back against the wall, and framing her head with his hands. His he-man act shot a forbidden thrill right through her—the same forbidden thrill she felt with him every single time, whether it was smart of her or not.

Her mouth was suddenly dry as she looked up at him, her breath coming fast. “You don’t like it when I touch you in front of anyone else?” He dipped his face into the crook of her neck, his breath warm on her skin. “You don’t like them thinking you’re mine?” Oh God. She could barely process what he was saying when he was this close to her, not quite kissing her, but heating her up all over just the same. “I’m—” She worked to gather enough oxygen, and brain cells, to be able to tell him, “I’m not yours.” He pulled back slowly, his hair brushing along her cheek. It was incredibly soft. And he smelled so good as he said, “Not yet,” his low voice humming along her nerve endings. “Soon.” She knew what she should be doing.

She should be pushing him away and making it clear to him—yet again—that their kiss by the aqueduct had been nothing more than a crazy whim. But when he slipped to the other side of her face and sensually nipped at her earlobe, she forgot where they were, she forgot Zion, she forgot about his friend seeing them together, she even forgot her name. As if they didn’t even belong to her, her hands reached up, nearly taking hold of his shirt. The toilet flushed at the other end of the barn and she felt the rumble of Darius low—and clearly frustrated—laugh against her throat. “Very soon we’ll both have what we want,” he promised her as he slowly pushed away from the wall, then turned around to focus once again on her brother and the car.

* * *

By the end of the afternoon, Darius was so keyed up from wanting Nathalie, he was ready to blast past every last wall that she was still trying to hold up. But rushing her wasn’t part of his game plan. She had to be ready. More than ready—he wanted her desperate and wild, the way she’d been that night at the deserted fountain. They’d left an hour ago, without his securing another date with Nathalie. In fact, for the rest of the afternoon, though she’d been involved in taking pictures of their progress—and she’d been perfectly polite—he could easily guess that she was stewing on everything that had happened between them.

And everything he’d said. Soon we’ll both have what we want. Darius wasn’t a man who waited for what he wanted. And he wanted her badly enough that he’d been sorely tempted to ask them to come back tomorrow. But he’d corralled every ounce of his self-control and had, instead, let her go with the promise that she and Zion would return the following Saturday. When they’d do the dance all over again. Until Nathalie wanted him as badly as he wanted her—and no longer thought she needed to keep fighting the inevitable. Because if there was one thing Darius knew for sure, it was that the sparks between him and Nathalie wouldn’t be nearly so hot if they weren’t supposed to come together.

His cell rang beside him on the arm of his chair, signaling that his favorite person in Chicago was calling. “So,” Sally said after his warm greeting, “I hear you have some new friends.” He choked out a laugh. “Ares gossips like an old woman. It’s only been six hours since he met Nathalie and Zion.” “You know he always checks in with us on Saturday.” Ares tended to be driven by routine. Darius, on the other hand, called Sally and George a couple of times a week without any set schedule. “He’s still a gossip,” he said without rancor. Sally was the closest thing Darius had to a mother. He barely remembered his real mom.

And it was Sally, along with George, who had helped Darius become the man he was, instead of the man his father would have turned him into. Sally had been a waitress and George a baggage handler at the airport, even after he’d injured his back. They hadn’t had much money, but they’d taken in each and every one of the Baddricks. Loved them. And treated them like their own. Darius would do anything for them. And the other Baddricks felt exactly the same. Their bond was stronger than any blood tie could have been. “How’s George doing?” Darius asked before Sally could start peppering him with questions.

“You know him.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “He’s got to be out there helping the contractor put the new deck in. Can’t just sit and watch.” The first thing the Baddricks had done when the money started rolling in was to get George the back surgery he’d badly needed. He’d still stubbornly continued to work long after Argus or any one of the Baddricks could have supported both him and Sally. It had taken years to convince him that a less physically demanding desk job might not be as bad as he thought. Then finally, last year, he’d agreed to retire and start enjoying life. But he wasn’t yet sixty and no one was putting him out to pasture, as he loved to say.

He worked on the house and the yard, and volunteered with Habitat for Humanity. “So are you going to tell me about her, honey?” Sally wasn’t going to let Darius avoid the reason for her call. “I met Nathalie through her brother. He was hit by a car when he was seven. He worked through the physical issues, but he acts younger than he is.” “I’m so sorry.” She hated it when kids got hurt. So did Darius. “He’s a great kid. Enthusiastic. Positive. He loves cars so I bought another kit car, and he’s going to help me build it.”

“You sound happy. Helping him is going to be good for you, I can tell.” Happy was as good a word as any to describe what he’d felt as he helped Darius mark the sheet metal. For the last few months, even longer than that, he’d been running on empty. But Nathalie and Zion seemed to be filling him up again. “And his sister, Nathalie? Is she someone special?” He didn’t even have to think about it. “Very.” He’d known from that first day in the hangar that Nathalie was special. And good. Too good for him.

“You have no idea how glad I am to hear you say that, Darius. I want my boys happy. And you deserve a good woman.” Sally didn’t see him shake his head. She really did love all of her boys, so much that Nathalie knew she let herself forget where—and who—he came from. Forget who he was. If Nathalie knew what he’d been like as a kid, all the crimes he’d committed for his dad, the hell raiser he’d been even after the asshole went to prison and he’d moved in with the Montefalco—would she ever trust him with her brother?

Would she ever trust him with herself? She already doubted his motives with Zion. If she knew the guy Darius was on the inside, all the lies he’d told, all the houses he’d broken into for his dad, all the cars he’d stolen, and then what had finally gone down with the Black Knight… He ran a harsh hand through his hair, knowing Nathalie would run a mile to get away from him if she ever found out. And she’d take Zion, too.

***

Because the hard truth was that with his father’s blood flowing through his veins, no matter how far he’d come, Darius would never completely be able to outrun the things he’d done. On Wednesday morning, the Baddricks gathered around the boardroom table in the main conference room of their headquarters in Peiscke Altera, near the Weslao campus. They’d be moving in the late fall, when Perseus Forbes new high-rise production studio in San Francisco was completed. On the face of it, Perseus was a self-help guru with a charismatic personality; a tall, muscular frame; and celebrity good looks that he’d channeled into a media empire.

He spoke to vast audiences on anything from creating money in your life to finding your true destiny. Perseus had achieved every goal he’d set the day they’d made their pact to get out of New York. But Darius wasn’t so sure happiness had been one of those objectives, except in terms of Perseus being in control of his own destiny after being so out of control as a kid. For today’s meeting, they presented a united front, all dressed accordingly in suit and tie—even Argus, who was video conferencing from New York, where he was negotiating the site for another grand opening in his home improvement chain.

They came together as the Baddrick Group on various investment opportunities, had even financed movies, their latest being with Stanley Sandoval. And of course, there was the Link Labs endeavor. Hector Beischel, the Baddricks’ electronics genius, had brought them the prospect, since his interest lay in robotics. The group was also involved in real estate—selling, buying, renovating, developing—which was why they were all meeting today. “Russ been waiting since ten o’clock.” Darius flipped his arm to reveal his watch. “Only ten minutes.” They should have let the man stew for an hour. “Remember, I want to be the one to fire his ass.” Because he’d been the one to hire him. It had seemed like a good choice at the time, but a year ago, Russ Tsevorsky’s work ethic had nosedived.

In the worst possible way. “I know you’re pissed. I am, too,” Argus said, his voice as crystal clear as his image on their state-of-the-art conferencing equipment. For the meeting, he’d tamed his unruly wavy hair and donned a suit jacket over his big shoulders. “But we don’t want to deal with the lawsuit if you beat the crap out of him. Even though he definitely deserves it.” “Spoilsport,” Perseus said, lounging in his chair. “Personally,” Hector said, “I’m willing to pay for a ringside seat.” They all knew Darius had been the fighter, even if he hadn’t had a physical knockdown since he was sixteen, and he had to admit his blood was up today, itching to pound Russ into the plush conference-room carpet. Instead, he asked Ares, “What’s the latest report?” A couple of days ago, Ares had discovered that the majority of the deals Russ was claiming commission on weren’t Russ at all—at least, not for the past year.

He was stealing sales from the people who worked for him. More specifically, he was bullying his sales guys into splitting commissions and giving him credit for their work. “I’ve identified eight deals in the last year. Nothing prior to that.” Ares had meticulously checked every project Russ had been involved in. “Car stairs reported working with Markus on the Catastrophe Vexin project. Henry dealt with Bert on Pete land.” The list was long, all major multimillion-dollar deals. “And of course, there was Hubert on El Quire. He worked with Drake.” The El Quire transaction had been Ares first discovery when he’d spoken with Hubert, who’d offhandedly mentioned he’d never met Russ Tsevorsky, despite the fact that Russ signature was on the paperwork. He’d dealt exclusively with Drake and was so impressed with the young sales guy’s abilities that he’d told Ares the man deserved a bonus.

When Drake was questioned, he’d said Tsevorsky had made him sign a contract the first day of his employment, splitting all commissions fifty-fifty with Russ because, supposedly, all the leads came from him. It was take it or leave it, sign or lose the job. That was total bull. None of the Baddricks had ever approved such a contract. And the leads hadn’t come from Russ. He was a bully with a pen and an authority complex. Which pushed all Darius' buttons. Darius had taken a short, fast ride in his Bugatti Veyron EB this morning to work out his tension before the confrontation, but his gut was still simmering with anger. He’d wanted to see Nathalie, drink in her sweet scent, steep himself in her like a balm. But he knew he couldn’t let her see him like that, all keyed up and ready to rumble. He couldn’t let her guess at the Black Knight still lurking inside. Yet somehow, just the thought of her eased the churning in him. Enough for him to breathe, to close his eyes a single moment, and feel the touch of her hand on his arm. And help him calm down enough to act rather than react.

“We’ll start with Hubert, Drake, and the El Quire deal,” he said. Perseus grinned, but it was a smile that promised retribution. “Since we’ve got a fox in the henhouse, let’s play cock of the walk with him.” Darius hit a button on the intercom, buzzing their executive assistant to usher Russ in. The man who entered was forty-five, but today he looked ten years older, his jowls sagging with the extra pounds he’d put on. “Hey, Darius.” His gaze jittered nervously around the room and up to Argus face on the video screen. “I didn’t realize everyone would be here.” “It’s an executive meeting. That means all of us.” Argus hard-eyed the guy with a laser-sharp gaze. “Sit,” Darius commanded. There was only one chair on the opposite side of the table. Perseus had lowered it so that when Russ faced them, he looked like an overgrown kid in a child’s seat.

He couldn’t even rest his elbows on the table. “What’s up, guys?” Russ was trying for friendly, but Darius could hear his fingernails tapping on the arm of his chair. Darius simply said, “El Quire.” Ares opened a folder in front of him, withdrew a stapled sheaf of papers, and shot the package across the table. “The contract.” Russ barely caught it before it hit him in the chest. “Your signature is on the last page,” Argus said, his crisp voice echoing out of the screen. “Ah, yes,” Russ said slowly, hesitantly, his face reddening. “And you took half the commission,” Hector added, specifically avoiding the word earned.

“Funny thing.” Darius kept his tone mild. “Hubert never talked to you. Only Drake. And he was impressed with the kid.” He paused two beats. “He never even met with you.” “Well, no, that’s, uh…” Russ started to splutter, then he sucked in a huge breath that made his shirt buttons look like they’d pop. “It’s how I train my people, hands on, right from the get-go. We strategize together. I write the sales script for them. I monitor their progress every step of the way. The only thing they do at this point is the talking.” He stopped to suck in another shirt-busting breath. “Russ, I have to ask,” Perseus drawled, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. “Do we look stupid?” “No,” Russ pushed out.

***

Hector waved a hand. “Why don’t we show him the other contract, Ares.” “Sure thing.” Ares looked like a big cat ready to pounce on a lizard. They hadn’t scripted the meeting, but the five of them had been together so long, they didn’t need a script. Right from the day they’d made their pact, they’d known exactly how to back each other up. Perseus had gone to Las Vegas, where he’d founded a media empire, Hector and Ares had gone to college, Argus had turned his contractor’s license into a billion-dollar home improvement kingdom, and Darius had begun importing the right thing at just the right moment. But they’d all been there for one another with exactly what was needed right when it was needed. This issue with Russ was no different.

Ares withdrew more papers from his magic folder and flicked them across the table. Russ missed and it slid to the carpet. His chair was so low, he disappeared for a moment to retrieve it from beneath the table. The only sound was the rustle of paper and his harsh breathing. His face was even redder when he popped back up like a buoy in the water. “What’s this?” But he already knew. Hector stared the man down. The kid he’d been at ten was a distant memory. At thirty-four, Hector was formidable. “Drake gave it to us.” A drop of sweat rolled down from Russ sideburns. “He couldn’t have.” “Did you really think you had the only copy?” Darius asked. Russ eyes flitted back and forth as if searching for a way out. Then, suddenly, he crushed the two-page contract in his hand. “This is standard operating procedure. I bring in the leads. I teach them the ropes.

In fact, I’m devoting all my time to them rather than following the leads myself, which I could very well do. I’m actually the one sharing with them, not the other way around.” Darius leaned forward. “One—” He tapped his index finger on the table. “—we give you the leads. Two—” He tapped his middle finger. “—it isn’t our standard operating procedure to let anyone skim off half of someone else’s commission unless they actually do half the work. Which brings me to three.” He brought his hand down on the table. “You’re fired.” “But I’ve got debts!” Ah, so it was debts that had turned him away from being hardworking and honest? Even so, Darius didn’t give a damn why Russ had turned rotten. He still wanted to grind the man down for taking advantage of kids fresh out of college who didn’t know better.

Darius had seen it over and over again with his father and with the Black Knight as they picked on the weak. It wasn’t just a way of life for them, it was sport—and how they made themselves feel bigger than they were. And Darius had been one of them until he was sixteen and had tried to leave all that behind. Now, faced with a bully like Russ Tsevorsky, Darius felt the anger boil up all over again, the need to use his fists. “Get your things, Russ, and get the hell out. Now.” Before Darius let anything else boil over. “But what am I supposed to do?” Russ whined. Darius stared him down.

“How about thanking your lucky stars that we’re not asking you to pay back the commissions you stole?” Russ blinked, swallowed, looked at the floor. Then, as if he saw it written down there how much worse things could get, he looked up and said two very simple words, “Thank you.” It was only after the door closed behind the now shrunken and sweaty man that Darius thought again of Nathalie. Finally, his fists relaxed. He hadn’t pounded on the guy. He hadn’t even humiliated him. He’d simply pointed out the facts. It was a far cry from the boy he’d once been. Perseus slapped him on the back as he rose to pour himself a cup of coffee from the pot no one had touched yet. “Something tells me that’s the last we’ll ever hear from Russ. He won’t want to have to slink back around any of us with his tail between his legs. Good job, guys. We were brilliant.” “Right,” Ares said. “Brilliant like all the crap we used to pull when we were teenagers.”

“Speak for yourself,” Perseus shot back. But Ares was right; they’d all had their less than stellar moments back then. Though Darius' were worse than the rest. “And you—” Perseus nodded at Darius. “—didn’t even tear him to pieces with your bare hands.” It was meant as a joke, but Darius felt the truth of it. That was how he used to do things. Talked with his fists. Back when he was a kid, he’d thought that was how he’d always be. But he’d held it together today—kept things above board rather than dragging his ex-employee into the back alley and teaching him a lesson street-style. “No Black Knight justice today, I guess.” Even from the video screen, Argus' smile was wide, as he put into words what Darius had just been thinking.

“Come to think of it,” Hector said, as the one who knew best what Darius was capable of, “I can’t actually remember you knocking anyone’s block off in twenty years.” For all his fears, Darius was surprised to realize Hector was right. Even though fighting had once been all Darius knew, he hadn’t resorted to violence in two decades. He’d actually kept his cool with Russ today. And while that had felt pretty damn good—if something ever happened to Nathalie or Zion, Darius couldn’t imagine how he’d be able to keep from tearing apart the people who had hurt them… The guys all razzed him about the Black Knight, but they’d each had their own way of dealing with the old neighborhood. Ares hid out with the library computers, sucked into his circle of numbers and equations. Hector loved his universe of books and gadgets.

Perseus got by on the power of persuasion and charm. And Argus used his hands, not to fight, but to build things. Darius was the only one who’d chosen a gang. Even after Sally and George had taken him in, he had still straddled those two worlds for years. The Baddricks versus the Black Knight. He’d thought the gang was his family—at least, as long as he stole cars, won drag races, used his fists—and kept his mouth shut when they did stuff he hated. Don’t step into the middle of someone else’s business. He’d understood their rules and he knew where he fit in—the kid with the good eye who wasn’t afraid to go really fast. But with the Montefalco and his new non Black Knight friends...

He hadn’t been able to believe a good family could actually want him. So he’d kept screwing up, and screwing up, and screwing up. Until one screw up had been bad enough to finally set him straight. Or at least as straight as it could, when fighting his way out of problems was still fundamentally in his bones. “You were different today.” Ares caught the mug of coffee Argus slid across the table to him. “It’s Nathalie, isn’t it?” It was the very thought of Nathalie that had helped him keep himself in check. “You’ve been holding out on us,” Argus added from the other side of the country. “Ares tells us there’s a new lady in your life.”

Darius had never had a lady in his life. He’d had women he dated, women he slept with. But there’d never been anyone like Nathalie. The Baddricks knew everything about him, from the day they’d met when he was in the sixth grade to the time he moved in with Sally and George at thirteen, to the night the Black Knight imploded. They’d been there for everything in between and all the changes that had come in the two years after that. The truth was that they’d become his family in a way the Black Knight had never been.

Which was why, even though Darius hadn’t yet gotten used to the idea of not only wanting Nathalie, but needing her, too, in a way he’d never needed anyone else, he found himself telling his closest friends the same thing he’d told Sally. “She’s special.” So special that even if he didn’t deserve her...he still couldn’t make himself walk away. Nathalie’s nerves were at an all-time high the following Saturday as she drove up Darius' driveway with Zion grinning like crazy in the passenger seat. “I’ve been waiting all week to come back here,” he said. And the problem was, so had she. Because Darius had gotten under her skin. Big time.