Omega (Alpha #3) (13 page)

I grinned. “I like the sound of that. Kyrie Roth.”
 

“It does sound good,” Layla said from the other side of the door. “I still can’t quite believe you’re actually getting married. I never thought either of us would, to be honest. I was all set to be old maids together with you, and then you had to go and fuck up all my plans.”
 

“Oh, come on, Layla.”
 

“What? Until you met Roth you didn’t exactly have the most sterling taste in men, either.”
 

“My taste in men was fine. I just didn’t have time for anything serious.”
 

“Remember Steven? That guy creeped me the fuck out.”

I’d never told Layla about some of the things Roth had revealed to me, when we first met. I’d dated a man named Steven who, it turned out, had been into some very unhealthy sexual practices. Such as torture, and, Roth suspected, murder. I shivered at the thought of what Roth’s vigilante stalking of me had saved me from.
 

“That was an exception,” I said, my voice flat.

Layla emerged from the changing room, dressed once more in a tight orange tank top and khaki shorts that just barely covered her booty. She gave me a quizzical look. “What aren’t you saying?”

I sighed, took the dress I’d picked out for Layla, brought it to the register, and paid for it. Harris was standing just outside the door of the store, leaning back against the wall, one heel hooked over a shin, arms crossed over his chest, eyes hidden behind sunglasses. He pushed away from the wall and fell into step behind us.
 

I glanced at him. “Harris knows what I’m not saying.”
 

Harris remained expressionless. “I make it a point to not eavesdrop on private conversations,” he said.
 

“Layla was calling into question my taste in men, before I met Roth. Specifically, she mentioned Steven.”

Harris was silent for a long moment before responding. “I take it you didn’t tell her.”
 

“Tell me what?” Layla demanded.

“Harris?” I prompted.

“This is your story to tell, Ms. St. Claire,” Harris said, and I knew I wouldn’t get anything else out of him.

I sighed, and thought about where to start. “Okay, so I told you about Roth’s involvement with my dad’s business, and that whole mess. Well, after he—after Dad died, Roth started keeping an eye on me. From…afar, you could say. Not in a creepy-stalker sort of way, just more in a…making sure I was okay sort of way.”
 

“He was watching you, you mean?” Layla said, glancing at Harris. “Meaning, he had Harry watching you?”
 

Harris didn’t correct Layla’s misuse of his name, which was pretty shocking. “Correct.”

“And what does this have to do with that creepy fucker, Steven?”

“Remember what happened?” I asked.

She nodded. “He just vanished, between one day and the next.”

“It turns out your creeper radar is pretty accurate,” I said. “Harris didn’t like the looks of Steven any more than you did, so he did some digging. Turns out Steven was into BDSM.”

“Holy shit!” Layla said. “I knew it!”

“Actually, that isn’t entirely accurate. I’ve known some people who were into real BDSM,” Harris said, “and what Steven was into
wasn’t
BDSM. Real BDSM—bondage, dominance, and sadomasochism—functions around three basic tenets: safe, sane, and consensual. What Steven liked was just…sick. The photos I provided in that file were just the tip of the iceberg, and the more palatable ones at that. When he was done with a woman, she was never the same again. Most of them were too traumatized and too permanently damaged to be capable of pursuing criminal charges. And he was also good at vanishing under the radar when he was done, so it was pretty hard to find him. And with no one pressing charges against him, there was no one looking.”

“Jesus,” Layla breathed. “What the hell was he into?”

“Torture,” Harris answered. “It wasn’t about sex, or bondage, or any of that. It was about inflicting pain, and getting off on it. And trust me, it was
never
consensual. Maybe it started out as consensual sex, but by the time his victims realized what he really wanted, he had them tied up and helpless. It was fucking sick, and I’ve never enjoyed ridding the world of filth so much as when I ended that sick bastard.”
 

Layla missed a step. “You—what?”
 

I closed my eyes briefly. “You did kill him, then?” I asked. “I was never sure. Roth wouldn’t tell me.”

“We had a little…
conversation
…first,” Harris said, and the tone of his voice was terrifying. “He admitted his plans for you. Let’s just say that you were going to be getting special treatment. He had some extra sick shit planned for you. I won’t repeat any of it. Gina could have learned a few things from him, let’s just put it that way.”
 

Layla was noticeably quiet. “So you tortured him and then killed him?”
 

“Does that turn your stomach, Miss Campari? He was a predator, and planning to rape and torture your best friend. Rape and torture, in fact, aren’t quite the most accurate words for what he had in mind. He knew about you too, actually. He had photographs of you.” Harris’s voice was quiet, low.

“He…did?”

“When he was done with Kyrie, he was going to just flat-out abduct you and have fun. You had no one who would miss your absence, and he was planning to take advantage of that fact.”

I stopped and faced Harris. “You and Roth never told me that.”

“No reason to. He was taken care of. No need to worry you with something that wasn’t going to happen.”

“I just—” Layla halted, as if unsure what she was planning to say. “I suppose I owe you a thank you, then.”

“That’s not the only time Harris saved our asses without us knowing,” I said. “Remember that night in college when we got hammered after finals?”

Layla laughed. “Which time?”
 

“Exactly. Well, this particular instance, you were so shitfaced I had to basically carry you home.”

Layla nodded. “Ah,
that
time.”

“Well, apparently we had some company.”

“Company?” Layla frowned. “What’s that mean?”
 

“It means if it wasn’t for Harris, we’d both be dead,” I said.

“How? I don’t follow.”

“You were colossally wasted, so you may not remember, but a few blocks away from the bar, there were these three guys on a street corner, shouting at us in Spanish. I guess they were following us. According to Harris, they were planning to break into our apartment and…well, I’m sure you can guess.”

“Holy shit, really?” Layla looked from Harris to me and back. “And you stopped them?”

“I took care of the problem, yes. I found out later that those three young men were wanted in connection with several other violent sexual assaults and at least one murder. They were probably guilty of more of both, though.”
 

“Damn. So you were our guardian angel, huh?” Layla asked.
 

“Something like that,” Harris said.
 

“Harris is being modest. Not ‘something like that’, but
exactly
that,” I said.
 

None of us had much to say after that, but I noticed Layla giving Harris a speculative look. Either I’d just scared her off of Harris, or intrigued her all the more.
 

I wasn’t sure which.

7

PERIMETER BREACH; THE BONFIRE

“I have a surprise for you,” Roth said, after dinner the next night.
 

I glanced at him. “What’s that, babe?”

He checked his watch and, as if that was a cue, I heard the distant buzz of an approaching airplane. “Here they are.”
 

“They?” I asked.
 

“Harris and Layla…and your surprise.”
 

Harris and Layla had left together in the seaplane the night before, and I hadn’t gotten an explanation as to why. I’d assumed, at first, that maybe it was just a quick trip, a chance for Layla to practice her newfound love of flying. But then when they hadn’t returned that night or the next day, I realized it hadn’t just been a quick trip. I’d asked Roth, but he’d just shrugged and changed the subject, via the effective but unfair method of cunnilingus.
 

And now here they came, nearly twenty-four hours later, with a “surprise” for me.
 

I couldn’t begin to imagine what Roth had planned; he was far too adept at surprising me.
 

I went out to the beach, holding Roth’s hand, watching the evening sun glint golden on the wings of the approaching seaplane. The wings wobbled side to side, and the aircraft lowered itself toward the water with something less than Harris’s usual perfect economy of motion, making me wonder if in fact it was Layla attempting a landing.
 

Foot by foot, the pale blue twin-prop seaplane went lower and lower until the floats sliced through the water, sending spray up into the air to catch the setting sun like droplets of liquid gold. A bounce off the water, a wobble of the wings, and then another bounce, and then it touched water once more and this time stayed down, sending water sluicing away in arcs to either side. Then the noise of the propellers slacked off and the nose was settling forward and the airplane was gliding across the surface of the water toward us, cutting to the side at the last minute. The maneuver toward the dock was sharp and efficient, which meant it was likely Harris bringing it in the rest of the way.
 

“That was an ugly landing,” Roth muttered.

“I think it was Layla,” I said.
 

“Oh. I didn’t know she flew.”

“She doesn’t. Harris is teaching her.”
 

Roth glanced at me in shock. “Holy shit. Really?”
 

“Really. She took off when we all went to St. Thomas. You didn’t notice?”
 

He made a face. “No, I didn’t. I was following an auction of one of my companies. Robert was sending me the updates via email.”
 

“I thought you seemed preoccupied.”

He kissed my temple. “I have been, haven’t I? I’m sorry. Dismantling an international, multi-billion-dollar corporation with dozens of subsidiaries isn’t exactly a quick or easy process. I should be there, in person, handling it all. But I can’t be, so…” He shrugged. “I do what I can. The process is almost done, though. The new corporation is in place, and we’re down to the last few odds and ends. Hopefully by this time next week, VRI will be history, and St. Claire, Incorporated will be up and running.”

“I wish you could have been there, too,” I told him.

“This is good practice,” he said, as we moved toward the dock, where the floatplane’s props were slowing to a halt. “The new setup allows me to operate remotely one hundred percent of the time. It puts a lot on Robert’s plate, but then, I’ve given him a rather enormous raise to compensate. And he’s more than capable. He’s the only person other than Harris and you that I trust implicitly.”

“Does Harris have security on him?” I asked.

Roth laughed. “So much that it’s driving Robert batty. Harris has more security on him than the president, I’m pretty sure.”
 

“Yet we have just Harris?”
 

“Just Harris?” Roth said, eyebrows raised. “Are we talking about the same guy?”

“Yeah, but—”

“And no, it’s not
just
Harris. He’s got guys out there right now, protecting us. You just can’t see them. And, hopefully, you never will, which is the entire point.”

I glanced around, but all I could see was the forest, the house up on the hill behind us, the sea and, anchored out in the bay, the
Eliza
. “Where are they?”

Roth shrugged. “I don’t know for sure. There are some outbuildings hidden in the vegetation around the house, there are some guys out there. There’s a sniper on the
Eliza
. Alexei is on the grounds around here, somewhere, prowling. We have half a dozen pairs of eyes on us at all times. I assure you.”
 

“At all times?” I asked, a little disconcerted at the thought of eyes watching us at…certain intimate moments.

Roth just laughed again. “They are discreet, I promise. If we’re…intimate, shall we say, they keep their eyes on our location, but not on us directly, and any audio input is muted. Standard protocol, I’m told.”
 

“So Harris is…”

“The tip of the spear, you could say. The visible portion of the iceberg, with the real bulk hidden below the water. If you think Harris is frighteningly efficient, the rest of his men make him seem like a harmless kitten. He’s by far the most…
personable
…security expert I’ve ever met.”

“Harris is…personable?”
 

“Compared to the barely-reformed villains in his employ? Yes. I’ve met a lot of his men over the last few months. He chooses well. Let’s just say you don’t hire private security personnel based on their shining personalities.”
 

“I’m not sure I want to know what that means.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Are they like Vitaly’s men?”

“
Hell
no. Vitaly employs murderers and thugs. His men are little more than barbarians. The men closest to him, his personal security force,
those
men are a little more human, but the rest are monsters turned loose on the world. Harris’s men are competent, efficient, well-trained, and most of all…have at least a modicum of humanity. A spark of morality, I suppose you might say. They’re still mercenaries who fight for the highest bidder, but none of them will tolerate the kind of evil Vitaly propagates.”

“What about Alexei?” I asked. I’d met Alexei in the middle of the whole thing with Gina and Vitaly. He seemed nice enough, even if his eyes were a little hard and distant. Good-looking in a rough-hewn sort of way, he was also an accomplished musician, having played guitar and sung beautifully at the dinner at which Roth had proposed to me.