The Arrangement 21 (The Arrangement #21) (6 page)

I
feel
like I made a deal with the devil, and it doesn't sit right with me. I'm missing something, and I can't put my finger on it, but if I don't get the last puzzle piece before tonight, I'm screwed.

I tell Marty my plan and watch his lower eyelid twitch as I explain what I'm willing to do to finish this. He clears his throat and tries not to strangle me. He licks his lips, unclenches his hands, and takes a deep breath. "What makes you think he'll be okay with that?"

"It was okay last time he tried to kill me, so I'm guessing that he's still thinking about it."

Marty's mouth is in a straight line, and his lean arms tuck tightly into the crooks of his arms. I speak so softly, he's forced to lean in close to hear me. I couldn't admit this to Sean. Hell, I can barely admit it to me. Dark ideas hide out in my brain, and they're twisted enough to make Marty uneasy.

That's what I mean, about what I was thinking earlier. I'm Vic's sister, and my father was equally deplorable, albeit a little less crazy than his son. It's a slippery slope, and I'm already on it, sliding down on my backside, ready to hit bottom.

Marty lifts a hand to his jaw. It keeps the fist shape, and he holds it under his jaw, staring into space as he thinks. "It's better than I expected, but there are a few things you can do to tighten it up. I'll make sure Sean stays away, but you're on your own if this goes to Hell. If it doesn't, living with that is going to be—"

"If it goes that far off track, I won't have to live with it."

"Avery—"

"Marty, I made up my mind. It's not a matter of what I can do. You said it yourself. The heart of the matter is what can I live with. This plan is so far outside of who I am and who I want to be that it sickens me. If I can't think about it now, how am I supposed to deal with it later?" My arms fold over my chest, and I grind my jaw. I tip back my head and stare at the ceiling, cocking my head to the side. My expression shifts as my eyes discover something I hadn't yet noticed.

Marty follows my gaze. "Wow."

"Tell me about it." My upper lip curls into a WTF expression.

"This is why no one ever looks up."

Marty and I stare at a nude painting of one of the lucky ladies that got into King Henry's pants. Who puts paintings on the ceiling?

We hear a laugh behind us and immediately turn. Mel and Henry are walking up the stairs, arguing about something, stopping when they see us staring.

Henry clasps his hands together and rushes toward us. "Isn't it lovely? It's a replica painting of Catherine Howard."

When I turn, I see Mel wearing a hoodie, yoga pants, and her trademark earrings. Her hair is slicked back and tied neatly at the nape of her neck. Next to her is Henry wearing a tweed suit that should belong in the 1920's. If he had a straw hat and a Dixie Band, he could be on Showboat.

"She's a child." I'm staring at the bony ass and girlish face above me. She appears to be between fourteen and sixteen years old. The angular features that appear on a woman's face after she's in her early twenties are missing.

Henry shriggles, half shrug, half giggle—his shoulders, not committing to either. He nods his head in agreement. "She is a bit young for my taste."

I gawk at him and jab my thumb up at her naked ass. "Then why is she on your ceiling?"

"Speculation?"

"Are you asking me or telling me?" I reply, wanting to slap him silly.

Mel groans. "Old, white man art. So he likes to stare at naked teenagers. Add that to his list of fucked up mojo."

Henry gasps and presses his hand to the ascot disappearing under his jacket. "How dare you? This painting is a masterpiece! Implying I'm a pedophile is uncalled for, you strumpet."

Mel snort-laughs, but keeps her mouth shut long enough for me to ask something I've been wondering about since last night. That drone. I'm hoping Henry is ahead of the game and has a tiny one around. I need it in case my plan goes to hell because they're not getting away this time.

"Yeah, that makes sense." I lift the corner of my upper lip and show a little tooth to Mel. She starts cracking up. I hurry on, not wanting to rile Henry too much, "It's reflective of the period."

"It is!"

"Exactly. Listen, I wanted to ask you something about the drones on your property."

He flinches and shakes his head, surprised. "I don't have drones." He says the word like they're disgusting.

Marty and Mel glance at each other and then back at Henry. Walking forward, stopping just in front of his wingtips, I smile and nod. "I mean flying robotic army. Like the ones you have patrolling your property."

"I know what a drone is, and I do not possess anything of that nature. Drones have to be registered with the FAA. I dislike that organization. Plus, I'm not a man who likes to flaunt his wealth." He smirks and tucks his hands into his jacket pockets, puffing like a paisley penguin.

"Why are you asking?" Marty steps up next to me and catches my eye.

A sinking feeling hits me hard before I answer. "There was one in the yard last night."

"What? Where!" Henry's voice is an octave too high. He's doing this jazz hands thing with his fingertips that I assume is annoyance.

"Back by the shed."

His head jerks back like I slapped him. "You were in the shed?" Henry folds his arms loosely over his chest and tips his head to the side. "Did you go upstairs?"

"Yes, you sick fuck. Why is there a bunch of Avery-sized stuff here? The clothing, creepy. But that could be a coincidence. The tank? Why the hell is there a tank, Henry!" Marty and Mel's eyes widen and both are mute—which is a first.

Henry laughs, tapping his fingertips together and stepping away. "You saw that, did you?"

"Yeah. I saw it." Marty senses the half-truth and gawks at me, jaw dropped for half a beat before he slams it shut. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Henry looks bored when he stops fidgeting. "If you must know, I have a type. Short, wide hips, narrow waist, big hair."

"So you're saying that you could strap Mel into that thing?"

Mel jerks back like someone slapped her. "No one is strapping nothing on me. You’re fucking crazy if you think I'll—"

Henry sighs and turns toward her. "As lovely as you are, you're not my type."

Mel and I yell in unison, "You just said—"

"Yes, yes, but she's not quite right for me."

"Excuse me," Mel snaps and gets in his face. "You wanna tell me why?"

His expression is cold and distant. "Very well, if you must know—although it's rude to point out—your hips are too full, your skin is too smooth, and your mouth too sharp. If you learned to be mute, I could forgive the other two."

"You sonova—" Mel winds her arm back, makes a fist, and nearly connects with the side of Henry's face. She jumps in the air to do it. It was very catlike.

Unfortunately, Marty decides to step in front of the douchebag and Mel clobbers the wrong guy. Marty isn't in the mood. He blocks the hit and tosses Mel on the carpet. She lands with a loud thump.

Marty sighs, doing this thing with his mouth where his lower lip is jutting up like it might eat his head. He's pissed. "Stay there!" he yells at Mel before turning on Henry and me. "You said you had no drones, but you said you saw one. Who's telling the truth?"

"I am." We reply in unison and then blink at each other, not understanding.

Marty closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Shit."

"
W
ho the fuck
would fly a drone through your yard." Marty's question lacks the expected questioning tone, where he would normally elevate the pitch of the last syllable in the sentence. Instead, it's a demand laced with the threat of beating Henry senseless.

Mel grumbles, picking herself up off the floor. "The only reason I'm not kicking your ass is because I thought you were dead. I'm giving you a do-over. You're a thorn in my side, Mart-AN." She glares at him, nostrils flaring like she wants to rip him a new one.

I wonder if the two of them have more in common than they thought. How unnerving is it to have a dorky ninja sitting next to you day in and day out, never even once suspecting that he's lethal? Mel takes pride in reading people, in seeing through all facades. She's usually pretty good at it, but Marty makes her nervous. There was a time when she couldn't stand him and made fun of him relentlessly. That confident jibbing stops, replaced with grudging respect. It's freaking weird.

Marty rounds on her, his voice so soft and still it makes the hairs on my arms stand on end. "The thorn won't be quite so bothersome when you're dead, Melanie."

She sneers and cocks her head to the side while cracking her knuckles. "Fine, you wanna piece of me, white boy! Let's go!"

"Pardon me—" Henry starts talking at the same time as me.

"You two need to stop—" What the hell is he being polite for? Can I kill you with my manners? I'm starting to think the British thing is an act.

"—but if you get blood on the carpet—" Henry places a slender finger in the air.

"—acting like children—"

"—it'll never come out—"

"—and work together—"

"—believe me—"

"—right now!" I'm seething, as I stand between the two of them, which is probably a dumb spot to be since they both have weapons.

"I know." Henry wears a placid expression on his face. We all stop yelling and stare at him. He stands there aloof to anything odd and shrugs. "As if I'm the only person here who's killed a man? Just because I stand with criminals and lie among them, doesn't mean I want a fifty thousand pound carpet stained or worse."

Mel's jaw is hanging open. "What the hell is worse than blood?"

"Knives, you circus freak of a woman. You probably have them hidden on your person. A cut carpet is a nightmare to repair, so keep your street fighting where it belongs, outside with the other monkeys."

Mel's spine straightens like someone inserted a rod. Her mouth snaps shut as her eyes do this super-wide blink in slow motion before narrowing into thin slits. "What did you call me?"

Henry opens his mouth, "Why is she offended? She knows she's black, right?"

Marty laughs and steps back. His hands are in a surrender stance. "You're a dead man. Even if I stop her now, she'll just come back and finish you later."

Mel launches at him, springing through the air like a tiger. Henry makes a shrill scream, but it's all show. The man can fight, which wasn't evident before. He falls to the floor, and she straddles him, underestimating him. She doesn't see it yet. He didn't have to go down. He fell on purpose. This is going to end badly.

"Mel, stop! We need him!" I yell at her, but I don't want to get too close. "He's playing you, you idiot! Stop it!"

A flash of light reflects from a short silver knife in Mel's hand before she winds up to sink it in his side. When her arm swings out, Henry moves. He knocks Mel off balance, and her blade goes flying. Henry's actions are swift and well executed. She never saw it coming. He flips over her, pressing her to the floor, and crushing the air out of her lungs, before reaching out and grabbing her knife. He yanks her head by her ponytail, lifting her chin off the floor, exposing her neck. He pins her to the floor, face down, and holds her knife to her throat. If she swallows, she'll bleed.

Marty stands there, arms folded, letting them kill each other.

I throw my foot at Henry's temple while screaming at him to stop. He doesn't listen, and my kick does nothing to him, but it nearly kills me. It feels like I broke my foot. I need a fucking ninja!

"Stop this, now." Sean's voice is deep, steady, and even.

We hear a gun cock and everyone but Mel turns. He's standing there in tux pants and nothing else. His arms are extended forward clasping the gun, aiming directly at Henry's head.

H
enry rolls his eyes
, but he doesn't drop the knife, which is biting into Mel's neck. She doesn't make a sound, but there's a crimson trail of blood running down her mocha skin. "No one will miss her."

"I will," Sean says, surprising everyone. "As much as I want to put a bullet in your head, today isn't our day."

Henry inhales deeply, still doesn't move. "You like to take my toys."

"Amanda wasn't a toy."

"She wasn't yours, she was mine, and you broke her. I saw her toward the end, you know. Lifeless eyes and that growing belly. By the time you killed her, she was already dead." Henry stands and drops the knife on the floor next to Mel's head.

Henry mutters something as he walks away, tugging on his jacket and checking his sleeves for blood. If I didn't know better, he did that with Mel on purpose, like he was testing her. Why he took it that far is beyond me. There's no way he didn't know that calling her that wouldn't evoke an instant rage response, especially from her. The one thing Mel desires above all else is to be valued. She wants someone to see her for who she is and not use her because they can. I'm not sure what Henry was trying to prove, but Sean wasn't originally part of it. Those last few words were meant to get inside his chest and work their way to his heart.

Sean tucks the gun in the back of his waistband, walks over to Marty and inspects the cut over his eye. "You left me for dead."

"Ditto."

The corner of Sean's lips twitch slightly as if he wants to smile or say something, but he doesn't. He just turns to me and scans my body. "Are you hurt?"

"No." Yes, my foot is screaming like a crazy bitch in the mall on Christmas Eve.

Sean knows. His gaze drops to my foot. He doesn't ask, he just sweeps me up. "You need ice."

I smack him, protesting. "Put me down."

"Make me." His voice is flat, irritated.

He carries me down the stairs to the kitchen while Marty catches him up. Mel shrinks away in silence, no doubt embarrassed. Getting your ass kicked by a man wearing tweed had to be a shock.

We cross an enormous room, under the chandelier, beneath the dark stained, hand-carved coffers, and through a door that looks like part of the wood paneling surround the lower level of the room. I wonder how close Sean and Henry were at one point. They knew each other well, that much is clear. Henry knew how and where to hit Sean the hardest. Amanda is his weakest spot. He still blames himself. No matter what he says out loud, his feelings on the matter haven't changed.

After passing through a doorway, we enter a gigantic dining room. The table is a mile long. A plane could mistake it for a runway. The drapes are drawn, and we can see out the front of the house to the traditional English gardens. I can tell by the way things are planted and arranged. My mother always wanted a little English style garden but never got around to it.

On the other side of the room, we pass through another doorway, walk along a dark hallway, and into an industrial kitchen. It's the size of my parent's house. There are multiple stoves with griddles and burners. One wall of the kitchen has oversized double ovens in case you need to cook a dozen turkeys at once. Every cabinet is custom and resembles something from an old movie—or a Tudor palace. Even the racks hanging above the metal island are indicative of Henry's fetish. There are dead birds hanging there, dangling under the lights next to herbs and other things.

"Is that a duck?" No one answers me. It's too fat to be a wild turkey unless he went hunting at Heckscher and grabbed it off someone's barbecue. That wouldn't surprise me.

Marty hasn't stopped talking as he followed Sean and me across the large house. Marty's voice sounds annoyed. "He's not a civilian."

"I know," Sean sets me down on the counter.

"When were you planning on telling me?" Marty's voice drops and I wonder if this is the real him or if he's mimicking Sean.

Sean doesn't perceive Marty as a threat. He turns his back to the other man, going to the freezer hidden in a cream-colored panel and grabbing me some ice. He comes back with it wrapped in a towel and pulls my leg up so I can rest my foot on the counter before placing the ice on top.

Sean smiles at me and shakes his head. "Why do you think you're a ninja? You know you can't break a cinderblock with your head. Just thinking you can isn't what makes it break."

"Har, har. They were going to kill each other. What was I supposed to do?"

"No, they weren't." Marty's voice is firm. His arms fold over his chest as he stares at me. "He wanted to know what he was dealing with, and she underestimated him."

"Well, she won't do that again. She'll just kill him next time, no warning shot." I glance at my foot. Those little bones don't like getting hit hard. Kicking Henry in the face was like kicking a board. I wonder if he has a steel jaw.

"Which is what he was testing for," Sean explains, leaning against the counter next to me. He folds his arms over his bare chest, giving me a good view of the toned muscles flowing down his back. I want to lick the spot right below his shoulder blade, the place that's so tender on me—I wonder what he'd do.

"There's some misplaced loyalty there, enough to make her hesitate." Marty asks, "You think they know each other?"

"As far as I can tell, no. Neither one of them talks freely about their pasts, but I didn't find any connections between them."

"Maybe if you dig back through his records you'll find her?"

"Already did that. She's not there."

I roll my eyes. "Seriously? You don't know why she hesitated?" They gawk at me like I have a dog growing out of my neck, and it might bark. They both watch me, waiting. "She likes him."

Sean's eyes cut to the side, and he drops his arms. Marty steps toward me as they simultaneously accost me with questions. "How could she—"

"She hates him!"

"She beat the shit out him once already!" Marty adds.

I interrupt. "Right, and as you said, he's been playing it close to his chest, and she didn't know he could fight. No one catches Mel off guard, but plunging that dagger into his side bothered her, and we all know that nothing bothers Mel. Which means..." I place a hand in the air and unroll all my fingers at once for showmanship. "She's got a crush on the nutbag."

"That complicates things." Sean touches his jaw and walks over to the dead animal hanging over the island. "It's real. I know you were wondering. It's waterfowl. He probably shot it himself."

"The drones, I heard you say you saw one last night. Where?" Marty watches me, not realizing the type of information he's asking.

My face gives that away. Before I can respond, I feel it flame up, ear to ear. Super suck. I glance down and hear Sean laugh under his breath. "Back by Henry's freaky shed with no brooms."

"Sheds don't have to contain brooms," Marty interrupts. "Where's that rule written?"

"Don't even try," Sean says.

Marty nods, warned off, and redirects. "What did it do?"

"Nothing major," I say, thinking back. "It blinked, hovered, came back once more before zipping off."

"What were you doing?" Marty asks, prompting the memory of me being naked and kneeling in the doorway.

My face drops. It has a camera on it. Damn it. "It was taking pictures. Of me. In Henry's sick shed, and it never saw you." I glance at Sean before addressing Marty. "You thought something when I first mentioned it. What were you thinking?"

Sean produces a new cell phone from his pocket and starts web surfing. Marty glances at him and walks over to us. He's standing opposite Sean, who is next to me, hip leaning against the island. Marty mirrors the stance and folds his arms over his chest.

My stomach lurches up before falling into my shoes. I know what Sean's looking for, what he's going to find. "It wasn't Vic Jr's, was it?"

"No." His tone is clipped. He hands me the phone, and Marty leans in to see what pissed him off.

The page is a news rag that publishes celebrity gossip, and right there on the home page is a picture of me, blindfolded, kneeling on the floor stark naked worry etched on my face. I sneer and scroll down, finding several more pictures of me, but there's no sign of my name.

The article says that British Billionaire Henry Thomas imprisons women in a small house at the back of his property. It goes on to say they freed me, keeping my identity private to protect my rights. Wonderful. At least my face isn't showing. Everything else sure is.

"So, that's where you were," Marty looks smug when he straightens, "Being a toy for a fucked-up billionaire." He glares at Sean. "If you hurt her—"

I want to curl into a ball and die, but I don't. I kick my legs off the side of the counter and glare at each of them. "I chose Sean. Get over it." I smile when I say the next part. "But thanks."

Sean's triumphant smirk falls with that last word. "If you hurt me, Marty will kill you."

"Of course, Miss Smith. No brooms."

I make a face. "No brooms, ever. Splinters!"

Marty's eyes go wide, and he shakes his head, walking out of the room without a word.

Sean helps me down, and I wrap my arms around his neck and press a kiss to his lips. "So what's next?"

"We do a test run."

"Where? Isn't this illegal?"

He nods. "Yes, so we picked carefully and chose a common enemy. Information is power."

"So this is going to be a dry run, as in it's a similar setup to what I'll face at my brother's place?"

He pushes a lock of hair away from my face, nodding. "Yes, the system will work the same way, except we'll know Henry hasn't tampered with it because we're not knocking his home security grid offline."

"We're not?"

"No."

"Then whose house are we testing it on?" I can't imagine someone that wouldn't kill us or turn us in if things go to hell, and it doesn't work. Plus, they need to have a kick-ass security system. "It needs to be someone concerned about break-ins, someone with much to lose."

Looking at me from under dark lashes, Sean folds his arms over his bare chest and smiles darkly. "Exactly, which is why we're testing it out on the residence of pain-in-the-ass madam, Miss Black. She's got Manhattan by the balls. Whatever she's hiding at home is ten times more valuable than anything in her office. Plus, she hates me. With any luck, you and Mel can disable the system while Marty and I steal what we need to end her once and for all."