Mr. CEO(118)

“Stop it, Jackson. Just... cut the bullshit,” I snap, pulling my t-shirt on. I sit down and pull my socks on, looking for my boots. “Jesus, I had hoped we were past this point. It's not about the f*cking money! Life isn't about that!”

“It isn't about blood and revenge either!” Jackson yells back, still naked. “You told me to be better than him, well, you need to be, too! Stop worrying about your goddamn vengeance and live your life! Let it go, let us be able to let it go!”

“I can't!” I yell back, furious. “I'm not looking for his death anymore, but that * stole ten years of my life! I can't get that back, and I'm not the only one. Maybe he didn't kill my parents, but he's killed how many more? How much of that money you're so worried about is blood money? And don't try to f*cking lie, telling me it's not the money you're worried about!”

“So what are you going to do? Blow the whole damn thing up? Burn the house to the ground? Because if you send him to jail, you might as well! You know the feds and who the f*ck else is going to civil sue the shit outta the estate. What then? Living broke?”

“I've done it,” I reply coldly, standing up. I go to grab my bag, and see the skirt sitting on top. I yank it out, and rip it in half, tossing the pieces onto the carpet. “It isn't as bad as you think. Might just make you stronger, Jackson.”

Before he can answer, I grab my backpack and leave, pissed and trying not to cry. I'd suspected, I'd feared since yesterday, but hearing his words, I know that I can't trust Jackson to not interfere in the rest of the plan. He cares for me, I know that. But right now... he's not ready.



“This seat taken?”

For the first time in my life, I'm well on my way to being drunk. After storming out of the hotel, I grabbed a taxi, going toward the beach, not with any purpose but to get some distance and to calm down. Distance and perspective are important for any warrior in a fight, after all, and I hoped that watching the waves on the sand would help me find some temporary peace and clarity.

The problem is, I can't calm down. I used the prepaid card I have with me to take out a couple hundred dollars, most of what's left on that card, and crash at a fleabag hotel, putting myself through a workout that leaves my body dripping in sweat, but my mind no more settled.

Jackson's tried to call me half a dozen times, and texted me more. He's apologetic, but I can read between the lines, he still wants to protect the f*cking money. Finally, about two hours ago, I gave up and shut off my phone. Instead, I headed here, one of the first bars that I saw, and walked inside. Fuck it, it works for everyone else, why not me, too?

I'm about four drinks in when I hear the voice, and I turn my head, three-quarters drunk, seeing two people standing there. I have no idea who they are, but don't really care. “Go 'way. Not good conversation.”

“I can see that, Katrina,” the one person, a woman I notice, says gently. At the mention of my name my head whips back, and I reel to my feet.

“Who the f*ck're you?” I ask.

“It's me,” the woman says, stepping closer into the light. “It's Andrea.”

I squint, and I realize that it is Andrea. The straight black hair, the almond-shaped eyes, but the same dark blue as Jackson's... “Well hey! It is you! How'd the hell you get here? Who's yur big friend?”

I blink, but in the dim light of the bar, I can't make out his face. “Who are you?”

“A man who owes you a lot more than I can ever repay,” he says. “Come, let's talk. Away from the alcohol.”

“My tab though...” I protest, and the bartender, who's been watching with a leery eye, waves me off. “What?”

“We're pay as you go,” he reminds me. “We're square.”

Andrea reaches into her pocket and pulls out another bill and puts it on the bar. “Just in case, and for taking care of her,” she says. Coming closer, she takes my arm and puts it around her shoulder. “Come on, Kat. How much did you drink, anyway?”

“I dunno... less than a bottle,” I say, swaying along with Andrea's help out onto the streets. It's later than I thought it'd be, the moon is nearly fully overhead. “Hey... what time is it?”

“A little before eleven thirty,” Andrea says. The sidewalk is mostly empty, but this is the beach area of Miami, and I guess along A1A, the traffic and pedestrians don't go to bed until much later. “Sorry it took us so long to get here.”

“How did you get here?” I ask, the clear air helping me at least not slur my words. The man stays behind me and Andrea, and I sense that he's giving us security. I wonder who he is.

“Well, after you called me, Jackson called Nathan here after you two argued, Nathan gave me a call. I figured it was enough of an emergency, I booked a flight and boogied while Nathan hauled ass in his Tahoe.”

“Nathan?” I ask, turning around. I recognize him now, Nathan Black. The bastard who helped my parents fake their death. My hand flashes out, catching Nathan in the face with a slap, but he takes it without even reacting. “I should try and castrate you.”

“You should... but there's a line on people who want my balls, Miss Grammercy,” he says softly, calm. His eyes are a strangely disconcerting green, giving him almost a reptilian look in the streetlights. “Besides, Andrea and I are here to help you. After that... you and I can settle accounts between us.”