Attest (Centrifuge Duet Book 2)(12)
Confidence buoyed, I unclip my seat belt and prepare to exit the BMW. I’m stopped when a bell-like sound begins chiming through the car. My forgotten cell vibrates on the passenger seat where I tossed it, the ringing evidently the Bluetooth connected to the car.
I press the green phone symbol on the steering wheel. The call connects, and before I’m able to get a word out, B’s voice has filled the car. “If I recall correctly, I told you that you didn’t have my permission to leave the house tonight.”
“And, hello to you, too,” I drawl in response to her snarky greeting. I grin when my attempt at wit is ignored.
“It seems as if you haven’t grasped the gravity of your situation quite yet. While I appreciate that you’re eager to get on with the job, I will be choosing your first target, and Malcolm and Cynthia St. George are not it. This is your last warning. Stop pushing me or I’ll be forced to change my focus to your family and that would be a terrible outcome for all involved.”
I narrow my eyes at her blatant threat, glaring at the speaker in the middle of the dashboard as B continues outlining her carefully cultivated assessment of my current dilemma. “I had planned on discussing this with you tomorrow. I thought you’d appreciate the opportunity to clean yourself up and have a good night’s sleep before we got down to business. Silly me, I guess I was wrong.”
“Goddamned motherfucking fuck.” I bang my fist against the steering wheel. “Fuck!”
“Now, now, it’s not like I haven’t seen a penis before.” B leers, and for obvious reasons, the image of her licking her lips invades my mind’s eye. A shiver of disgust winds down my spine at the thought of her watching me. “But, rest assured, yours is definitely on the more impressive end of the list.”
I throw my head back against the headrest, bashing it twice. Disappointment is the most potent of the emotions that are coursing through me, quickly followed by anger. While I’ve been worried about shampoo and key rings, she’s been enjoying the knowledge that she has me in check.
“Why’d you let me get all the way here?” I have a dozen questions that I could ask, yet out of everything that seems to be the most important at the moment. “You could’ve phoned at any time to stop me.”
“We wanted to see how far you’d go and you proved us right. You are the best man for the jobs ahead—your desire to regain the status quo will push you to embrace our methodology, just as much as it will drive you to attempt to defeat me.”
Placing my hands on the steering wheel, I pull myself forward and start the engine. It purrs to life—mocking me with its easy reignition. It also reminds me that my revival isn’t going to come from something as simple as the turn of a key.
“I’m going back to the house.” I let down the handbrake and put the BMW into drive.
“No, you’re not.” B giggles, a malevolent sound that tells me she’s put another aspect of this game into motion. “Meet me at 1881 Columbia Boulevard in half an hour. I have something to show you.”
SEVEN
I should have known what B was up to. After all, she has shown a talent for the taking the sublime and making it ridiculous. 1881 Columbia Boulevard isn’t an address that I’m familiar with, and why would it be, seeing as how it’s smack bang in the middle of a newly developed industrial area that didn’t exist the last time I was a free man.
After parking the BMW—and trying to kid myself that I didn’t visibly preen when a guy with a large camera hanging around his neck sent a look of envy in my direction—I head toward the red sportscar that I can see parked about one-hundred metres away from me on the opposite side of the street.
“B.” I open her car door, and greet her a curt nod. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
She takes one last look at the mirrored compact in her hand, snapping it shut with a decisive jerk of her hand. A smile that wouldn’t look out of place on a shark is her only answer. B holds her hand out to me and lets me help her exit her car. She’s dressed in a long silver evening gown; done up to the nines with a face full of makeup, what I’m beginning to think of as her trademark red lips, and a cloud of perfume hanging around her.
“Shall we?” She looks at me with expectation in her eyes and her arm held out like I’m about to escort her somewhere.
I’m lost. The area we’re in looks industrial, yet both sides of the street are filled with parked cars and there are hundreds, if not a thousand, people dressed like B milling around. “Shall we what?”
“Oh, didn’t you realise?” The grin widens because she knows damn well that I don’t have a clue. She tucks her arm in mine and leads me up the road. “It’s the official after party for the opening of the new headquarters from Centrifuge. I wrangled an invite and decided that, after your little escapade tonight, you need to attend with me.”
She runs a critical eye down my outfit—sweat pants, a T-shirt, and old sneakers—and sniffs disapprovingly. “Well, I doubt you’re going to be let through the door looking like that.”
“Considering I wasn’t expecting any of this.” I gesture to our surroundings. “I’m not sure how I’m to blame for not meeting your standards.”
“It’s fine. I’m only joking,” B laughs, her mood flipping on a dime once more. “We’re not going inside for long anyhow. After all, I am a dead woman and you’re supposed to be in prison. If the wrong person were to see us, it could throw all kinds of spanners in the works.” She sounds positively gleeful at the thought.