Inferno (17 page)

The man was smart. He stayed behind the scenes. He pulled the puppet strings and called the shots, but Sebastian and his team were the ones who were out there day to day. Marx was the wizard, but they were the projection.

His was the face people saw and, ultimately, the scapegoat they blamed. Last night had proven that much. Scrubbing a hand over his eyes, he snorted. Maybe he should needle the bastard for a raise.

Annoyed, he glanced up when his office door swung open without warning. His glare locked with Marx’s briefly before he turned his attention back to tucking away the last of the files off his desk.

“Can I help you?” he asked flatly.

“As a matter of fact, you can. It’s been a while since I had a home cooked meal. I was hoping you and your fiancée would be generous enough to fix that.”

He gaped at the man. After what they’d been through the night before? Was he serious? Regaining his composure, Sebastian shook his head.

“No. Tonight’s not a good night,” he said, turning his attention back to the stack of paperwork.

“Nonsense. Tonight is a good of a night as any. I need to see how she is holding up under the strain and assure she isn’t going to crack. I’m not taking no for an answer. It’s time I see for myself just how beneficial this living arrangement of yours really is.”

“Marx…” He started to object, only to be cut off by a sharp slice of the commander’s hand.

“Not another word. Get your things together and let’s go.”

He closed his eyes with a miserable snort. That settled it. Any remaining doubts he might have had were gone. God, or any other powers that might be, truly hated him.

Sebastian’s stomach continued its relentless churning as the desert started to give way to the familiar streets of Flagstaff. The worry and fatigue he’d heard in Taylor’s voice continued to plague him. She’d been through enough lately. The pressure and strain of dealing with Marx was the last thing she needed.

His eyes searched the rearview mirror. The commander was hot on his tail, the gleaming silver Jaguar’s bumper mere inches away from his own. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel so hard his knuckles whitened. The bastard better
pray
he didn’t hit his car. Scrubbing a hand through his curls, he refocused on the road, trying to find a way to buy Taylor more time.

The answer came in the form of a quick mart on the edge of town. He whipped into the parking lot without warning, wincing as the Benz’s tires gave a sharp squeal of protest. A thick cloud of dust obscured the road as the Jaguar lost traction and Marx skidded in sideways behind him. Giving an exasperated roll of his eyes, he threw the car into park and yanked the keys from the ignition.

“What the hell are you doing, Baas?” the SKALS director barked. The canyons on his craggy face deepened in a show of annoyance, and the heavy line of his eyebrows inched even lower.

Sebastian’s cheeks flamed at the excuse that came to mind, but determination kept his pride at bay. “She needs some fucking feminine hygiene products or she’s going to bleed all over my furniture. Do you want to buy them for her?”

Marx’s mouth slammed shut with an audible snap. His broad face contorted into a disgusted grimace, and he shooed Sebastian away from the side of his car with a gruff wave of his hand.

A short while later, he rolled through the gates with Marx right behind him. Biting the inside of his cheeks, Sebastian parked in the drive, exited his car, and slammed the door shut. This was not the evening he had planned. He glanced over as Rupert approached.

“Is there a problem here, sir?” The head of security looked between the two of them and shifted his rifle. Concern lined his scarred visage making the pale lines stand out even brighter against his skin.

Marx’s eyes blazed with unspoken fury as Sebastian let the question hang between them. Lifting his chin, he regarded the SKALS commander, well aware of the cold gleam fueling his own gaze. The corners of his mouth twitched. It would be so easy right now. So damn easy.

“Sir?” the guard asked again.

For a brief moment, he considered it. If Marx hadn’t announced his plans for the evening on the way out, he would have followed through. There were too many witnesses, too many innocent people. Marx had his own guards planted in a car outside the house. Now wasn’t the time, but the man’s crimes were far from forgotten. Taking a slow step back, Sebastian spread his palms and forced a tight smile.

“Not yet, Rupert. My boss decided to join us for dinner this evening. We will see how long that invitation lasts.”

“And just what the hell is that supposed to mean, Agent Baas?”

Ignoring the director’s question, he clapped Rupert on the shoulder on his way past and signaled for Marx to follow with a sharp jerk of his head.

CHAPTER 7 ~

Taylor smoothed her hands over the loose, simple black dress she’d chosen and regarded her complexion one last time. She frowned seeing the ghostly pallor haunting her face. She tried pinching her cheeks to bring back some of the color but to no avail. Her heart hammered frantically in her chest as she hurried back into the kitchen. Sebastian had sounded beyond stressed on the phone, and the sparse contents she had to choose from after not taking anything out to thaw certainly wasn’t helping to calm her nerves. She hoped Marx was a fan of sausage fried with potatoes and onions.

Hearing the whir of the garage door, she turned and wrung her hands, her stomach rolling. Uncertainty paralyzed her. Did she hurry to greet him as usual or give him his space in front of his boss? All she had to go by was his past expectations. She edged toward the laundry room, her ears straining. Hearing nothing, she pulled the door open and froze.

Tension lined Sebastian’s forehead as he jerked the belt to his overcoat free and his eyes locked with hers. They weren’t just cold; they were tortured, haunted, and full of something she just couldn’t read. Marx loomed behind him, his massive shoulders all but filling the door leading into the garage.

Reaching out, she took Sebastian’s dress coat and draped it over the hook while he kicked out of his boots. The anger and tension rolling off him was strong enough to be an entity all of its own. Closing her eyes, she sent up a quick prayer that she got through the night without making things worse.

“Dinner will be done in a few minutes, if that is okay,” she said, before daring a peek at his boss. “Hello, Marx, sir. It’s nice to see you again.”

He grunted, one of his thick brows creeping toward his hairline. “Is it?”

Taken aback by the rudeness, her mouth opened and closed as she struggled to come up with an appropriate answer. “I…”

“Make yourself useful and go fix us a drink, Taylor,” Sebastian ordered, cutting her short. “I’ll take some tea.”

“Scotch, neat if you have it.”

Still reeling from the curt instructions, she bit her tongue and headed for the kitchen. Her skin prickled as the men followed behind her. Sebastian reclined a hip against the counter beside her, but it was Marx’s heavy gaze that tracked her every move.

“Dinner smells good.”

She whirled at the soft rasp of her fiancé’s voice. Clinging to the hope the small compliment offered, she smiled. He didn’t return the gesture, but the look in his eyes softened before he lifted the lid to peek inside the skillet.

“I certainly hope there is more to it than whatever that is,” Marx said, drawing her attention. The sudden shift caused the room to pitch and she squinted against the motion as the colossal man rubbed his belly. “I’m starving.”

Taylor poured the rest of the drinks and slid Marx’s across the counter with a smile she didn’t feel. “I also have some biscuits in the oven, sir. If you will please excuse me, I need to finish setting the table.”

His voice followed her into the next room, its cavernous boom rattling clear down to the pit of her stomach: “Is it just me or is the little spitfire boasting a bit of an attitude tonight?”

“It’s just you,” Sebastian replied stiffly. “She’s trying to get my dinner on the table. Guest or not, pleasing me is still her top priority, Marx. Not entertaining you.”

The director’s deep laugh bowled through her system, leaving her chilled.

“Touché. Every man should be the king of his own castle, even if only for a night.”

It wasn’t amusement riding the thundering notes of his voice, or even acceptance. It was something dark and challenging. Resisting the urge to rub the gooseflesh on her arms down, Taylor straightened the napkins and inspected the table. She was about to make her way back into the kitchen when a box sailed through the air in her direction. Catching it, she turned the package in her hands, her brow gathering in confusion.

“Put those away, and next time grab them yourself when you’re at the store. It’s not my job to get them, and I don’t appreciate the inconvenience.”

The irritation in Sebastian’s tone only threw her off more. Glancing up, she found Marx leaned against the doorway, his eyes dark and brooding as he took in the exchange. Something was off, she just couldn’t figure out what. He was watching them, inspecting everything, and waiting. But for what?

Unease crawled down her spine, making her shiver as Taylor tried to play along. “Yes, Sebastian. I’m very sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“No it won’t,” he agreed. “Go do as you were told. We will address the issue later.”

She faltered as Marx’s looming shadow fell over her. His wide body blocked her path, and his slow chuckle felt like ice creeping through her veins.

“Don’t hold back on my behalf,” he said, trailing his hand across the top of the dining room table. The heavy silver rings circling his fingers glinted ominously in the candlelight. “Now is a good of a time as any, Sebastian. Humans are like puppies. You don’t want to wait to discipline them or they won’t remember what they’re being punished for. Corrective actions should be swift and consistent.”

Her lungs collapsed. Unable to help it, her eyes darted to Sebastian in a silent plea. If he noticed, he did a good job of not showing it. His dimples deepened in a tight smile.

“I assure you, it will be dealt with, but now is not the time,” he said, setting his tea down. “Taylor’s discipline is a personal matter between the two of us. It’s not a public spectacle for your entertainment, Marx.”

“Perhaps not, Baas. But it
is
meant for your benefit.”

Sebastian’s pale shamrock glare swung her way. “Put the goddamn box away
now
or you won’t sit for a month!”

Taylor startled at the harsh bark aimed in her direction. He never yelled and the sound was enough to render her numb. Fumbling the box, she scrambled around Marx in a beeline for the half-bath off the kitchen. Her heart pounded so hard, she couldn’t hear over the deafening roar of blood in her ears. After tossing the tampons under the sink, she skidded to her knees and hugged the toilet. Resting her head on her forearms, she drew a shaky breath and prayed for her stomach to calm down.

“Get up.”

She jumped at the cold civility in Sebastian’s voice. Before she had a chance to respond, he pushed his way into the bathroom and kicked the door shut behind him with enough force to rattle her teeth. The blood drained from her face when he stepped closer. Shaking, she pressed closer to the wall in an attempt to flatten against it.

“Please…” she choked.

“Shh,” he warned, crouching down beside her. Worry clouded his eyes as he stroked a tender thumb over her brow. Tipping her face toward his, he kissed the top of her head. “I love you,” he whispered. “No matter what, remember that.”

Before she could respond, he rocked to his feet and batted the soap dispenser off the sink. The decorative blown glass hit the wall mere inches beside her and shattered. Both noise and action wrung a startled cry from her lips as Sebastian jerked her to her feet without warning.

“Are you
trying
to embarrass me, Taylor?” he asked, loud enough that Marx surely heard it. “Get out there, get the food on the table, and
straighten your ass up!
”

She winced as he jerked the door open and sent her staggering into the kitchen on a shove. Marx nodded in approval as Sebastian stepped out behind her. She knew he was only trying to protect them both the best way he knew how, but it didn’t make the experience any less terrifying.

Her heart threatened to burst when she scented the air. A faint burning smell was already wafting from the oven, and the director was surveying the contents in the skillet with a look of dissatisfaction. His broad features screwed into a tight grimace. Taylor’s eyes widened as he snatched the skillet off the burner and tossed the thing, contents and all, into the soapy water she’d used to rinse the prep dishes. Sebastian’s jaw corded—a sharp contrast to hers, which hung open in disbelief.

“Why did you do that?” she asked in a choked whisper.

She wished she hadn’t when both men pinned her with a glare capable of stripping paint.

“Shut your mouth, Taylor. I don’t want to hear another word out of you tonight. Is that clear?” Sebastian asked.

She wrung her hands with a mute nod, watching as he crossed the kitchen and jerked open the oven door. He snagged the mitt off the counter and thrust it in Marx’s direction.

“The biscuits were burning, not everything else but here, while you’re at it, you might as well finish. Who the hell wants to eat?” he snapped.

“That wasn’t food. It was slop. It’s what you get when you shack up with some worthless truck stop waitress. You were supposed to train the girl and uphold her to a certain set of standards, not fall into disrepair beside her. I suggest you get your damn priorities straight and for God’s sake teach her to be useful somewhere besides the bedroom.”

Lowering her head, Taylor tried to ignore the sting of the big man’s words, but they cut deep. As much as she wanted to lash out at him and ask what gave him the right to be so judgmental and cruel, she knew it wouldn’t be wise. Not just for her sake, but for Sebastian’s as well. This wasn’t just any man. It was his boss, and being in charge of SKALS, he was quite possibly one of the most dangerous men in the world. Her pride wasn’t worth the trouble it would cause.