Mr. CEO (27 page)

Contradict? What the fuck is he talking about? I was trying to deflect him, calm him down. “Pops, that wasn’t my…”

“Shut the fuck up!” he yells again, at least taking a seat. “Jackson, it's bad enough that you embarrassed yourself, and yes, embarrassed me. You've been a disappointment your entire life, really. At least Andrea has enough sense to try and make something of herself, even if she does refuse to act like the proper daughter I've tried so hard to get her to be. But you had your uses. It's time to grow the fuck up, and that means seeing that life isn't all parties and limos and threesomes with sluts. Sometimes it means making hard decisions and doing hard things.”

“Like ordering your attack dog to do your dirty work for you?” I ask before I even realize what's coming out of my mouth. Pops starts to turn red again, and I decide to just fucking go with it. “You've made your own bed. Now you're upset that someone's calling you on it? What about the rest of the family, Pops? Did you ever think about us in your little tirade?”

He slams his fist on the desk, sending a pen cup flying. He's staring daggers into my face. “I promise you, Jackson, if you ever disrespect me like that again... you'll find that Katrina Grammercy isn't the only person who can have her throat cut in front of someone she knows. Get the fuck out.”

I get up, and I make my way out to the hallway. I immediately go looking for Nathan... once again, I have to know.

I find him in the back after twenty minutes of searching, where he's indulging in his other hobby, animals. The plantation still has a stable attached to it, and while it doesn't hold horses any longer, the Great Dane that Nathan keeps there is nearly as big as a pony. “Nathan.”

He holds up a hand, and I see in his right hand he's holding a stiff-bristled brush that he's currently using to brush down the dog. “Yes, Maverick, you're a good boy. I know, I promised you a walk this morning, but I've got some business to attend to, so I'm going to have to keep this short. Tonight though, you and I can go for a romp in the back acres all you want. Wouldn't you like that?”

Maverick obviously does, as the giant dog wags his tail briskly. Nathan looks over at me, then back at Maverick. “You think it'd be okay if Jackson comes along?”

Maverick wags again, settling the issue. Nathan reaches over and unsnaps the long lead attached to Maverick's collar, and rubs his head. “Well, come on then. Maybe only a mile or so, then we can head back.”

Maverick goes bounding off, acting for all the world like a two-hundred-pound puppy, heading for the door. His dog out of earshot, Nathan speaks to me for the first time. “Your shoes will get muddy. And I'd appreciate it if you'd limit the unpleasant talk around Maverick. He's a big baby, but he's my baby.”

I look down and shrug. “I can get others. It's not as important as what you and I need to discuss.”

Nathan nods and takes the lead, his long legs eating up the ground. We leave the stables and head north, into the unkempt scrubland that used to be indigo fields two hundred years ago. It's now mostly fields, with a little bit of wild indigo still covering areas of the property, but most of it disappeared after later attempts to turn the fields into tobacco and then cotton before the Civil War broke out. For Maverick, the open spaces are wonderful, even as I feel the first squelch of mud underneath my foot. “So why'd you brush him before this run?”

“We start every day with a brushing, even if it's just a few minutes,” Nathan says, and I notice that he's changed into what looks like old combat boots, albeit unlaced. “Like I said, he's my baby, since I've never had children of my own. Lots of nieces and nephews, but none of my own.”

“How often do you see them?” I ask, surprised at this insight into Nathan's mind. It's like when we sat down for tea, I'm finding depths to the man that I never knew existed.

“Not often enough,” he admits. “Some of it is because I'm pretty busy working for Peter, but also... well, I'm not the sort of uncle that is exactly welcome at the family Thanksgiving table. How do you explain to a five-year-old that the richest member of the family got that way because he's put enough men in the ground to populate a small village?”

“Yet you keep doing it,” I say quietly. “I'm not accusing you, just saying.”

Nathan nods, his eyes following Maverick as the dog goes sniffing around. “Maverick! Leave that rabbit alone!” he hollers with a laugh, then sobers. “I do. It's all I've ever known, and to try and make myself out to be something more than what I am... I think the ghosts of my past would condemn me even more if I pretended to be something I'm not. But there's a part of me that would like to go back if I could, back to when I was a Green Beret. Yeah, there was a lot of killing then... but we did more than that. I can remember going into what some people call Kurdistan. We were working a black ops mission, this was when Saddam was still in power, just after the Mogadishu op that I told you about. We were supposedly there to reinforce the no-fly zone Clinton insisted on, but really we were there to help the Kurds get on their feet. I spent ninety days in that area, and never fired a shot. But what I did do was help them build three schools, and we dug two wells for villages that were struggling. I'll never forget the look in the eyes of those Kurd children when I pumped the handle, and fresh, clean water flowed out of that pipe. They thought I was Santa Claus and Allah all wrapped up in one that day. I use that image a lot when I meditate, trying to find inner peace.”

“And how much meditation will it take for you to find inner peace with what Peter just told you?” I ask. “Hours? Days?”

Nathan stops and turns to face me fully, his scarred eye wide, his right eye arched. “Peter? I think that's the first time I've ever heard you call him anything other than Pops.”

“Considering the man just told me that if I ever talk back to him again he'd have my own throat cut, I think that disqualifies him from being referred to by a fatherly name, don't you?” I ask. “But my question stands, Nathan. What are you going to do?”

Nathan turns and watches Maverick bound along. “Did you know the average Great Dane lives only six to ten years? It's why they're also called the Heartbreak Breed, because they're so affectionate, but they die so quickly. But it's also part of the reason I chose Maverick. He's already four, I've had him since he was a puppy. But I know that if I ever piss off Peter DeLaCoeur... there are other men who will do what I will not. Including dropping my corpse into the Gulf. Oh, not that I'd make it easy for them, it'd be a very expensive operation for sure. But I wouldn't want to rob an innocent dog of love and affection, or of too much of his life. You know your... that Peter would have Maverick killed first. It's a poor way to soothe my conscience, but I wouldn't be robbing Maverick of too much of his life if that happens.”

“What are you even saying?” I ask, hot. “What type of monster have you become, Nathan?”

Nathan turns back to me, gives me a studied look, and shakes his head. “You miss my point. I can't go after Katrina, not this time. I found her like you asked, and in the course of my investigation, I found out things... well, I found out things that only she should tell you. The only thing I could give you was an address. But I can't go after her for this. I'll delay, and I'll do what I can, but eventually Peter's going to reach out to someone else as well. I can't stop that.”

I nod and watch Maverick romp around the fields while we talk. “What am I going to do?” I mutter to myself, the mud squelching as we reach a turn in the little path we're following, and Nathan stops. “What can I do?”

“I don't know if you're asking for my advice or just muttering to yourself, but here it is anyway, Jackson. Stand up. Be a man. I saw how you were last night, coming home from seeing her, and don't try to say that you didn't. But she isn't going to be interested in a playboy. If she's going to be interested at all... it's in the man you could be. You're not dumb, even if you pretend to be for whatever reason. So stand up. It's dangerous, but like you said when you approached me before... it's the right thing to do.”

I shove my hands into the pockets of my pants and think. Nathan studies me for a bit, then turns. “Maverick! Let's head back now!”

As the dog goes running by, heading for the stable, Nathan stops next to me. “Don't think too long. I guarantee you, Peter will contact others about this. I've seen him this angry before. You've got a couple of days’ head start. At most.”

C
DG- You found me again
.

BS- This time it wasn't that hard. You practically were advertising your presence online, if you know where to look.

CDG- I had a reason for that.

BS- I see.

I'm in a chat room, one of my hacker rooms, and I close the main window, dropping into just private chat with Blue Sakura, aka Andrea. I've been looking for her today, hoping she can give me insight into how Peter DeLaCoeur is handling the news that hit the Internet today. Unfortunately, with such stuff, I couldn't get the newspapers to put it out, but in this digital world, it should still carry weight.

BS- What are your reasons?

CDG- I was wondering how Peter took the news.

BS- And how would I know that?

CDG- You know who I am. You don't think I don't know who you are?

There's a silence on the screen for a bit, then Blue Sakura comes back.

BS- Okay, let's lay our cards out. It's been a long time since we used to play in my room.

CDG- Yeah, it was fun. You had a pretty awesome Barbie collection. It seems that we've both changed since we thought that Ryan Reynolds was cute.

BS- What do you mean thought? I still do.

CDG- TMI. So how did Peter react?

BS- Your timing is off today. I haven't been home yet, and I had a nine a.m. class. I haven't heard from anyone at home.

CDG- What's got you out so late? It's nearly seven.

BS- Checking some things. Your reappearance had me chasing some stuff down.

CDG- Anything I'd be interested in?

BS- Perhaps. If I figure it out, I'll drop you a message. Peter certainly doesn't trust me, even less than Jackson. Spoils me rotten, wants me to be his little princess, but he doesn't trust me.

CDG- Speaking of that... I have verification on your history, too. I'm holding it in reserve, it's the sort of bomb that could be spun to hurt Peter badly. But maybe you, too?

BS- We can discuss that later. I need to go for now. Thanks.

CDG- For what?

BS- Discretion.

Blue Sakura logs off, and I sit back, sighing. Discretion isn't my strong suit, and I'm no closer to finding out if I'm closer to my goal than I was when I started looking for Andrea online. I want firsthand verification, I need it. The depression is bad tonight, even though I was able to read all about the social reaction to what I'd dropped on Peter DeLaCoeur's lap. My workout wasn't enough to alleviate it, my endorphins were not enough to push it all back, and for some reason, I can't take my pills. I'm sitting here, staring at them in their plastic bottle, and all I can think about is how I made fun of Jackson for his own self-medication. How can I accuse him of running away from reality when I'm taking my own collection of mind-altering stuff?

Angry, I grab my bottle, get up, and shove it into my dresser, out of sight. I'm going to handle this the old-fashioned way, the same way that the old masters advised.
Purity is something that cannot be attained except by piling effort upon effort.

Fine. Effort has brought me success. Effort has brought me the ability to bring down Peter DeLaCoeur if I can stay the course. Effort has allowed me to hone myself into the perfect instrument of my vengeance. I can beat this too, dammit.

I go over to my meditation corner, lighting the candle there. It's a new one, a gift from Darcy after her most recent visit, with a fresh ocean scent and supposedly a guaranteed twelve hour burn time. Instead of meditating, however, I stretch out, cradling my head in my arms as I let myself drift, searching for something I can hold onto to pull myself out of the depression.

What comes to mind startles me, and I sit up. Jackson? What the hell? He's a damn playboy, despite whatever he may have said when he visited. Yeah, it was noble, yeah he may have risked the wrath of his father... but he's still wrapped up in being a douchebag.

I lie back down, letting my mind drift again, but it keeps circling back, refusing to let go of Jackson. He can't be all bad, after all. If he wasn't lying about his physique being all natural...

“It's all natural,” Jackson teases me, stretching out beside me. “After all, steroids cause shrunken balls. Did they look shrunken to you?” He's got a point. I remember what his cock looked and felt like in the limo, he's certainly not lacking in the size department with either the twig or the berries.

“I guess I owe you some credit for that,” I say, reaching out and touching his arm. He's wearing a white dress shirt and charcoal gray slacks, although since we're lying down he's taken off his shoes. “So why'd you put so much effort into lifting?”

“To escape my sadness,” he whispers, reaching out and brushing my cheek. “When you left... you left a hole inside me. That, combined with the rest, I had to pour it out somewhere.”

“You... you were on my mind, too,” I admit, laying my hand on his side. “I really thought you were special, and that someday you were going to ask me out on a date, not just over to build models or study or play video games.”

“I would have,” Jackson says, easing closer. We're close, and I can feel the warmth and magnetism of his body so close, my heart beating faster in my chest. I'm not a virgin since I had to practice my seduction and erotic skills on someone, but I've never actually made love before. My heart has never been opened to anyone... but Jackson. And even then, that was a whole different me. “I was going to, and I wanted to kiss you, too. Remember that last time we played in the pool?”

I chuckle, nodding. “You kept staring at my butt. I thought I was getting a wedgie or something.”

Jackson shakes his head, his hand stroking down my back to rest on my hip, just on the upper curve of my butt. “Not quite.”

I reach my own hand down, fully cupping his ass.

Jackson leans forward, and we kiss, not like in the limo where I was giving him seductive kisses that never touched his lips but real, tender, and heartfelt ones. His lips caress mine, our tongues reaching out, probing each other, as I taste the wonderful, sexy man in front of me.

I moan when his hand comes down and grabs my ass, his strong hand kneading the flesh and muscle. I've always favored my ass over the rest of my body, and Jackson somehow knows, pulling me on top of him and grabbing with both hands as I laugh. “Mmm... you're more aggressive than I thought you'd be after I nearly broke your arm.”

“I like to live dangerously,” he teases. “Or at least, you inspire me to.”

We kiss and grind against each other, Jackson slipping his hands inside the waistband of my pants and grabbing the naked skin underneath. I'm hot, so hot I can't believe it, it's never felt this good before. Even when Carla taught me the Touches, it was never with this feeling inside my chest, never this dam that threatens to explode and consume me with what's held behind it.

I sit up, groaning when my hips straddle Jackson's and I feel his cock pushing up at his pants, my pussy aching for it to fill me. Still, I reach down and begin unbuttoning his shirt, easing the cloth to the side with each button, exposing his perfect chest and stomach. Every muscle is defined, his skin slightly tanned and hairless, not at all like my pale skin that barely sees the light of day most of the time. His nearly white hair and blue eyes gleam in the light of the candle, and as my hand goes over his heart, he lets go of my hips to cover his hand. We don't say anything, just look at each other. There's no need for words, not right now.

I finish unbuttoning his shirt and Jackson sits up, shrugging out of it before wrapping his arms around me in an embrace, the passion creeping out. We're hungry, devouring each other, pushing clumsily at the pants keeping us from what we need. Somehow we roll as we strip, until I'm underneath Jackson, his cock probing at the entrance to my pussy, his eyes sparkling as he looks into my eyes. “How do you feel about me?”

“I loved you then,” I tell Jackson, and he pauses, tears in his eyes.

“I love you now,” he replies, pushing in. He's perfect, filling me the way that no partner has ever done before. He slides in and out, my body lighting up, his cock giving me sensations I've never felt before. He's just on the edge of being rough, a little but not too much, driving his cock into me over and over, his mouth kissing me hard, almost bruising. I claw at his back as pleasure explodes over and over in my body, battering at the walls around my heart, electricity tingling along every inch of my skin. Jackson's powerful but tender, rough but gentle, and I'm washed away, giving in to him and submitting to my every desire.

I open up to him, and in that instant, I see it all. I see a future I've never imagined before, of happiness, of growing old next to him, of children running in a park, of snowcapped mountains and high lakes. I see...

It's all washed away as Jackson's cock drives in again and again, pushing me toward the edge. I can feel him trembling, holding back to take care of me, and I kiss him, as tenderly as I can with the way my body is being hammered higher and higher. “Jackson... I'm... I'm...”

I can't say anymore as he pushes me over the edge, and whiteness fills my heart and my mind, driving away the darkness that has been ever present for the past decade. His heart, his love obliterates it, banishing it away, and as my orgasm fills me with light, I feel him shudder and fill me again, his cock exploding deep inside me.

“I'll always love you,” Jackson whispers as he gathers me. “There is nothing we should be quite so grateful for as the last line of the poem that goes
, 'When your own heart asks.'”

“When you own heart asks...” I repeat, the quote from
Hagakure
echoing in my thoughts as I come back to reality. My body aches, unfulfilled desire aching in my loins and my nipples tight in my sports bra. I sit up, shaking my head again. A fantasy lover, never to be found in the real world. And what's this bullshit about a future? About love? My life is going to be measured in terms of days and hours once I unleash the next broadside against Peter DeLaCoeur.

But I can't deny the depression that was threatening me is pushed back a bit, and I feel a lighter. I'm shaken, though... Jackson? And what about my fantasy... is it true? Did I love him? Do I love him?

I get up off my meditation mat and blow out the candle, heading for my food area. I feel good enough to make some dinner, and then maybe I can get back to work on verifying some of Peter's criminal connections. I'm hacking a casino, the same one that I released the security camera footage from. Unfortunately, their security server is different from their financial server, and the security on it is more closely held.

Still, before I sit down at my computer, I think back to my fantasy. Jackson? Really? But...

A knock comes at my door, and I look up. It's familiar, even if I've heard it only once before.

“Kat! Open up, please! It's me!”

I go over and check my peephole, even though I'm already reaching for the lock. He's outside, and in the dim light of my security light, he looks panicked. “Kat... Katrina! Open up!”

I pull the bolt and open the door, Jackson stepping back enough to let the door open enough for him to get inside. As soon as he’s able, he pushes past me and I close the door. “What's this about, Jackson?”

Jackson shifts from side to side, his eyes flicking around the shadowed space of my loft. “Kat, you need to run. Peter's angry, and I don't know if I can keep you safe any longer.”

“Talk.”