Bishop's Pawn Page 4

  She’d stopped an arm’s length short of Liam and slapped her hands on her waist in that wide-legged stance a woman deployed when she wanted to scare the snot out of a man.

  “Honey,” Liam stammered with his hands up in supplication.

  “Zip it Ashforth. This is between me and your butt buddy.”

  “What?” Liam’s icy stink eye was hella’ funny.

  Roman groaned and put a hand on his forehead. Being in the middle of these two wasn’t all that different from dodging enemy incoming. He never knew where or when something potentially explosive would get tossed.

  With a growl, he drawled, “She means blood brother, right Ms. Wilde? The look he shot her way bounced off the smug sneer that made him chuckle.

  “If you say so, Mr. Bishop. Now tell me what nonsense he has formulating in that overactive mind. What exactly is he too much of a wuss to say to my face?”

  “Jesus, Rhiann,” he pleaded. “You do realize he’s standing right there.”

  “Then I guess you better talk fast,” she replied. When Liam took a step forward, her hand went up to keep him at a distance.

  “Not even a hello kiss?” Liam asked sulkily.

  “Only if you’re prepared to kiss my ass in front of Roman,” was her snippy reply.

  Liam’s reaction to her deliberate taunt let Roman know he had seconds before all hell broke loose. Best to lay it out there. “He thinks you were too friendly with your London security. Braedon I think his name was. Some shit about tea and scones or maybe it was fish and chips, I don’t remember.” He shrugged. “The point being, he wants me to wag a finger in your face and remind you that security is no laughing matter. Oh,” he quickly added after catching his breath, “and he wants you to remember who you are.”

  “For Christ’s sake, Bishop. Really?”

  “Well, that is what you said, right? Don’t fraternize with the bodyguard—no matter how hunky he is.”

  It was Liam’s turn to groan and cover his eyes.

  “And take the security seriously. You’re the wife of a prominent man.”

  Rhiann gasped and folded her arms with an indignant huff. “No, he did not!”

  With a scathing sneer, Liam growled, “I fucking hate you.”

  Roman was openly laughing now.

  “Give him a raise,” she demanded in a tight-lipped, stern nanny voice.

  Liam looked like his brain was short-circuiting. “Excuse me?”

  “A raise. I want you to give Roman a raise. Ten percent.”

  “He just got an annual raise.”

  “Did this annual increase address the fact that you expect him to do your relationship dirty work?”

  “Rhiann,” Liam begged. “Come on.”

  “As the wife of a prominent man,” she said with a biting sneer, “I should get a say in his annual review. I want an additional ten percent on top of whatever he was already getting.”

  It was evident she had no fucking idea just how much Liam shelled out for his services, extended and all-encompassing as they were, because tacking on ten percent to the already exorbitant remuneration felt like taking candy from a baby.

  Cracking a joke seemed like a clever maneuver, so he tossed out a good one.

  “Hey,” he told Liam with mock gravity. “It’s like I keep saying. Be a lot cheaper to adopt my ass. Put me in the will. You do that, and I’ll happily call you Daddy.”

  Then he looked at Rhi with a shaking head. “But no fucking way am I calling you Mommy.”

  Ten seconds of stone-cold silence dragged by and then all three of them exploded with gales of laughter and several exuberant high fives. Eventually, Rhiann pushed Liam into his penis-envy executive chair, the one so big it was visible from space, and climbed on his lap. Pulling a seat to the side of the desk, Roman ignored the all-too-familiar make-out session happening feet away and plopped down with an audible grunt.

  “Ten more seconds and then I throw a glass of water onto you two.”

  It wasn’t Liam who ended the kiss. Rhiann giggled and pushed him away as she sat up and wiped the corners of her mouth. Clapping her hands for their attention she eyed them both and said, “Gentlemen, no more fucking around. What’s the plan? I’ve got a wedding to plan and a niece to spoil rotten. It would be nice to know if I also have a sister-in-law.”

  The expression on Liam’s face when she referred to Kelly Anne James as her sister-in-law was all he needed. Suddenly the long agonizing deliberation made sense. Liam was afraid. Afraid to want something. Afraid that one more thing associated with the scum who fathered him would be a disappointment.

  He didn’t care at that moment what Liam’s decision was because he intended to do everything in his power to see to it that brother and sister were reunited in a positive way. He wanted that for his boss-friend.

  Rhiann caressed the side of Liam’s face and smiled at him. “It’s time, love. Just say what’s in your heart, and we’ll figure out the rest.”

  Roman swallowed a lump of emotion that sprang from nowhere and lodged painfully in his throat. Rhiann Wilde was an extraordinary woman.

  Liam reached for her hand and kissed it, then closed his fingers around hers. When he swung his head and met Roman’s curious gaze, the eyes meeting his were clear and focused. His voice was strong and confident.

  “I want you to handle this personally, Roman. No one else. And I want things old school. No emails, no digital trail. Go to Oklahoma and check things out. Find out everything there is to know about my sister…Kelly,” he said in a halting voice.

  “Do you want her to be told or is this seek and find a general thing?”

  Liam stared unblinking as he considered what Roman was really asking, then replied somewhat unsurely, “We’re assuming she knows nothing but you know what they say about assumptions. Until we’re sure, the connection should remain anonymous.”

  Anonymous.

  Hmm.

  That meant blending into the scenery in a place where a stranger asking questions might set off alarms. He’d already done some research and had half a plan ready to go in just this instance.

  “Instead of trying to play incognito games, I’ll just be someone passing through. Might take some time, though. Her being off grid from a traditional standpoint complicates things. No digital trail whatsoever—no email, bank accounts, credit cards, et cetera.”

  “I hope she’s okay,” Rhi whispered.

  Liam rubbed her back. He seemed about to say something but didn’t.

  “What do you need Roman? Just tell Gardner, and she’ll take care of accounts. Anything at all.”

  The sad hopefulness edging Liam’s voice doubled Roman’s resolve. Either Kelly Anne James was in for one hell of a surprise or his friend was going to get another painful life lesson.

  He was sincerely pulling for the surprise scenario.

  Closing the book on his lap, Roman inhaled deeply, enjoying the way his favorite chair to read in rose up around him like an embrace. The modern version of a high back Queen Anne Chesterfield, upholstered in soft gray velvet, was angled to afford him warmth from the fireplace and a great view out the oversized windows of his Tribeca home.

  How damn lucky was he that a guy like him was able to pay cash for a New York City loft apartment? In the right place at the perfect time, he’d snapped up the old two-bedroom unit for next to nothing when the original owner’s family decided to sell and sell quickly.

  Back then the place was a disaster, but he hadn’t cared one bit. For him, the thrill came from the process. Buying the property, pinning down an architect and designer, and then bringing his vision to life.

  Putting his book on the small round table beside him, he hiked his feet onto the round ottoman and sank into the chair so he could study the large room in comfort.

  The muted grayness outside signaled yet another dreary city day. Typical winter weather tended to be damp and sometimes snowy but more than that, what grabbed on and held fast was bitter, unshakeable cold.

&n
bsp; A log popped and crackled on its way to becoming ash. His eyes swung to the fireplace with its marble hearth and mantle. He loved having a wood fire in his home. It was so much better than one of those gas-powered fakeplaces. Luckily, his loft was accessible by a key elevator opening directly into the foyer. If not for that he’d be lugging wood up three flights of stairs.

  Mahogany panels rose dramatically to the thirteen-foot ceiling above the fireplace. Several of the panels cleverly concealed a flat screen TV. The bold masculine vibe of the wood and the surrounding exposed red brick walls complemented his nature.

  So did the ceiling to floor bookcases flanking either side of the fireplace. He almost made love to his designer on the spot when she added moveable, decorative cast iron ladders for easy access.

  He glanced at the rack of antlers hung in the top third of the mahogany wall and snickered. They were a new addition and a tongue-in-cheek affectation that cost him a fucking bundle. Courtesy of Rhiann and her sometimes nauseating optimism.

  After giving her the grand tour one afternoon she went off like she had a tendency to do. And because Rhi never encountered a point she couldn’t make better through imagery, they ended up watching some fucking Disney movie. Beauty and the Beast. Because, she quipped, he reminded her of a character. Gaston. Gaston who could kick anyone’s ass and who decorated with antlers.

  The next thing he knew, Roman was on a fervent search for the perfect wall hanging.

  Antlers. Jeez.

  Using the control pad sitting on the small side table next to the chair, he turned on the sound system. His annoyingly restless and antsy feelings were back. Maybe music would soothe the beast inside.

  Flipping through the eclectic assortment of playlists he’d meticulously programmed, he stopped and scrolled back to an oldie but goodie. A Rachmaninov symphony, number two, third movement. It was the perfect accompaniment to a fidgety Sunday morning.

  As the composition filled the air he thanked the heavens for the wondrous magic of music. The soundtrack of his life was as random and varied as the experiences he carried like baggage. He flashed on the endless war soundtrack in his head full of AC/DC , Rage Against the Machine, Metallica, and his all-time favorite, Drowning Pool’s Let the Bodies Hit the Floor. Not exactly what you’d expect of a Rhodes Scholar with a Master’s in Philosophy.

  He ran a hand through his hair and rubbed the lazy beard on his jaw. The crackling pops from the fireplace receded into the background as he let the music fill the emptiness inside.

  Putting his head on the back of the chair, he stared at the ceiling and willed the demons and unruly troublemakers lurking inside him to ease off. It was his usual to be a right royal prick at the beginning of every year. Part of him hated the constant passage of time because in his case, instead of making things better, each new year only reminded him of the moment, frozen in time, when he lost everything. Including the future.

  “Fuck this,” he muttered in an irritated growl. Hauling up from the chair he stomped on bare feet into the kitchen and yanked open the refrigerator. Protein. That’s what he needed. A big old pile of protein and one of his throw-together raw juice drinks.

  Maneuvering around the two parallel counters in the galley kitchen he helped design, it took no time at all to broil a steak and juice up his secret recipe of raw fruits and veggies. At the last second he added a serving spoon loaded with hash browns to the plate and carried it behind the living room’s sofa to the long rectangular pedestal table serving as a dining space.

  From his seat, he could see out the windows and also enjoy the exposed brick walls that made his home so distinctive. He was drawn to the melding of styles and time periods throughout the apartment. The refined next to the rustic struck him as some sort of allegory. Unsure of the hidden meaning but aware that there was one, he slugged down half the glass of juice and focused on more important matters.

  Like the eye-opening tidbit of insider information he pulled out of Liam after the man dropped a clue in Rhiann’s presence. Remembering to circle back and find out what the fuck Liam wasn’t telling him, he finally got him to drop the stoic reserve long enough to share.

  Even though he hadn’t been involved when Liam Ashforth went on his slash and burn crusade to destroy the man who fathered him, Roman was quietly aware of what went down. Most of it.

  Liam’s dogged persistence and steely focus built and powered a global enterprise of staggering wealth and influence. In his spare time, he meticulously and painstakingly poked, prodded, chipped away at, taunted, and finally annihilated Adam Ward.

  And because the guy deserved it for the shitty way he treated the guy’s mother, it seemed right to give Liam all the space and privacy he needed to deal with his demons. Roman was a seasoned veteran of the demon-inside wars and understood all too well what that kind of shit made a man capable of. From his place on the inside, however, Roman did some digging of his own, maintaining loose tabs on the situation and keeping an active dossier. He didn’t want his friend walking into anything.

  So he was aware of Liam’s final death blow to Ward Industries. Knew of the face-to-face coup de grace involving handing the scumbag swimming in his gene pool the exact amount of pay off the old fucker had given to Liam’s mom. But not until after he’d bankrupted him of course.

  A backhanded ‘fuck you one more time’ in the form of detailed reports about her husband’s lechery couriered to Adam Ward’s wife had Liam’s fingerprints in jet black indelible ink on all of it. She left Ward’s sorry ass, thank god, and got the last laugh too. It ended up that while Adam was screwing every available hole attached to a pulse, his wife had been humping the family’s lawyer for a decade or more. When Ward’s sleazy shit hit the fan, she simply packed, left, and moved on up to a much better situation. Adam, on the other hand, found a condo outside Boca Raton in a halfway acceptable but right on the edge of society neighborhood.

  It was just a random fluke when Roman stumbled on the dirty little secret that made Ward an even bigger douche. Discovering a half-sister was lurking out there had taken the whole wild fucked up saga to an eleven. Maybe a twelve.

  Time wasn’t much of a consideration though until Liam’s bombshell. It turned out that Ward was on his way out. Some sort of cancer. Stage four. Roman didn’t doubt Liam probably had the man’s blood counts in a secure file—that’s how close a watch he kept. The tension when he gave up this new wrinkle in the Ward saga gave Roman a sense of urgency. Locating Kelly James and figuring out what the fuck her story is was now time sensitive. It was glaringly evident Liam needed this thing wrapped up before the old fucker took a permanent dirt nap.

  The steak was history along with the hash browns, and he was still ruminating over a thousand details when his phone pinged. Fishing it from the deep pocket of his Sunday morning sweats, he gave it a glance and instantly smiled.

  It was Rhiann.

  Have decided on blush pink for my bridesmaids.

  Soon as you meet her let me know if pink is a good color.

  Hugs Big Guy ~ be safe ~ miss you already

  Xoxo Rhi

  P.S. Your stand-in is a dud. Can’t you train these guys to smile?

  He snickered and shook his head. Damn straight the substitute bodyguard was a dud. Liam had enough problems with Rhiann. After the way he overreacted to their European team being too friendly, well…he wasn’t a numb skull. Liam had his limits. All men do.

  To avoid more problems, he’d hooked them up with an ex-cop who was the Terminator’s doppelganger in appearance and attitude. Liam loved the guy. Rhiann? Not so much.

  He’d thought about pulling her aside for a little lecture but after careful consideration nixed the idea. It wasn’t necessary. Most of Rhi’s fuckery was deliberate. Liam needed her enthusiasm, wit, and zest for life. She might come off as a spoiled, over energetic handful but it was an act. When it came to looking out for and after Liam Ashforth, he and Rhiann were on the same page. She’d walk into a hail of gunfire without flinching if it
meant saving his life.

  Her loyalty was unimpeachable, rock steady, and impressive.

  The thought triggered an uncomfortable tightening in his chest that turned to a slow burn. Women with those traits were hard to find. He would know because once upon a long time ago there was a girl who tried…

  Angrily shaking his head to chase away the memory, he stood up and shoved the chair out of the way with his foot. This wasn’t about him. He had no personal life to speak of and intended to keep it that way.

  Putting his plate and glass into the deep sink, he made quick work of cleaning up while examining the cold hard facts of his non-professional life.

  When he needed sex, he got it. Uncomplicated hook-ups, nearly always with experienced women who shared or weren’t adverse to his particular kink. He liked to fuck. And when he did, he fucked hard and with no apologies.

  He’d done the Hallmark relationship. The one with sappy cards and over-the-top gestures. But that was then and this is now. Things change. People die. Circumstances evolve.

  On his way down the brick-walled hallway to his bedroom, he considered getting his freak on before heading out to Oklahoma. Maybe letting off some of the steam powering his control-dominated engine was a smart move.

  By the time he peeled of his sweats and turned on the shower the idea was relegated to the dustbin. Indulging in some pleasantly diverting dungeon play with someone who knew the score did not appeal to him in any way at the moment.

  Under the steady stream of warm water he scrubbed shampoo into his hair and blamed the feisty Rhiann and lovesick Liam for his change in attitude.

  Not content to place all his ire in one spot, he also included those Justice fucknuts and their perfect desert family.

  Jesus Christ, he thought. Even Cam, bitter, anti-social Cam, had a gorgeous wife, a kid and another rugrat on the way.

  Why was it just him whacking off in the shower when what he’d really like is a hot-blooded woman with a ballsy attitude who’d enjoy spending a lazy Sunday morning sucking his dick and going for a ride? A guy didn’t need a wedding ring or a house in the suburbs for that. Didn’t seem fair.