Savage (10 page)

“Say it,” he demanded, staring into her eyes. “Tell me no one’s ever made you this wet. This hot.”

He withdrew his fingers, and she whimpered as he brought them to his lips, licking her juices from them while he thrust his cock into her hand, grinding against her swollen pussy.

“You better fucking say it, Jenna. Or I’m going to come in your hand and you’re going home to a cold shower.”

She would die if she didn’t feel his fingers inside her again. If she couldn’t come while he stroked her clit, his mouth hot and demanding on her own.

“No one makes me this wet,” she gasped. “No one makes me this hot.”

He invaded her mouth with his tongue as he moved his hand back into place. She moaned as his fingers plunged through her dripping folds, then slid over the sensitive peak of her clit. She moved her hips against his hand, working in a perfect rhythm that came back to her like no time had passed.

Like she was made for him. Like she still belonged to him.

She stroked him at the same time, gliding her palm over his rigid shaft as he rolled her clit under the fleshy pad of his thumb. She was out of her mind with the need to come. She could no longer remember why they’d been apart. Why she’d been afraid of him. She was fully alive for the first time in five years, every cell in her body attuned to his. There was nothing but his mouth on hers, his cock growing bigger and harder by the second, pulsing in her hand while she moved against his fingers, the orgasm becoming more and more inevitable with every passing second.

He looked down at her, his eyes flashing. “I’m not waiting for you. Not this time.”

It was a punishment of sorts, but it didn’t matter because she was going to come. It was like an approaching storm. She could feel it in the ground under her feet, smell it in the air like an electrical storm.

He plunged his fingers inside her while he continued rubbing circles over her the little bundle of nerves that was the epicenter of her desire. It was all she needed. There was a millisecond when her body felt suddenly lighter, like she was floating, and then she was in the eye of the storm, clenching around his fingers while white light exploded behind her eyes. After that there was nothing but emptiness and silence and the convulsing of her body again and again as it let go of the tension that had been building inside her since the moment she walked away from him.

He let out a guttural cry, and she felt him spurt hot and urgent onto her hand while she continued stroking him, milking him for every last drop until she was sure he was done. She lay her head back against the window, still feeling the warmth of his body as he braced his hands on either side of her head. They were both breathing hard, both silent.

Finally, Farrell straightened. He zipped up his jeans and crossed to the armoire against one concrete wall. When he returned he was holding a t-shirt in his hand. He handed it to her without meeting her eyes.

“I’m sorry about your blouse.”

She felt suddenly exposed, and she took the T-shirt and slipped it over her head. Then she zipped her pants and stepped away from him.

“Did you plan that?” she asked, folding her arms over her chest.

She expected his gaze to be cold. Instead it was completely devoid of emotion. “Would it matter?”

She thought about it. “I suppose not.”

He walked to the dining room table and picked something up, then crossed the room to stand in front of her. She could smell their sex. Smell the earthy odor of their orgasms lingering in the air. It sent another wave of arousal to her already sensitive center, and she shifted on her feet, silently begging her body to get a grip.

He held out his hand. “Here’s the key card. The address of the bank in Madrid is there as well. He was only there twice, and he left the same day both times. I’m still looking into his time in Amsterdam.”

She took it, felt the slip of paper where he’d written the address folded around the card. “Thank you.”

She had the urge to take a step forward. To be back in his arms. She could tell him about Lily. Beg him to forgive her. To understand how frightened she’d been.

But nothing had changed. He still commanded her body. Still filled that empty space in her soul that seemed meant only for him. He was the owner of her heart, the father of her child.

And he was still a violent, dangerous man.

“I should be going.” She stepped around him, picked up her bag from the sofa on her way to the door. She was almost there when his voice stopped her.

“Jenna.”

She thought about ignoring him. Hurrying from the room before he could speak. Before he could say something that might shake her already-faltering belief that she’d done the right thing all those years ago.

She turned to face him instead. Because she had no choice. Because he was her lighthouse in any storm, and even when she thought she was better off being tossed at sea, his light glowed to her from the darkness.

“Yes?”

“You belong to me, body and soul. Always have, always will.”

She turned and fled.

J
enna was still shaking
when Mrs. Hodges opened her door twenty minutes later.

“Lily, look who’s…” The older woman stopped mid-sentence when she saw Jenna’s face. She immediately reached for her, pulling Jenna into the flat. “What on earth has happened, dear?”

Jenna shook her head. There was no polite way to tell Mrs. Hodges that she’d just had an earth shattering orgasm with Farrell Black. That he’d taken over her body like he’d owned it all along. That for a few minutes, she’d forgotten all about Lily and motherhood and the responsibilities that went along with it.

“It’s nothing,” she said. “I’m fine.”

“You most certainly are not,” Mrs. Hodges said, leading her to the kitchen. She pulled out a chair and put the kettle on to boil, then took two cups from the cupboard.

“Where is Lily?” Jenna asked, sitting down.

“Lily is just fine,” Mrs. Hodges said. “She’s watching one of those animal shows she likes so much. Something about endangered lions.”

Jenna nodded, relieved to have a few minutes to compose herself.

Mrs. Hodges was silent as she set about making tea, waiting for the kettle to boil, pouring the water, letting the tea steep. By the time she set a steaming mug in front of Jenna, she was feeling calmer, warmed by the old stove in Mrs. Hodges' flat and the familiarity of the tiny kitchen.

Mrs. Hodges sat in the chair across from her and looked her in the eyes. “Now talk.”

Jenna drew in a breath. “I don’t… I don’t know what I’m doing right now.”

The other woman leaned back in her chair, studying Jenna with knowing eyes. “Why do I have a feeling this has to do with Farrell Black?”

Of course, Mrs. Hodges would know. She’d been Jenna’s confidant when she’d found out she was pregnant, had listened for hours as Jenna considered the pros and cons of telling Farrell or keeping the secret. Of staying or leaving. In the end, she’d waited for Jenna to come to her own conclusion, told her to follow her heart.

She hadn’t listened. Following your heart only seemed to get you in trouble. She had instead followed her head by leaving London, putting as much distance between her and Farrell as possible.

Jenna looked down at her hands. “I didn’t plan to see him, but he was at the funeral, and then, well…”

Mrs. Hodges lifted an elegant brow.

“I found something in my father’s things. Something I didn’t understand.”

“And would you care to tell me about this something?” she asked.

Jenna considered the question, then shook her head. She didn’t want to implicate anyone else in her father’s secret until she knew what it was. “Not yet. I still don’t have any answers, but I went to Farrell for help.”

Mrs. Hodges took a drink of her tea. “And did he?”

“He gave me a lead, at least,” Jenna said.

“But that’s not why you’re upset.”

Jenna turned the cup of tea in her hand. “I’m being sucked back in,” she said. “Just like before.”

“Meaning what exactly?” Mrs. Hodges asked. Jenna hesitated, trying to think of a way to explain without going into too much detail. Mrs. Hodges must have seen the quandary on Jenna’s face, because a moment later she reached for Jenna’s hand. “I’m simply old, darling. Not dead.”

A smile touched the corners of Jenna’s mouth. “I saw him today, and things… happened between us. He’s angry at me for leaving, but nothing has changed for me. I still have to think of Lily, and Farrell’s business is even more dangerous now than it was before. But we can’t…” She sighed. “We can’t seem to stay away from each other.”

“The heart wants what it wants,” Mrs. Hodges said, taking another drink of her tea.

Jenna smiled. “Are you quoting Emily Dickinson after what I just told you?”

“It’s true,” she said. “We can try to tell it what it should want, to force it to be practical. But deep down, it will always want what it wants for indefinable reasons. Especially when it comes to love.”

Jenna rubbed her temples. “That’s not helpful.”

Mrs. Hodges shrugged. “Have you ever considered that your heart may be more informed than your head when it comes to love?”

“Not when it means putting Lily at risk,” she said.

Mrs. Hodges nodded. “That is a concern.”

“A big one,” Jenna said.

“So what now?”

“I was hoping you could tell me,” Jenna said. “What does one do when one’s heart conflicts with one’s head?”

Mrs. Hodges seemed to think about it. “I would think one must decide which to follow. Either that or entertain the possibility that one of them is altogether wrong.”

“Then what?”

She smiled. “The beautiful thing about life is that it’s never to late to change one’s mind.”

Is that what she wanted? To change her mind? To tell Farrell about Lily and hope he would forgive her? To try for a happily ever after with the head of the London mob?

She must be mad.

“Mummy?”

Jenna turned toward the voice. Toward the daughter she and Farrell had made together. “Hello, my love.” She held out her arms, and Lily crossed the kitchen to climb in her lap. “Have you had fun today?”

Lily nestled against her shoulder. “Mrs. Hodges gave me two extra biscuits with tea.”

Jenna grinned across the table Mrs. Hodges. “Did she now?”

Mrs. Hodges waved it away. “I can’t possibly resist that face. I don’t know how you ever tell her no.”

“It’s not easy,” Jenna admitted, kissing her daughter’s hair with a smile. “We should go.”

They rose from the table and said their goodbyes. She had Lily at home in the bath when it occurred to her that she hadn’t thought about the key card. She sat on the toilet seat while Lily splashed around in the water. Pulling the key card from the pocket of her jeans, she unfolded the piece of paper around it.

The key card had to belong to a safe deposit box. Banks weren’t like bus terminals or train stations; you couldn’t rent a locker. She fished around in her mind for a reason her father would have gone all the way to Spain to rent a safe deposit box, but the list of possibilities was painfully short.

If he’d wanted to rent a box for family valuables — not that they had many — he could have rented one right here in London. Stashing something in Madrid meant plane fare. It meant leaving her mother alone, and that was something her father hadn’t even liked doing when he went to work for the day.

Whatever he’d hidden there was important.

The realization didn’t narrow the field. What could her father — a janitor from a working class neighborhood in London — have that was worth so much trouble?

“Mummy, look!” Lily called from the tub. “I can blow bubbles!”

Jenna watched as Lily lowered her mouth into the water and blew. “Well, aren’t you brilliant! You’ll be swimming this summer for sure.”

“Will Aunty Kate and Gran and Mrs. Hodges come to see me swim?” she asked, stretching out on her stomach.

Jenna tried to imagine their lives if she stayed in London. It was frighteningly easy. She would find a job, get a flat for her and Lily, see her mother and Kate regularly. Lily would have her grandmother and her aunt and Mrs. Hodges, whose solidity would help to make up for her mother’s instability.

Panic clutched at her. This is not why she came back to London. She would not get pulled back into her old life. Would not start rationalizing the decision to stay.

“If they come to visit us in New York,” she answered, folding the key card back into the piece of paper.

She reached around to put it in her back pocket and caught a trace of scent from Farrell’s T-shirt. Arousal bloomed in her bloodstream. But not simply arousal. Something else. Something like love and longing and affection that was too alarming to consider.

She would stick to her original plan. She would go back to New York.

But first she had to figure out what her father had been up to before he died.

F
arrell scrolled
through the tablet in his hands, trying to concentrate on the financial markets while Leo navigated the Lotus toward Hampstead. He despised being driven around like some kind of nancy, but he needed the additional time it afforded him. There were never enough hours in the day, and he spent the time in the car managing his constantly expanding portfolio of investments and taking care of a multitude of business issues.

The territory had been in chaos immediately after the fall of the Syndicate. Four other high-ranking members had taken a shot at control, and that wasn’t counting the less powerful ones who had simply gotten in the way. For awhile it had been like the Wild West. Unsanctioned hits, the take over of surrounding areas, rumors of trafficking — one of the few things he’d agreed with Nico could not be tolerated in a civilized business environment. It had all happened in the weeks and months after Raneiro Donati was taken into custody.

Farrell understood it. Even admired it. What kind of man wouldn’t take a shot at the brass ring — at control — if given the opportunity. But few were capable of making the decisions and sacrifices that went along with the job of running London’s organized criminal network. Farrell had taken them out one by one.

Methodically.

Dispassionately.

It wasn’t personal, but there could only be one king, and he’d been training for the job much of his life.

In the end it had taken less than six months to bring everyone in hand through a series of negotiations, discussion, and financial incentives designed to reward those who pledged their loyalty.

And when none of that worked he simply removed the ones who stood in his way. He did so with a show of force so dramatic, so overwhelmingly vicious, that it acted as a deterrent for anyone else considering a run at the top. Ultimately the ones who were left decided life would be more comfortable if they stood behind him. If they stood alive.

Now he had the London territory firmly in hand, but the nature of the business meant a steady flow of challenges: infighting between his lieutenants, occasional threats made to one of his income streams by a competitor somewhere else in the world, political decisions that would have far-reaching implications to the long term stability of his enterprise, and of course, the occasional theft of income by one of his men.

Some people never bloody learned.

And there was something else — the volatile but necessary partnership with law enforcement, which allowed for the exchange of information to benefit both parties.

“Five minutes,” Leo said from the driver’s seat.

Farrell nodded and shut down the tablet. He sat in the passenger seat when Leo drove, refusing to be chauffeured around like a trust fund baby or an old school mobster. It had been fine in the days of the Syndicate. Then things had been run according to a set of old world rituals and traditions. But he was trying to build something new, a hybrid between Nico Vitale’s ultra-modern business model and the viciousness of the Syndicate.

There was a time for compassion, but there was also a time for brutality, and when in doubt, he erred on the side of the latter.

His thoughts turned to Jenna. Another reason he’d let Leo drive to the meeting with Charlie Baldwin, Deputy Commissioner of the London Police Force. Driving meant he couldn’t do anything else to keep his mind occupied, and that inevitably meant he would think about Jenna. Would remember the way her body had felt in his hands, the way her skin had tasted in his mouth, the sweetness of her pussy as she’d opened herself to his fingers.

It had been two days since she’d come to the loft. Two days in which he’d been haunted by the past, Jenna never far from his mind. He’d replayed everything that happened between them five years ago, looking for the moment when she’d decided to leave him. He replayed every moment he’d seen her since her return to London.

Then he started the whole thing over again.

Finger fucking her had been a way to take back control. Even as she came apart in his hands, he’d kept his touch hard, his eyes cold, his heart barricaded against her. He would show her the power he still had over her body, then he would toss her aside like she’d done to him.

Except she’d snuck in around the edges, seeping into his bloodstream like a sickness. It was her scent he smelled in his apartment — the familiar combination of fresh laundry and vanilla and an undercurrent of musk that always got him hard. It was her face he saw when he closed his eyes at night. Her body he took in his dreams. And it was all a hundred times worse now that he’d seen her again.

He wanted to hit something, or even better, someone. Wanted to pummel, to feel flesh and bones give way under his fists. Pain was the only thing that stood a chance of driving her from his mind. His pain. Someone else’s. It didn’t matter.

Leo pulled up next to the curb outside the Spaniards Inn. Farrell reached for the door. “Let’s go.”

He didn’t need to ask Leo if he was ready. Didn’t need to ask if he was armed.

He was. They both were.

He didn’t expect any trouble. This was an informational meeting, one of many he had with someone from the Commissioner’s office throughout the year to insure they were working effectively toward their common goals.

But it was always better to be prepared.

They entered the pub and were immediately greeted by a balding man with twinkling eyes. He came toward Farrell, greeting him without saying his name, careful to preserve Farrell’s identity in case anyone was listening.

“So nice to see you again!”

Farrell shook his hand. “You, too, Hallam. How's business?”

“Always good,” he said. “Follow me. He’s already here.”

He led them up a set of stairs to a small room on the second floor and shut the door behind them. Hallam was a man of few words, one of many reasons Farrell had been meeting with members of the London police there since he’d been put in charge of the Syndicate’s territory.

Charlie was sipping from a pint when they entered the room. He stood quickly, giving away his nervousness. Farrell didn’t hold it against him. He was still a flunky to Commissioner Ridley. But he fancied himself more powerful than he was, and Farrell put a tail on him for seventy-two-hours following each of their meetings, just in case he decided to leverage the information he had.

Leo stayed by the door in case they had any surprise visitors.

“Mr. Black,” Charlie said, holding out a hand.

Farrell sat without shaking it. “Charlie.”

Charlie sat down. “How’s business?”

“Irrelevant,” Farrell said. “What’s the word from Ridley?”

“Uh, yes.” Charlie shifted in his chair and withdrew a folded sheet of paper from his jacket. “There are a few things he wanted to make you aware of. Read and destroy, of course.”

Farrell unfolded the sheet of paper, skimming the words that had been handwritten on its surface.

… possible investigation into illegal betting ring in Brent.

Interpol has asked for assistance locating Terrell Waters…

NSA working together with British government to determine source and destination of possible hazardous biological materials, including…

He memorized the dates and locations, then held it over his shoulder. Leo took it from him, and Farrell leaned forward, pinning Charlie Baldwin with his gaze. “We don’t deal in biohazard.”

Charlie nodded a little too quickly. “Commissioner Ridley says they’re being funneled through the London DarkNet.”

Farrell considered the information. There were thousands of DarkNets — protected networks that could only be accessed with certain software or proprietary security protocols — all over the world. His organization controlled the one based out of London. All sorts of things were traded on DarkNets. Weapons. Drugs. Information. Even people, although Farrell always shut those transactions down.

And he sure as fuck didn’t want someone selling hazardous materials.

“I’ll look into it,” he said, standing. “Is there anything else?”

“Commissioner Ridley wants to know if you have any information for him. Anything he should know about?”

“Not this time,” Farrell said. “But I’ll keep him posted.”

He turned to leave. Leo waited for him to cross the room before opening the door, then scanned the hall and led Farrell out and down the stairs. When they got to the first floor, he tossed the piece of paper into the fire crackling in the pub’s hearth. Farrell waited until they were in the car to speak.

“Talk to Amos about the DarkNet,” Farrell said. “I want to know if it’s true. If it is, I want a full report. Where it’s coming from, where it’s going.”

Leo put his sunglasses on and started the car. “You got it.”

“Drive to the Path,” he said, pulling out his phone.

He dialed a familiar number, and a moment later Adam’s voice came on the line. “What’s up?”

“Got a few minutes?” Farrell asked him.

“Now?”

Farrell heard voices in the background, knew that Adam was probably surrounded by politicians and their aides. “Yes.”

“Can’t talk on the phone?”

“I’d rather not,” Farrell said.

“Got it,” Adam said. “I could give you fifteen minutes in, say… half an hour?”

“That will work. See you on the Path.”

He opened his tablet and did some digging, looking up some of the items on the list he’d memorized from the Deputy Commissioner. It was like going back in time, listening to his father was poetic about virology, about genus and strain. A lot of it he didn’t understand, but he combed through it all anyway, waiting for the data to coalesce into something tangible.

T
he family
and CDC Filoviridae (members are called Filovirus)
^[1]
is the taxonomic home of several related viruses that form filamentous infectious viral particles (virions), and encode their genome in the form of single-stranded negative-sense RNA…

…
N
PC1 was identified
as the gene that when mutated, results in Niemann-Pick disease, type C. Niemann-Pick disease, type C is a rare neurovisceral lipid storage disorder resulting from autosomal recessively inherited loss-of-function mutations in either NPC1 or NPC2.

H
e sighed
and turned off the tablet, rubbing his temples. Sometimes he didn’t recognize the world. Back when he’d started with the Syndicate, the most dangerous things sold on the Darknets were weapons and untested street drugs. Now someone was trying to move something that looked very much like it was related to biohazard testing.

Leo pulled up near one of the gateways to the Thames path. “Want me to come along?” he asked.

“It’s fine,” Farrell said. “Just keep your eyes open for signs of a tail. You never know with those Parliament wankers, and let’s face it, Adam would probably never know if he was being followed.”

“Will do.”

Farrell stepped from the car and walked toward the water, breathing in the moist, peaty smell of it. He supposed some people might not like it, but to him it smelled like home. He continued to a small bench set back from the water in a grove of trees. He’d been there for ten minutes when Adam sat next to him.

“I hope this is important,” he said.

“Could be,” Farrell said, getting right to it. “I need to know if there’s some top secret testing going on that’s backed by the government. Hazard materials, bio-weapons, that kind of thing.”

“Are you serious, mate?”

He turned to find Adam staring at him. “As a heart attack.”

“Why are you asking?”

“Got wind of some unusual movement on the Darknet,” Farrell said. “Doesn’t seem to be a garden variety experimenter.”

“What are we talking about here?” Adam asked.

“I’m not sure yet,” Farrell said. “But I’d like to know who’s tree I’ll be shaking before I do it.”

“It’s not something that comes up in casual conversation, Farrell.
Hello, how are you today? By the way, financed any research on illegal bioweapons lately?
”

“I understand,” Farrell said. “But can you do it?”

Adam sighed. “You know, I used to think you were going to get me killed. I thought stepping into Parliament would be a protection of sorts.”

“Yes, well, you know how I feel about that,” Farrell said. “The only difference between the crooks on the streets and the ones in Parliament is that the ones on the street know what they are.”

“We need beers before we can have this debate again,” Adam said.

“Agreed. So can you do it?”

“I can try,” Adam said. “It might take awhile. I don’t want to set off any alarms. But I’ll do my best.”

“Thank you,” Farrell said.

Adam stood. “I have to get back. I’ll be in touch.” He was a few feet away when he turned around. “Where did you hear about this?”

Farrell shrugged. He was practiced at hiding important information, even where Adam was concerned. It was for Adam’s own good. “Was flagged by my guy on the Darknet.”

Adam nodded. “Be careful asking around about this, Farrell,” he said. “This sounds like some heavy shit.”