Sebring

Simply a one line, two sentence email.

Perhaps we can make a meeting to go over what you need. Next Tuesday at 4:00?

We did not need to make a meeting. And it was Wednesday; the next Tuesday would give him a whole week to hide whatever it was he was intent on hiding and play on his history to recruit my father to shut me down.

I knew it.

So I wasted little time firing back, You may have another hour on your deadline. Please send what I requested by 1:00. If you don’t, Gill will be at your office to collect what I requested at 1:30. Thank you.

I sent it.

Ten minutes later, I got a phone call.

It was David.

I ignored it.

At five after one, I started getting the files.

I opened them immediately and began going through them.

* * * * *

Three Hours Later

It was fortunate David sent what I requested (except a good sight more than I needed), this keeping my mind off the fact that Sebring wanted me to meet him at Hotel Teatro and that I wanted to meet him at Hotel Teatro very badly even though I would not be doing that.

But, since David sent far more than what I requested (this suggested he was burying me under information so I wouldn’t find evidence of wrongdoing), I was very busy.

Therefore I was engrossed in going through the order manifests of one of our legitimate companies when I heard the knock on my door.

My “Come in,” was distracted.

I kept my gaze to the computer as I heard the door open and shut.

It took several seconds before I realized someone was in my office but they had not spoken.

I swiveled in my chair to turn my attention to the door.

Tommy was standing there.

Standing there looking at me.

Standing there looking at me with an expression on his face I could read.

I held his gaze, not believing what I saw, not wishing to experience the wash of raw putrescence it sent flooding through me, then fighting back the rage that rushed through in its wake.

With everything else—shockingly not the least of which being my brief but affecting encounter with Nick Sebring—all of it piling on and being too much, for once I did not control my reaction, consider every move available and then move forward cautiously (or, as was often the case, not at all).

I surged out of my seat and quickly made my way to the door.

“Liv—” Tommy began.

He shut his mouth when I sliced my eyes to him.

“You should’ve called me.”

I made it to the door and hauled it open.

“It was a direct order,” he said.

I stopped and asked, “Dad? Or Georgia?”

He didn’t answer even as he did.

His eyes moved across the hall.

Without hesitation, my feet moved across the hall.

“Liv!” he clipped.

I ignored him and knocked loudly at her door, didn’t wait and pushed through.

“Fuck! Get the fuck out!” Georgia, back to her desk, knees up, bent and spread wide, taking Gill’s cock, twisted her head to glare at me.

I looked from my sister to Gill.

It was not the first time I’d noted my sister’s favorite soldier was large, built and exceptionally handsome in a pug-like, blunt, brutal way.

It was just that I was so angry, I might like watching but that absolutely didn’t include my sister, so I noticed it with far more abstraction than usual while catching him fucking her.

“Go,” I ordered, looking in his eyes, not anywhere else.

“Are you insane?” Georgia demanded to know.

I kept my eyes on Gill who was bent over my sister but he had his head tipped back to look at me.

“Go,” I repeated.

He held my gaze then looked down at Georgia.

After a moment, he slid out and straightened, tucking himself back in his pants.

I stepped to the side of the door in Georgia’s office, attention to the floor, giving them both privacy to get themselves sorted.

I saw Gill’s legs walk by me as he left.

He closed the door.

The instant I heard it click, I looked to Georgia’s desk. She was now standing behind it, leaning into her fists spread wide on the top, her expression enraged.

“Do not ever do that again,” she whispered.

“Was he going to Sloan?” I asked.

“Confirm that you will not ever do that again,” she replied.

That meant Green was not going to Sloan.

“Was he going to Valenzuela?” I pushed.

“Liv, confirm that you will not ever do that again,” she repeated.

“So neither,” I surmised and finished, “And you had Tommy kill him anyway. Tommy. Tommy.”

“You are not hearing me—”

Suddenly, I bent toward her, hissing, “No. I’m not hearing you. I do not give that first fuck you’re pissed.” Her brows shot up at this rarity and I leaned back, asking, “Tommy?”

“Fuck, Liv—”

“Tommy!” I snapped his name like a whip, aiming my lash her way.

She pushed away from her desk. “He gets orders just like Gill.”

I shook my head. “No he doesn’t. Tommy doesn’t. Not from you. Tommy’s mine.”

Her face lost some of its anger and her tone was softer when she said, “He isn’t yours. He hasn’t been yours for a long time. And you know it, babe.”

“He’s mine, Georgie,” I reiterated.

“He isn’t, Liv.”

I leaned forward and was again hissing. “He’s mine.”

My sister’s voice was actually gentle, as was her gaze on me, when she returned, “He wasn’t even yours back then.”

My torso shot back like she’d struck me.