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“Get on in here. What took you two so long?” Art asked when she entered the manor kitchen under Brodie’s arm.
The lower part of the kitchen island was laid with four place settings. Art and Tuck were already gobbling down the food in their shallow bowls and a bottle of wine stood between the two vacant place settings. Art got up and went to the stove to pile two pasta plates full of spaghetti and meatballs. Bringing them to the empty spots, Art put them down and returned to his own meal.
“This is the big debrief?” she asked when Brodie sat on a stool and reached for the red wine. “Spaghetti and meatballs?”
“Would you rather have something else?” Art asked her, slurping up a noodle.
The food wasn’t what surprised her. The lackadaisical manner of the men who had just gone through the same night she had was what perplexed her. “No, I... I was just expecting something else.”
“A darkened room with a swinging light bulb?” Tuck asked. “That comes after. Right now, we eat.” Tuck pointed to her seat with his fork then twirled it in his plate to gather up more spaghetti.
“Sit down and eat, girlie,” Art said.
Going to the couch, she supported her weight on it and bent to take her high-heels off. “This dress is silk and cost a month’s salary,” she said, wiggling her toes, which were screaming with delight at being granted their freedom. “There’s no way I’m getting spaghetti sauce on it.”
Brodie left his food and went to a tall, broad closet in the corner, saying nothing about his intention. “But you got on the back of his bike?” Art asked and Tuck smirked with him.
Brodie closed the closet then tossed something black in her direction. She caught it and opened it up while he went back to his food.
“Problem solved,” Art said when she revealed the fabric to be one of Brodie’s tee shirts.
Pulling it on to protect her dress, Zara was grateful for the food because she had some nervous energy to replenish. “How does this work?” she asked, gulping the wine that Brodie had poured for her.
“You start by not getting drunk,” Brodie said, taking the glass away from her and putting it back on the tiled surface. “Get some food in you or you’ll pass out. Alcohol’s the only thing you’ve had tonight.”
The sight of the trio’s satisfaction made her appreciate what the sustenance offered after a stressful night. “What’s the worst that can happen to her in here?” Tuck asked. “You take advantage of her? You’re gonna do that anyway.”
Brodie didn’t deny it. Art smiled at his nephew, which made her look at him too. She was surprised to see him looking right back at her. “What?” she asked, glancing at her plate as she twisted her fork in the pasta.
Brodie was still examining her and the scrutiny was making her squirm. “I'm just trying to imagine what it would be like to have you not giving me grief while I fuck you.”
Tuck laughed and Art appreciated the joke, but seemed to be waiting for her reaction. With a slack jaw, she glared at her lover. Brodie was the one who talked during sex and he definitely gave her more grief, but she understood banter and was happy to play the role he painted her into.
“When you stop needing a step by step tutorial, maybe I’ll stop giving you grief,” she said, turning her frown upside down much to the amusement of Art and Tuck.
Brodie wasn’t dissuaded from his mighty position. “High maintenance is what you are. You’re full of demands,” he said, dropping an elbow to the counter and his fork into his plate.
“In bed is the only place in the world where I’m sure you’re paying attention,” she said, elevating her chin and narrowing her eyes. “I know how to get what I want and when to ask for it.”
Brodie’s long arm trespassed in her personal space. He hooked a hand beneath her stool and dragged it across until it bumped his. “You know where to find what you want,” he muttered.
His face sank and she leveled her posture to align her mouth with his. “Right here,” she whispered, resting her weight on him while her nails dragged over his leg to the inside of his thigh.
“Atta girl,” he exhaled and eliminated the remaining space between their mouths.
He did love to kiss and she could lose herself in the sensation of his fierce tongue as it toyed with hers. His hand slid across the back of her stool and she loved how the arc of his arm created a barrier between her body and reality, and she was in no hurry to get back.
The bitter wine on her tongue and the tangy sauce on his intensified the experience of taste and scent in the potency of their kiss. Even though she hadn’t tried the food yet, she would have to compliment the chef. Nothing had ever tasted so good.
“I guess we should get down to business,” Art said and she forced herself to stop kissing Brodie when she registered Art’s authoritative tone. Brodie wasn’t as affected, his arm snaked up, and he pressured her cheekbone to ease her back into their kiss.
With her hands on his chest, she succeeded in putting less than an inch between them. While he might be used to being so open in front of Art and Tuck, she was conscious of how quickly their ardor could escalate and wasn’t sure she’d be able to conceal her want. “You’ll have me all night,” she mumbled on him.
“I plan to have you a helluva lot longer than that,” he said. With his eyes open, he kissed her bottom lip, then deferred to their audience and shunted her back to her food. Except by now, she was so out of breath that she couldn’t focus on the plate. “Eat.”
On his command, she took her fork from the bowl and did as he told her to on autopilot. Stabbing a meatball, she took it into her mouth and when the medley of flavors filled her senses, she released a long moan that stopped all of the men in their tracks.
Swallowing the meatball, she swirled her pasta around her fork, eager to take more now that she knew how good it was. “This is incredible,” she purred, opening her mouth wide to slide her fork inside slowly. Closing her mouth around the cuisine, her eyelids sank down to meet and she moaned at the pleasure of the taste extravaganza.
“Wow,” Tuck said with a laugh in his voice that made her eyes open.
The hacker was wearing a smile, which was countered by the assassin’s glower. “What?” she asked Brodie.
“I’m the only guy allowed to see that face,” Brodie grumped.
Art was grinning, making it appear that Brodie was the only diner with a problem. So choosing to ignore him, she smiled at the chef. “It’s really good,” she said to Art and he bowed his head in appreciation.
“Yeah, we figured you liked it,” Art said.
“You’ll need to write down the recipe,” she said, though she knew she would never be able to master his skill in the kitchen if this was any measure of his capability. “Is there anything you can’t do? You seem to be amazing at everything.”
“Are you flirting with him?”
Whirling back to her previous view, Brodie’s expression hadn’t changed much, though it was edging closer into outrage. “I’m not flirting,” she said, slack-jawed and wide-eyed as she glanced at the other two men seated with them.
“The guy is practically my father,” Brodie stated. “You were on a date with my brother tonight. First my brother, then my mentor and—”
“It wasn’t a date,” she said, shoving an elbow on the edge of the counter to lean closer to him. “And I was simply complimenting Art for preparing this delicious meal. It tastes better than the only thing you’ve ever put in my mouth—”
“Ok,” Art said, rising to his feet with his hands open, in a gesture probably meant to calm them all. “Let’s get the business stuff out of the way, after that you two can bicker like a married couple as much as you want.”
“It’s great television,” Tuck said, clearing his plate.
Before he said anything else, Art went to the stove and retrieved the pot of food to put it in the center of their dining space. Touching her shoulder to get her attention, Art gave her a squeeze. “There’s plenty more, girlie, fill yourself full.”
“Now you’re doing it!” Brodie said and his fork clattered into his plate. Tuck laughed and she sucked up her spaghetti then used a fingertip to wipe the sauce from her chin before she spoke.
“You’re the best lover in the room,” she said, supporting her weight on the crossbar of her stool to push toward him. Smudging the sauce from her finger to his lips, she smiled after he sucked her digit in a seeming show of acceptance. When he released her, she sat back down and began to gather more pasta onto her fork. “At least I think you are. You’re the only one I have experience with.” Filling her mouth with food, Zara smiled at Brodie, causing Tuck to laugh again.
“Letting him have a woman was better in theory than in practice,” Art said, dishing more food into his and Tuck’s plates.
“That’s always the way, Chief,” Tuck said, hunching down over his plate. “You think your kid is ready for the responsibility, but it’s always you who ends up picking up after it and feeding it.”
“I tidy up after myself, thank you,” Zara said, then realized she’d just agreed with the analogy that compared her to a pet.
Art put the spoon back in the pot and sat down. “What’s the next step?” he asked, putting a stop to the fooling around. “Grant picks a buyer, right?”
“Right,” Tuck agreed.
Their previous banter was forgotten and she kept eating as she listened. “He’s swaying toward Sutcliffe,” Brodie said.
“And we all know what a mistake that would be,” Art said and the other two men nodded in agreement.
Brodie wasn’t eating anymore. Tuck was gobbling up his second plate. And she felt a bit stupid for asking a maybe obvious question. “Is there a good choice?”
“Kahlil probably,” Tuck said.
“Kahlil,” she said, thinking about the men who had attacked her in the CI parking garage. “Do you know who he’s working for?”
“The Saudis,” Brodie said. “There are certain... elements in their own back yard who they would like to get rid of.”
“What about Sikorski?” she asked.
All of them shook their heads without a moment of hesitation. “He’s a scary sonofabitch,” Art said. “He runs one of the most lucrative Bratva gangs in the northeast. Word is his jacket isn’t hanging on the most secure hook with the boys back home, if you get me. He’s volatile ‘cause he’d sacrifice good sense in favor of making a statement. The last thing anyone wants is a terrorist who has something to prove.”
With his fingers linked over his plate, Brodie had lost his appetite. “The problem with the Russians is they have so many enemies,” Brodie said. “We could never guarantee who they would use the device against.”
Still seeking answers, she searched their expressions. “So why is he in the running? If Grant knew—”
“He’s charismatic,” Tuck said, pushing his half-full plate away. “He owns a huge mansion and has parties which are invitation only, gentleman-only invitees.”
“Why would there be no women—”
“Oh, there are women,” Art said. “But not the type who are invited.”
“Oh,” she said and suddenly she wasn’t particularly hungry anymore either.
“Few people have Sikorski’s respect. He’s a tough man to impress,” Brodie said. “He’s extravagant and can have you eating out of the palm of his hand. But he’d just as soon stab you in the back if it served his interest on that particular day.”
“Or have one of his flunkies stab you,” Art said, topping off his wine glass and Zara’s too.
Tuck leaned back in his stool and linked his hands at the back of his head. “Yeah, he wouldn’t want to get blood on his fancy suit.”
Their knowledge would be useful, but something in their tone made her curious. “You’re all talking as if you know him...” she said, but got no explanation. “Have you met him?”
“Our paths have crossed, but he’s not a man you want to eyeball,” Tuck said.
Looking at Brodie and Art, she received no translation. “I don’t know what that means,” she said.
As the other two men were considering their plates, Tuck answered. “He’s heard of us.”
“Heard of you, Swift,” Art interjected. “You’re a legend.”
“A myth,” Brodie said, scraping the last of his food together in the center of his plate.
Righting himself on his stool, Tuck picked up his wine glass. “Least I’m not dead, like some people at the table,” Tuck said, balancing the glass on its base and raising his brows at Brodie.
They’d made jokes about Brodie being an apparition and she’d considered his existence herself. But something occurred to her in that moment which caused her to frown. “Does Grant know you’re here?” she asked. “Does he know you’re alive?”
Now that his plate was empty, Brodie shoved it away. “Doubt he cares,” he said, snatching up his glass to gulp down the remainder of the liquid.
For a man born to privilege, he ate like an animal... except when it came to her. He wasn’t sloppy when his head was between her thighs. That was probably the only place in the bedroom where his etiquette was impeccable.
“What do you think?” Brodie asked and she snapped out of her daze to make eye contact. “Were you listening?” Being honest, she shook her head. “What were you thinking about?”
“Uh,” she said, taking her glass into her hand to buy some time. “Just who Grant will choose.”
“That’s what we want to know,” Art said. “You know him better than anyone at the table.”
Considering all of the business deals she’d witnessed at CI, she sipped her wine and tried to reach a conclusion. “Grant likes people who are straightforward,” she said. “He doesn’t like quiet, reticent people. He believes those kind of people have something to hide. He also doesn’t like to be embarrassed and likes to believe that he can predict the progress of a person or their company based upon his deal with them.”
“Then Sutcliffe it is,” Tuck said. “Sikorski is the most likely to embarrass him since no one can project what he would do. He could say one thing and do something else.”
Art nodded. “The Saudis are secretive and dealing with Kahlil he probably sees as beneath him.”
“What do we know about Albert Sutcliffe?” she asked, sitting back to enjoy her wine.
“Born in the UK, he moved over here with his parents when he was eight,” Art said. “He inherited his father’s company and his estate, but lost most of it through bad investments and unfavorable divorce settlements. He dabbled in politics twenty, thirty years ago, but liked women and voicing his honest opinion too much. He was seen as a radical with delusions of grandeur and lost most of his credibility after that.”
Interesting as his history was, Zara heard nothing that could be considered a motive for terrorism. “So what would he want with a—”
“He believes that geopolitical problems should be solved with tit for tat and he’s built up something of a cult following,” Art said. “When he gets the chance, he voices his dislike for the West’s response to problems in the lesser privileged parts of the world.”
“And so we should just eradicate those who disagree with us?” she asked, unable to grasp how someone could think this was a legitimate solution. None of the men disagreed with her and their expressions validated her thinking. “Ok, so we don’t want him to have the device either.”
“There is no good choice,” Art said.
“Then why didn’t we take them out?” she asked, directing this question to her lover.
“We didn’t take them out,” Brodie said, emphasizing the first word. “Because we don’t need three powerful organizations coming after us. We’re gonna wait until Grant makes his deal and lets down the unsuccessful bidders, then we wait and watch. When the handover is going down, then we take out the involved parties and destroy the device.”
That made sense because carnage at the hotel could have brought hundreds of people after them. Kahlil was a puppet and his employers wouldn’t like their man to be executed. The Russian Brotherhood wasn’t known for being understanding. And who knew how many followers Sutcliffe had.
But as sensible as that solution sounded, it left her with one question. “What about Grant?”
She knew her question wouldn’t win her any popularity contests, but she had to know what they planned to do with her former boss on the day of the handover when the Kindred planned to eradicate Game Time and its purchaser.
“Do you care?” Brodie asked. The tone in his voice wasn’t grumpy anymore. Instead, it was deep and curious.
Though it could’ve been her imagination, she was sure that all of the men leaned closer to her. “I do,” she said. “But not because I want to sleep with him or because I believe in what he’s doing. He’s been good to me. He’s your brother. You should care too.”
Brodie stood up to grab the wine bottle from beside Tuck. Dropping onto his stool again, he filled up his glass. “He stopped being my brother fifteen years ago.”
“What did he do to you?” she asked, wondering what had happened to sour the fraternal relationship when he was eighteen.
Brodie took his attention away from the group, signaling his intention to ignore her question. “We’re not going to harm Grant,” Art said, probably knowing better than to push Brodie in company.
Eating some more of her food, Zara finished her wine and thought about the night. Grant was Art’s nephew too. She didn’t know anything of their relationship, but she could understand that he wouldn’t want his nephew harmed. After Grant’s comments about family in the conference room, she doubted he’d had recent contact with any of them.
Tonight had been a learning experience. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off and the new day was coming nearer, she had to think about sleep. Sliding off her stool, she began to gather up the plates, but when she got around to Tuck, he took them away from her.
“You did the heavy lifting tonight,” Tuck said. “That gets you off dishes duty.”
A hand took hold of her neck and she was drawn backwards against Brodie’s solid form. Tilting her head to look up to him, he lowered his mouth to kiss her.
“Bed?” she asked.
“Bed,” he said, pulling her back and under his arm to lead her toward the door.
“Night,” she managed to call before the kitchen door swung shut.
