Robert
"So, what do you want to do?" Mulberry asks, bringing the steak down from his eye to look at me—the bruise is the same red purple as the meat, but the swelling has lessened. He can glare at me just fine.
I can't help the smile that turns my lips. He does not give up. A lesser man would have walked away long ago. I've always been competitive but never considered Mulberry any real competition. I mean with a name like Mulberry…
Just another example of Sydney Rye schooling me.
I turn my gaze to the whiskey left in my glass. "Is there anything for us to do?" I ask before tipping the last of it into my mouth. Caramel and fire dance on my tongue before sliding down my throat. I stand, ready for more before the last vapors have faded.
"I'm not sharing," Mulberry states, his voice gruff…but not so sure.
I don't laugh but I do grin, my back to the him, as I pour. "Want another?" I ask, turning to him.
Mulberry, his legs spread wide, shoulders spanning the width of the armchair, makes the masculine piece of furniture look almost delicate—the man is a monstrosity. What does Sydney see in him?
My eyes narrow as I inspect his visage—blocky and uncouth. A bison of a man—dangerous sure, but a grazing animal. He is not a predator. He kills to protect, not to advance.
My smile fades…maybe that is what she likes. Maybe Sydney Rye wants a vegetarian. Mulberry slaps the meat back onto his eye and holds out his glass. Trusting me not to kill him. As I trust him. We don't want to share. But neither do we want to lose. And Sydney would not abide us killing each other. She is not exactly the forgiving kind…that is one of many traits that we share.
"She's my wife," I say as I pour from the crystal decanter into his glass.
"And the mother of my child," Mulberry growls.
"Neither of us wants to share, but maybe we don't have a choice. Maybe we can work out a…schedule."
Mulberry laughs as I lift the decanter. "You want to tell her or should I? Oh wait, she's not speaking to either of us. But I'm sure she will be perfectly happy to follow our schedule."
He may be getting drunk. However, he has a point.
We are in my hotel suite at the Hôtel de Crillon in Paris. We've both tried to reach Sydney in vain…well…we've texted and called. It's not as if we don't know where she is—neither of us is so foolish as to not track her every movement. When you're in love with one of the most dangerous, stupidly brave women in the world it's vital to keep track of her.
We rescued her this morning…and now night has fallen and she still has not responded. I open my phone to check her location again. She's arrived in Paris.
"I think she's coming here," Mulberry says again, an opinion I share. We've watched her progression for hours.
"We can only hope," I reply, keeping my voice uninterested even though I am keenly interested in her whereabouts. What kind of deal does she want to strike?
I sit on the couch across from Mulberry and sip my whiskey, my eyes wandering to the large, rain splattered windows.
I've shared partners before, it's not something that bothers me except that with Sydney I want ownership. Which is the exact emotion she rebels against. I suppress a sigh. She will never give me what I want. Not fully. And really, wouldn't I loathe her if she did? If she became another fawning woman, dependent on me for all her emotional and financial needs.
Sydney Rye is my fourth wife, and I'm determined to make her my last. Why did I marry the others? Did I love them? Not the way I love Sydney. I never expected any of them to make me happy. To fulfill me. And while I don't expect that from Sydney either…I feel better when she is around. More alive. More…just more.
All I ever expected from my former wives was to be present and play the part in the moments when I needed them. To keep my house in order, organize the dinner parties, chat with other men's wives—possibly gathering intelligence. Pammy was good at that. She had a way of convincing people she was dull when really she was sharp as a blade.
I swirl the whiskey in my glass, melancholy tugging at me. I check my phone again. Sydney is moving at the speed of a car, coming from the train station. She will be here soon. And what will she say to us?
What will she want from us?
***
Sydney
The elevator doors open on a hallway with just one door. The Hôtel de Crillon is fancy. The gold and blue paisley carpeting probably cost more than the bill to feed a child for a year in many parts of the world. Blue's nose touches my hip to remind me he is there.
The door to the penthouse suite opens and Robert smiles at me. "Sydney," he says.
Mulberry shoulders up next to him. His left eye is swollen and purple. "Oh shit," I say.
Blue brushes his nose against me again, this time asking for permission to greet our friends. Friends…sure. "Okay," I say, and Blue moves forward, pressing into the men's legs.
"Aren’t you going to invite me in?" I ask.
Robert smiles and steps back. Mulberry doesn't move for a long moment. Then he opens his arms, inviting me into them. I can't resist. I step into his embrace, burying my face in his chest and hiding in the familiar darkness scented of the man I love. His arms come around me, and I am safe. I am loved. I am peaceful.
Pulling back I look up into his bruised face and he is smiling down at me, eyes sparkling. When he leans down as if to kiss me, Robert clears his throat. "Excuse me," he says. "That's my wife." His voice is even, eerily calm…but both Mulberry and I know the extreme danger that lurks beneath.
I step out of Mulberry's arms and walk into the palatial hotel suite. The city twinkles outside the windows. Blue's wet nose brushes my fingers.
The living area of the suite is large and plush with two arm chairs facing a long couch—the furniture is elegant in pale grays, light lavenders, and rich ocean blue. I take one of the arm chairs and Blue sits next to me, his head at my elbow.
"Can I offer you a drink?" Robert asks.
"Just water, please."
He gets my drink and the two men sit on the couch across from me. Robert crosses his legs and laces his hands on his thigh. Mulberry is leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. Both wait patiently while I sip my drink.
"Here is how this is going to work," I say. "First of all, Robert, you were right."
"I like the sound of that," he says, smiling.
"Don't get too excited because I don't think you're gonna love the next part. You said I don't pay enough attention to the big guys. I think you're right. I have been trying to change the lives of individuals instead of trying to change the system."
"Go on," he says, his voice a deep rumble.
"Joyful Justice started because people were desperate. And why are people desperate?"
"Lots of reasons," he says.
"No, just one. Because our system—the way that humans have built our societies is predicated on some people having a lot." I wave my hand around the room. "And others having very little."
"Is it human nature, or just nature?" Robert asks, his smile a smirk.
"Doesn't matter," I reply. "We don't shit in the woods anymore, so why live by the laws of nature. We hit pause on evolution when we got smart enough to change our environment instead of letting it change us. Now it's time to evolve society."
"How do you propose we do that?" Robert asks.
Mulberry isn't speaking, he's just staring at me. His swollen eye making him look rough—as if he is some sort of dangerous criminal…which I guess he is. But more than anything he looks angry and frustrated. Join the revolution, mother fucker. You're not the only one.
"Well, I don't have all the answers," I say. Mulberry's frown deepens and he glances at Robert than back at me again. "But I propose we burn it down. Burn it all down."
"What does that mean?" Robert asks, his smirk softening into a thin line.
My lips pull up into a grin. "You'll find out…"
Continue reading book 15 of the Sydney Rye Mysteries, coming 2022.
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