The King - S.R. Jones Page 0,52
around. Plus, he’s as loyal as a dog. Just what I need in this fucked up world.
“I’ll leave you gentlemen to stare at my employees like slathering dogs,” I tell them. “You’re staying for a few days, at least, so get comfortable, and make sure Bohdan is on top of things back in the homeland, okay? And stop eyeing up the staff, Jesus.”
Vasily rolls his eyes, but he’s still looking at Zoey.
“She’s an important asset. Don’t you dare fuck her and cause issues,” I tell him.
“Yes, sir,” he says sarcastically.
I turn on my heel and leave them to it, heading back into the building.
Cassie came this way minutes ago, and I think about her now. I’m pissed at her for turning the clock back and becoming that golden girl I fell for all those months ago when she was a barista.
My phone goes, and I glance at it to see Damen’s ugly mug pop up on my screen.
“Yasu malaka,” I say.
He laughs and returns the greeting in Greek, which basically means hello, wanker.
“So,” he says in English. “You want to know something that I found out today?”
“Yes?” I reply.
“You’re hacking into Popov, and whoever you’ve employed to do it is a stupid amateur who is going to get caught because they’ve left digital breadcrumbs that anyone half tech savvy could follow. Stupid shit, like slowing down a browser, that a paranoid person would be looking for. Digital footprints in the dirt, if you will. I know it must have come from you, and I know because I managed to trace it back to an organization you’ve recently purchased.”
“What?”
My blood runs cold. Cassie lied to me. She told me she knew how to do this undetected.
Rage hits first, then fear—for her.
“How the fuck do you know?” I demand.
“Because I decided to look into Popov and saw the mess whoever you hired left. Oh, and by the way, I should be deeply offended you didn’t trust me enough to do it for you and share the information, particularly as you want us to work together.”
“Cut the crap, Damen, what did you find?”
“Oh, now you trust me?”
“What did you fucking find?”
“You’ve hired someone to dig, which they did, but badly. In fact, only Popov being so damn stupid has kept them safe so far. It won’t forever. Now I got out of there, and I haven’t done anything that will alert him to your digging, but sooner or later? Your hacker will be found out. I’ll leave it up to you what to do about that. You need to do something, though, because unless your guy is some sort of military operative, which with their shitty skills I very much doubt, if Popov gets to them, they’ll sing like a canary. This will lead Popov right to you.”
I can’t breathe. The images of the things Popov would do to Cassie to make her sing for him are streaming through my mind.
“You can thank me later, fucker,” Damen says.
“Thank you,” I manage to get out.
“This doesn’t look good for a future working relationship, the lack of trust,” he says.
“Damen, I appreciate what you’ve told me today more than you can probably know or understand, and point taken.”
“Get rid of your hacker; he’s useless.”
He hangs up.
Get rid?
Oh, I won’t be getting rid. I can’t because that would leave Cassie hung out to dry, and I can’t do that to her. Not him, as Damen thinks, but her, the girl I paid who I should have damn well known couldn’t do this. I won’t leave her to get caught, not because I’m a good guy, but because I prefer this world with Cassie in it, luckily for her.
Not so luckily for her, it seems as if fate has once more thrown her to me. I tried to let her go. To have a purely professional relationship with her, but she lied to me. In doing so, she’s put both herself and me in danger, and that just won’t do.
Cassie is about to find out what happens to people who lie to me.
Cassie is about to find out what happens to a woman who piques my interest then puts herself in harm’s way.
Cassie is about to become a prisoner.
My prisoner.
PART TWO
War is the trade of kings.
John Dryden
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Konstantin
I stalk back into the courtyard, where I’m not surprised to find Vasily leaning against the wall still eye-fucking Zoey, who seems to be either unaware of him or studiously ignoring him.
“Denis,” I say, making the blond jump. “Go back