Page 29 of Tamed Enemy
The instant I end the call, I send a text to Tony Jacobson, telling him Kate is not to leave the premises under any circumstances. I instruct him to tell Cameron and every other Sawgrass man on site.
I believe Kate means to stay inside the house. But I also know she has a way of forgetting promises whenever it’s convenient. I won’t take a chance with her safety. Not with Nikolai Tarasov pushing my limits.
Message confirmed by Jacobson, I head downstairs to the bar and order a WhistlePig rye. Checking my phone, I see that I have more than an hour and a half before the SparkChat meeting. I change my order to a double.
Collecting my drink, I head to the outside deck, which offers more of those incomparable views of the mountains. Staring out at the lush green slopes, I can’t help but think of the emerald sheets in my newly revamped dungeon. My fingers tighten on my glass.
“Not interested in hiking?”
Gage Rider comes to stand beside me at the railing. He’s big—not just tall, but broad in the shoulders and thick in the chest. The man played professional hockey for years; he doesn’t carry a single extra ounce. He’s probably smarter than I am—he’s drinking a thirty-dollar bottle of Soma water.
I twitch a shoulder in response to his question. A group has gathered at a trailhead at the far end of the clearing, outfitted in pink and yellow and powder blue. Every stitch of the clothing looks brand new. “Don’t have the wardrobe for it,” I say.
“Fucking newbies,” Rider says, but there isn’t any heat in his voice. His phone buzzes, and he takes it from his pocket. Checking the screen, he shakes his head, then sends the call to voicemail. He sighs as he sets his phone on the railing.
“Trouble?” I ask.
“No more than usual. Security threw someone out of the club last night. It was a third-time offense, so I canned the member’s ass. Now the mayor’s getting involved.”
The club. Rider owns Kynk, the premier sex club on the Eastern seaboard. I’ve never been to the Brooklyn hideaway, but I’ve heard about it. Every Dom has.
“Who runs security for a place like that?” I ask. I’m still waiting for Jacobson’s full report on what happened this morning. I believe Kate; I understand the team acted exactly as they were trained to do. But I want to hire some backup—Army Rangers, maybe. Green Berets. A SEAL team or two.
Rider shrugs. “I keep it in-house. A couple of times, when there’ve been specific threats, I’ve brought in Sawgrass.”
I down a slug of whiskey. It’s a good answer, one that should make me feel more certain Kate has all the protection she needs. But I still want to do more.
Two men walk beneath us, heads close in some intense conversation. It’s not until they round the corner of the building that I realize the president of the world’s largest tech companyis speaking with the CEO of the nation’s biggest defense contractor.
“Think we should worry?” Rider asks, nodding toward where the pair disappeared. Despite his current need to fend off New York City’s mayor, he doesn’t look like he worries about much of anything.
“I think we should be updating our stock portfolios.”
Rider laughs. “Is it insider trading if we didn’t hear a word?”
I frown. “I’m looking for business losses these days. Not more gains.”
“The IRS has your balls?” Rider may look like a golden retriever, but he’s one of the shrewdest businessmen I know. Aside from Kynk, he owns several square blocks of midtown Manhattan. And most of the world knows him as the owner of a professional hockey team, the Atlantic City Aces.
“In a fucking vice,” I say.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t help last month. Prince didn’t leave any of us room to maneuver.”
When Trap Prince threw me out of the Diamond Ring, he made damn sure I couldn’t shelter my assets with any other freeport client. As far as I know, he didn’t tell anyone what I did to make his shitlist. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt Alix’s reputation.
“Water under the bridge,” I say. “But if you happen to know of a half-billion-dollar business loss I can take by next quarter…”
Rider whistles. “Ouch.”
I toast him with my half-empty glass. I’m not drunk—it takes a hell of a lot more than a Whistlepig double to do that. But I am aware that Sun Valley sits at more than a mile elevation, which enhances the rye whiskey’s power.
“I know whereI’dstart,” Rider says.
I wait.
“A minor league hockey team. What’s the old joke? How do you end up with a million dollars? Buy a sports team for ten million. The Albany Empire is on the market.”
“Ten mill won’t make a dent in what I owe.”
