Page 12 of Blackmail

Lehman sucks in a breath. “Bas, this isn’t your mystery to solve. If this is about your father?—”

“Not now.” I’m already grabbing my phone and keys. “Call Liam and find out where they are. If they’re coming from the airport, we can meet with the team before they get Cam to the hospital.”

“Bas, you’ve got the warmth and personality of a saltwater crocodile. You'll get nothing if you scare this kid. Never mind the ass-kicking we’ll get from his parents if you cause him further trauma.”

“Then you can be the one to talk to him. His parents wouldn’t even know where he was without us having hired Liam’s team. That gives us the right to ask some questions.” I stand and head for the door. “He knows something. You know I’m right.”

As we leave, I flip my phone over—more messages from Tony, asking to meet. Since I didn’t answer immediately, he followed up with: Tonight at nine. Our usual place. Just one talk, okay? Please be there.

I won’t be there, but Tony’s not above lying, and neither am I.

Sebastian: I’ll consider it if you tell me his name.

Tony: Who?

Sebastian: The escort.

Once again, I revisit the mischief on the escort’s face. I prefer whore.

Tony: Ugh. It’s Simon. Why do you care? It’s probably a fake name, anyway

Simon. For the briefest moment, I let my eyes drift shut. This time, when I picture my hand in his hair, my cock sliding into his mouth, I hear myself whispering his name.

Simon. Simon.

He doesn’t know it yet, but I’m coming for him.

I smile and slip my phone into my pocket without answering Tony. After all, it’s none of his fucking business.

Besides, I’ve got more pressing concerns. Like trying to get information from a traumatized abductee.

“Come on.” I gesture to Lehman. “Time to get some answers.”

Chapter

Five

SIMON

It’s five after seven on Friday when I walk into Cave à Racines. I can’t stand being late. Nothing kills a boner like being lectured by someone who is paying for your time.

The hostess informs me that my party is already waiting, because of course they are. I resist the urge to brush at my suit. It’s a tell, and right now I don’t want to show my nerves.

Chin up, Simon. Walk in like you own the place.

The hostess gestures to a cozy little candlelit table in a darkened corner. Night is falling outside the restaurant’s expansive windows, and the pink, purple, and gold in the sky add further to the ambiance. The guy looks like he’s probably handsome, which is a bonus. Looking at the menu, he has his head down, but I can make out a well-groomed head of dark hair and a stern-looking jawline.

“Hi, I’m Simon. I apologize for being late. There was a—oh, shit.”

The man looks up, and I freeze with my hand on the back of my chair. I know that scar. I know that face.

Sebastian. “Angry Husband.” Dammit, I said the wrong part out loud.

“Well, there’s a nickname I haven’t been called before. At least not to my face.”

I grit my teeth. “No? Well, how about Fuck Off?”

Because my brain’s already working up a list of reasons why Angry Husband would have gone to the trouble of scheduling a date with me, and none of them are good. He wants to confront me. He wants some sort of revenge. He thinks if he gets to fuck me too, it’ll make things even.