Page 43 of Cry Madness
The world beyond the hedge walls drops away. Wonderland might as well be a million miles out of reach. Right now, it’s only us—Alice and me. We’re all that matters in this perfect, blessed moment, with the words I’ve been waiting years to hear hanging around like the sweetest notes of my favorite song.
I swivel Alice around, turning her so she’s up on her knees and facing me. Cup her exquisite face and lean my head against her forehead. “I’ve loved you all my life, Malice.”
Then I kiss her, the most tender kiss I can, and when she wraps her arms around my neck and hugs me tight, I lock this moment away inside my soul because…
…I’ll need to fall back into it to remind myself I’m a man, not a monster—even though I’m already dreaming about all the horrific things I intend to do to Rook Knavish.
“Are you going to sneak into my room again tonight?”
“Do you want me to?”
Her smile is pure evil. “I dare you to find out.”
FOURTEEN
“If you’ll believe in me, I’ll believe in you. Is that a bargain?”
—The Unicorn,Alice in Wonderland
McQueen Enterprises, an imposing steel-and-glass masterpiece, dominates the town’s north end. The tallest structure in Wonderland rises up on Church Street to scrape the cloudless sky. I stride inside with purpose toward the stocky security guard, brown hair slicked back away from a face that looks like it hasn’t cracked a smile in years. Those watchful eyes that miss nothing. His hand rests on the pistol holstered at his right hip. He greets me with a grunt and a nod. He’s seen me here often enough to know I’m not a threat, and I offer him a cheeky grin and a wink in return.
The polished marble floors and gigantic industrial chandelier looming over the lobby create a sophisticated and austere first impression. Behind the front desk are big, black block lettersthat read MCQUEEN ENTERPRISES. The pretty receptionist at that desk looks up from her computer, her enormous eyes widening in horror when she sees me. But then a tentative smile spreads across her mouth, and when she offers me a shy wave, I continue toward the elevators without acknowledging her. I press the button marked forty-five and ride the car up to the top floor, and as soon as the doors open, I step out into the vestibule and storm toward Roman’s office.
Roman’s secretary, bent over a filing cabinet drawer, straightens and swings around. Clutching a stack of files, Gillian Jackson shakes her head. “Oh, no, you don’t,” she chides sharply as I attempt to stride past her. “Mr. McQueen is in a meeting and insisted he not be disturbed.”
I ignore the woman, whose salt-and-pepper hair is pulled back into such a severe bun, I don’t know how her ears don’t meet in the back of her head. “As if I give a shit,” I drawl.
She drops the pile of folders on her neat little desk. “You’re not getting past me this time.”
Challenge accepted.“Fucking watch me.”
Gillian springs from around her desk, chasing after me. “Mr. Hathorne, wait! No!”
But before the spry woman can stop me, I swing open the office door and, smirking, stroll inside. I hate it in here. It’s unwelcoming and bleak, with gray walls and a massive L-shaped glass-and-metal desk. Every inch of this space is as cold and caustic as the man who commands this office, like a king presiding over his dominion. Not even the late afternoon sun streaming in through the wall of windows behind Roman softens the severity of this room. The atmosphere crackles with authority, and as I step across the threshold, I’m sorry, but I’m not bothered by Roman’s piercing glare.
“Hello, Maddox,” Roman says, his voice smooth, the syllables delivered with pointed precision.
“I’m sorry, Mr. McQueen, he?—”
Roman cuts off his secretary’s frantic apology. “It’s fine, Gillian.”
“He’s a wily one, Mr. McQueen,” she mutters.
His unforgiving gaze flicks over me. “That he is.” Then Roman folds his hands in his lap and smiles coolly at the man sitting across from him. “William, will you kindly excuse us?”
The man, lanky and blonde, quickly masks his disappointment and grips the arms of the brown leather chair. “Of course.” He pushes himself to his feet. “We’ll pick this up later?”
Roman gives him a slow shake of his head. “That won’t be necessary. Consider your matter”—he pauses for a fraction of a second, but that microscopic beat, somehow, holds a wealth of meaning—“in capable hands.”
Relief replaces William’s dismay. “I’m grateful.”
“Nonsense,” Roman scoffs with a wave of his hand. “You would do no less for me.”
“Still, I thank you for this. I didn’t want to have to involve you, but…” William’s sentence trails off.
“We’re friends, William,” Roman reminds him. “Your family has been in my home. You’ve eaten at my table. Please tell Malinda and Cassidy I’ll personally ensure this…situation…has your desired outcome.”
“You’re a good friend, Roman.” At Roman’s cryptic grin, William turns and gives me a cautious glance as he passes me on his way to the door.