Page 108 of Saxon

Laughter rings out, a woman.

"Let me see it, please," Jean-Paul says, the polite tone and phrasing in no way hiding the command of the statement.

I fish the coin from my pocket and lean across Terra to hand it to him. He takes it from me, examining it closely. Taps it with a fingernail.

"Saxon Oliver Cabot." He glances at me, at Terra, and then goes back to his examination of my coin. "Thirty-one. Youngest of three brothers—your next oldest, Silas, was my best mover. Your eldest brother, Solomon, did wet work for the CIA, work so far off the books there aren't any letters or organizations or ranks by which to classify him. You, however. You, Saxon…you are an artist. Or you were."

"Was, sir."

"You fucked us over." His eyes fix on mine. Daring me to deny it. "You fucked me."

"Yes sir. I did."

"I don't like being fucked. I prefer to do the fucking."

"A sentiment I share, sir."

"I know your current employer—or, well, I know of him. I know no one who can claim to have met him, in person, but anyone who is anyone in this world of ours knows of him."

"So I hear, sir."

"Let's go back to you fucking me."

"As you will, sir."

"You spent six months watching your assigned target, only to sleep with her, kill my men, help her escape, and then vanish yourself. In the process, you destroyed a year's worth of planning which would have rid us of the Marccione family and the Moreno cartel."

I take a sip of whiskey, feeling my heart pound. "I hadn't intended to discuss this here, sir. I was hoping to get a few minutes of your time alone, later."

The pair of seats opposite us, the other places closest to Jean-Paul, are empty.

"I wish to discuss it now, here. Does that meet with your approval?" You could slice ribbons off of paper with his voice.

"Your party, sir."

"Quite." He reaches down and scratches the ears of a tiger. "What do you think of my pets?"

"They make me nervous."

A smile, a dangerous one. "Well of course. I haven't trained them, you know. They're tigers. Everyone knows you can't train them. One day they'll snap, I'm sure, and murder everyone. What a party that will be."

I grin. Fake as fuck, and he knows it. "Yeah, that would be something to see."

He gestures at my plate. "Eat, eat. We will return to our discussion later." His attention turns to Terra. "As for you, my dear. You've made quite an impression. Your dress is all anyone can talk about."

Terra looks like she might puke. "I've been making my own clothes for a while. It just sort of turned into a business."

"The mayor of Boston's wife wore one of your dresses to a Christmas party." His smile is soothing, complimentary. "That's something to hang your hat upon, surely."

She looks freaked out that he knows that. "Uhhh, yeah, I…it happened sort of by accident. But she was happy with the dress, and I've gotten a few more commissions out of it."

"I believe I owe you and your friends somewhat of an apology, I hear." He drops this bomb with a straight face, chin in hand, goblet of bloodred wine in the other.

"Um…what?"

"Some of my men rather rudely interrupted the nuptials of your friend Emily. They were under the orders of one of my lieutenants, who has…overstepped his authority in his eagerness to impress me."

"That's part of what I wanted to discuss, sir," I put in.