Page 67 of Saxon

I wave a hand, dismissing the topic. "Where is Jarrod?"

"A compound in Vermont. Heavily guarded. Remote and isolated."

"How remote can you get in Vermont?" Terra asks.

"You'd be surprised," Camilla answers.

I sigh. "You could have just asked, Camilla. There was no need for all this drama."

"I told you—I've waited years to have this talk with you. And besides, if I'd, what, sent you an email? Showed up at the club asking for you? How would you have reacted?"

I sigh again, nodding with a shrug. "A fair point. I am sorry, Camilla. If I'd known your dad owned that cab…" I scrub my face. "I wondered how they got you. How they knew."

"I hated you for a long time," she says. "It was easier to hate you than people I'd already killed. Sometimes I wish I'd waited. Drawn it out longer. Eventually, I came to realize it wasn't your fault. I've been to therapy, you see."

Terra snorts, a failed attempt to stifle laughter. "Sorry, sorry. But…You just sat here and told us you fed your brothers to feral hogs. And then you went to therapy?"

"I didn't tell the therapist everything, of course. Doctor-client confidentiality can only go so far. But the hate was…it was consuming me. I can't run this stupid empire if I'm consumed by hate, so yes, I'm seeing a therapist."

Terra blows out a breath. "Now that, I understand."

"I can refer you to mine," Camilla says. "She does Zoom appointments. There are no overnight miracles, but she is amazing. I'm still horribly demented, of course. You don't go through what I did and come out fine after a few therapy sessions. But it's a work in progress."

"I may just take you up on that," Terra says.

A knock on the door interrupts things. "Enter," Camilla calls.

A young man enters. He's young and handsome, wearing black jeans and a black T-shirt, with a gun on his left shoulder. "You asked for me, ma'am?"

"Alexander, yes. Anthony has suffered an…unfortunate incident. So, until he's healed, you're in his place. Can you handle that?"

He nods. "Yes, ma'am. It would be an honor. How can I serve you?"

Her smile is wicked. "Come here."

Alex walks over and stands behind the desk. Camilla slowly and sultrily hikes the hem of her dress up, revealing a lack of underwear and a shaved-bare pussy. "Are you hungry, Alex?"

"Yes, Ma'am." He drops to his knees and begins servicing her, eagerly. nosily.

I drop my gaze. "I just need a location."

Camilla slides a piece of paper across her desk. "Here. If you need manpower, my men are at your disposal. I would appreciate you returning as many of them to me alive as possible."

I grab the paper and retreat. "And Terra can stay here? Or… somewhere? Safe?"

"Fuck you, no." Terra snatches her gun back from me and pockets it. "You aren't goin' anywhere without me, buster."

Camilla lets out a moan, grabbing Alex's head with both hands.

"Let's argue about this elsewhere," I suggest.

"Good plan," Terra mutters.

We leave the study—one of the guards precedes us down the stairs and shows us to a different lounge area away from the noise and smoke and crowd. It's well-lit, and modern, with white leather couches and a glass coffee table, black-and-white framed photographs on the walls, and a kitchenette. The only out-of-place piece is the long glass-topped display case full of handguns, assault rifles, machetes, night vision goggles, sniper rifles, and grenade launchers.

"Miss Marccione bids you take whatever you need. The mark will be at the location for at least seventy-two hours, according to our information. I'm to provide you with whatever you need."

I glance at Terra—she's swaying on her feet. "We need food and then we need to be left alone to catch some sleep."