Page 27 of The Question of Us (Fisher & Church #2)

CHAPTER TWELVE

Nick

The atmosphere inside the crowded brick auction house was hot and humid regardless of the air conditioning blasting down from overhead.

The auction was well underway with verbal bids being taken for a handsome chestnut stallion who was snorting his way around the show pen, giving his handler a white-rimmed side-eye that clearly said You-gotta-be-fucking-joking-me.

With the audience focused on the tense animal, I made my way up the stairwell at the back of the seating circle and then leaned against the wall to look around.

I found Gazza almost straight away. He was staring at me from an end seat on the far side of the circle.

I gave a tiny nod and he lifted his chin and looked away.

Three seats down and directly in front of Gazza sat Marty Klein with Freddie at his side.

As I studied the two men responsible for taking my husband from me, the breath rushed out of my lungs and I had to cling to the railing, my hands shaking.

The couple next to me shot an alarmed look my way, but I managed a smile in return. “Lost my footing,” I lied.

The woman smiled tightly and pulled her husband away while I returned my attention to Marty Klein and tried to get a grip on the sheer level of venomous hatred running through my veins.

If we hadn’t been surrounded by a ton of people, I wasn’t sure I’d have been able to resist the temptation to walk right over and fuck them up.

Marty didn’t have the look of a fighter and would go down fast, but Freddie would be a bigger challenge.

One I’d relish. My father never hit me; he’d saved that for my mother.

But his hateful tongue did more than enough damage over the years.

I’d never liked using my fists, but my father had taught me a thing or two about how to wield them and how to fight dirty.

I’d hated the boxing lessons he made me take and all the practice he forced on me, trying to make me a mini arsehole like him.

But there had been no refusing him, and although I wasn’t proud of it, I also wasn’t above using that knowledge when necessary to protect myself or someone close to me.

But it had been years, and I’d worked hard to not be that man anymore.

I watched and waited for the anger to settle.

It wouldn’t, not entirely, but I needed it down enough to manage.

Our success depended on it. This venture had never been about my vengeance.

There were three of us to consider, and then there was Lee as well.

Lee, who was living a life of abuse I knew something about.

Marty and Freddie might never be held responsible for Davis’s death, and I had to somehow let that go.

I just hadn’t worked out how. For now, that would have to stay in the too-hard box.

Lee, we had a chance at, but only if I kept my cool and we played this smart.

Feeling more in control, I settled back in my seat to watch.

Marty was busy studying the stallion and making notes while Freddie was scrolling his phone.

With the two of them occupied, I nabbed a seat above and to the right of Gazza, which put me five rows up from Marty.

A good enough distance if I was careful.

I pulled my cap down on my forehead and settled in to observe.

Between horses, Marty turned to talk to someone in the seat behind him and I got my first proper look in the flesh.

At fifty-one years of age—although he looked younger—he was handsome in that sleek, polished way rich men cultivated.

He sported an expensively cut mop of dark hair—buzzed underneath with a longer top that sat artfully to one side and a pair of sunglasses resting on top.

His cars and house might be flashy, but the man himself was casually but expensively dressed in designer jeans and a crisp, white button-down, the cuffs rolled up to expose thick forearms covered in tattoos.

Marty laughed at something the man behind him said, and I caught a glimpse of an easy charm that could lure someone like Lee into his web.

Friendly, handsome, rich, affable, and confident, Marty looked nothing like the dangerous, sick bastard we believed he was.

For a split second, he even had me wondering if we’d made a mistake.

My gut knew we hadn’t, but if I’d met Marty at a party, I might have fallen for that charm myself.

A sickening thought.

When the auctioneer announced the next horse in the ring, Marty immediately spun back to the front, and I realised it was one of his mares.

Marty snapped his fingers and Freddie handed over a catalogue and a bottle of water, then returned to his phone.

The blond giant clearly wasn’t there for the horses.

I lost track of the bidding on Marty’s mare and the next couple of horses, too busy watching the man himself. But when the auctioneer called a short break and everyone got to their feet to stretch and chat, I did the same, minus the talking bit.

Gazza also left his seat to stand on the stairs and stretch his back. His eyes briefly met mine and I pulled out my phone and texted him. Are you as bored as you look?

Keeping his eyes on his phone, he replied. Yep. How long should we stay?

I answered, Let’s give it fifteen minutes. I’ll leave first and you follow after a decent time. I looked up in case he responded with a nod and almost swallowed my tongue before quickly adding, He’s coming.

To his credit, Gazza remained calm, slowly pocketing his phone before looking around like he hadn’t noticed Marty approaching up the stairs.

When he did, Gazza stepped back against the wall to let Marty pass, but to my horror, the man stopped right next to Gazza instead and turned his back to me as they began to talk.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I was too far away to catch any of the conversation.

All I could do was try to read Gazza’s expression for some clue as to what was being said.

Unfortunately, he was doing far too good a job of playing along with whatever direction the conversation was going, so I put my phone to my ear and called Mads.

He answered on the first ring. “What’s up?”

“They’re talking,” I blurted. “What do I do?”

“Who’s talking?”

“Gazza and Marty.”

A sharp intake of breath was followed by a moment of silence. “What the fuck? How the hell could you let that happen?”

“And exactly what was I supposed to do to stop it?” I griped. “There was a break in the auction and everyone stood to stretch their legs. Next thing I knew, Marty was making a beeline for Gazza. It just happened.”

“Fuck.”

I snorted. “Yep. Not helping. Should I try calling him and maybe give him an excuse to lea—wait—they’re laughing.”

“What?”

I pictured the deep crease between Mads’ brows. “Gazza and Marty,” I told him. “They’re laughing... like they... oh fuck. The idiot is flirting with him.”

“Who? Who’s flirting with whom?” Mads ground out. “For fuck’s sake, Nick. Tell me exactly what’s going on?”

“Chillax, baby,” I shot back, studying the exchange. “Give me a second.”

Mads growled. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

“Maybe I like it when you hurt me,” I shot back, imagining the high colour in Mads’ cheeks as he mentally listed all the ways he was going to get his revenge.

“Goddammit, Nick, I swear?—”

“I can’t see Marty’s face,” I interrupted, “but he has his hand on Gazza’s arm, so I think it’s safe to assume the flirting is reciprocal. He also clearly doesn’t recognise Gazza and—wait... he’s leaning in. Shit. I wish I was a fly on the wall ’cause he just whispered something in Gazza’s ear.”

“What did he say?”

I huffed, “What about the word whisper, do you not understand?”

Mads groaned. “Yeah, fuck you too.”

“In a heartbeat,” I shot back, and he chuckled. I tried to read Gazza’s expression but it was hopeless. “Whatever he said, Gazza answered with a smile and then they laughed and started talking again.”

“Come on, Nick.” Mads was sounding more frustrated by the second. “You can’t just leave me hanging.”

“Sorry. But they’re just talking. There’s nothing to say. Hang on, the auctioneer is back and people are sitting again. Marty just handed Gazza something, a card maybe?” I chuckled at the come-hither look on Gazza’s face.

“What?” Mads demanded. “Why did you laugh?”

“Damn, your apprentice can sure pile on the charm. If I was Marty, I’d be creaming myself thinking I had this gorgeous guy in the bag.”

Mads groaned. “That idiot. Just wait until I get a hold of him. What the fuck does he think he’s doing?”

“Okay, they’re both taking their respective seats. Marty said something to Freddie and the lunk turned around to eyeball Gazza.”

Mads gasped. “What if he recognises Gazza?”

“I’m pretty sure he didn’t,” I assured him. “He just nodded and said something to Marty, then returned to scrolling his phone. But just to be safe, I think we should leave while they’re still busy with the auction in case Marty decides to search for Gazza when it’s done.”

“Good idea. Tell Gazza, and we’ll meet back at the car. And Nick?”

“Yeah?”

“How was it? Seeing them?”

It took me a moment to settle on, “Complicated, but I’m okay. We’re all good.”

Fifteen minutes later, we were heading back to Kettleworth, the sun-browned pasture flying by at an alarming speed, which seemed reflective of Mads’ incendiary mood.

“Slow down, Aryton Senna,” I warned him softly.

Mads shot me an angry look but lifted his lead foot off the accelerator and we slowly tracked down to the speed limit. I breathed a sigh of relief and turned sideways in the passenger seat to try and referee the fallout from Gazza’s conversational stunt with Marty.