SIR (by Aria Steele) novel Chapter 15

David nods, but doesn’t say anything else.

He presses the console button again, lowering the screen, and I get the sense that he wants to wait until we’re both at his. So, I don’t ask any questions. Yet.

Instead, I use the drive to think of the questions I really want an answer to, and by the time he’s opening his front door, I have a list in my head.

David, of course, lives in a penthouse apartment. I walk into it in astonishment, my brain desperately trying to process the size, the luxury of it, the paintings, the marble and oak surfaces.

I vaguely hear him rattling off some information as he puts my bags by the door – security cameras, guards, maid schedules, where the kitchen is, but I’m not really listening. I’m too busy walking through, my hands running over the surfaces that probably cost thousands of dollars, my feet stepping on a wooden floor that is likely more than my apartment is worth. By the time I reach the lounge, a sunken area with dark blues, greys and black furniture, overseen by gigantic windows that look over the entire city, I have finally taken it all in, and I turn round to face him.

“So, what’s your first question?” He asks, with a slight smirk on his face. An arrogant smirk, because he knows that his apartment is impressive to me.

Instead of answering straight away, I walk past him, to where he says the kitchen is, and after a split second of glancing around the similarly luxurious room, I go to the wine rack and pull a bottle from it. He follows me closely, and is already at one of the cupboards getting two glasses out.

I wait by the counter, uncorking it, and once he puts the glasses down, I pour the wine out. I take a gulp of mine, my eyebrow raising at the smoothness of it.

“I should have guessed you’d pick an expensive one.” He comments, and I frown. He points to the bottle. “Musigny Grand Cru. It would take you a few months to be able to afford it.”

I swallow it in shock, then look back at the glass. Looking back at it, some kind of pettiness takes over me, and I reach for the bottle, filling my glass up a bit more as I keep his eye contact. Then I have another sip.

He smirks.

“Okay.” I say as I put the glass down. “Questions.”

“Go for it.” He replies, readying himself by taking his jacket and his waistcoat off, and starting to roll up his shirt sleeves.

“Why did you kill Trent?” I ask, tearing my eyes away from the simple action. There’s something about David rolling up his shirt sleeves that always gets to me. His fingers working to roll up the material, revealing muscled arms crisscrossed by thick veins and–

He kisses his tongue to his teeth and that snaps my attention right back.

“He betrayed me.” He decides to answer.

“How?”

“Nora...” he warns.

“You said I could ask questions.”

“Fine.” He sighs. “He betrayed me because…some people took some things from me. He was the one that told them where, and when.”

“So Trent was working for the bad guys. Or are you the bad guy?”

“I’m not the bad guy.”

“As far as I can tell, Trent didn’t shoot anyone.” David gives me a look. “So if you’re the good guys, why did they want to steal stuff from you? What did they steal?”

“Weapons.” David mutters.

“How are you the good guys if you have weapons?”

“Because, Nora,” He groans. “We take them from the bad guys, and we redistribute it where necessary. To the police, the military, the organisations qualified to handle them. Not these thugs. They didn’t like it, and wanted them back. And like I said, Trent helped them.”

“It still seems like a big jump from you being good guys, to shooting him point blank in your office.”

“Well, the weapons are one aspect of what we do. We’ve been in the business a long time, and there’s a lot of other things we do. None of it really allows us to make friends, but we make a lot of enemies. Especially one in particular. So, we have to defend ourselves.”

I narrow my eyes at him. The talk seems familiar. I’m trying to work out where it is from.

“So me being a target, is that because you took the weapons back from them, or because you killed Trent?” I question.

“Bit of both. Bit of the fact that these are long term enemies, and any way they can make me look weak, they will.”

“What other things do you do? You know, besides taking weapons and killing people?”

“Quite a bit.” He chuckles, sipping his wine before leaning on the counter. “We help keep businesses safe, we help to protect people of… particular public interest. Any other contracts requested as long as it aligns with our interests… and our fees.”

My eyes widen as I finally work out why his talk sounds familiar.

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