It was real and so bloody generous and sweet.
God, he missed his little queen.
Yet he’d forced himself to stay focused on the mission. He’d more or less blackmailed himself back into the Horsemen’s fold, and while his aggressive maneuvering might have garnered the men’s respect in the short-term, he knew they would push back eventually. It was the nature of these men. They had a pack mentality: the strongest survived, and the weak were left to perish.
The image of Longmere’s unmoving body flashed in Ben’s head. It was a perilous game he was playing, and he couldn’t afford any missteps. He had not yet earned the group’s trust: they remained tight-lipped about their operations, including how and when the Devil’s Bliss was delivered, saying that he would learn more when he was ready.
As for Fong, the Horsemen seemed to fear and revere their partner in equal measure…even though they’d never met him. Only Longmere had seen Fong in the flesh and only the one time. Fong communicated via his henchmen, who reinforced the power of their venerable master. The Horsemen ascribed mystical qualities to Fong, as if he were some all-knowing deity.
Bollinger had confided that he’d once “miscounted” the payments he’d received from clients. The day after he’d submitted the money to Fong, he’d found a bill and a dead rat on his desk. The amount due was precisely what he’d held back…and the bill had been written in the rat’s blood. Bollinger had never miscalculated again.
Did the Horsemen suspect that Fong had killed Longmere? Ben wondered. Did they fear that they would meet the same end if they tried to abandon their deadly enterprise? Whatever the case, their greed, sensation seeking, and idolatry of the forbidden kept them ensnared.
To gain the bastards’ trust, Ben had gambled, drank, and raised hell with them all week. Returning to his old habits, even under pretense, had brought a sickening feeling of shame. His strategy had borne fruit, however. Deep in his cups one eve, Thorne had revealed that Cherise was one of the group’s earliest and most prized clients. Introduced to the drug by Longmere, she’d apparently spent a small fortune on the Devil’s Bliss and couldn’t get enough of it.
“For her, the drug works like an aphrodisiac,” Thorne had said drunkenly. “Turns her into a bitch in h-heat. Wore m-me out the last time. On our next outing, she is your problem.”
Ben found the metaphor as distasteful as his present situation. Yet given Cherise’s entanglement with the group, she might have useful information about the operation.
“Finally, we are alone,” Cherise purred. “Why don’t you join me, lover?”
She lounged on the bed that took up most of the room, her bare legs sticking out from her clinging scarlet robe. Her heavy perfume, the black and gold damask walls, and large looking glass affixed to the ceiling created an oppressive atmosphere.
Instead of going to the bed, Ben went to the chaise longue that faced it. He sat, draping his arm along the chaise’s back, his pose arrogant and casual. Despite Cherise’s pout at having her invitation declined, lust gleamed in her eyes. Ben understood her personality: the more something was withheld from her, the more she wanted it. When he’d ended things after their brief affair, she’d tried to cling on, merely because he did not want her.
“Why don’t we chat first?” he said.
When he’d arrived, she’d already partaken of the Devil’s Bliss. Luckily, she showed no adverse effects, only signs of approaching oblivion. Her eyelids were beginning to droop over her dilated gaze, and he guessed she would pass out soon. Until then, he would ward off her advances while questioning her.
“If I wanted to chat, I would have gone to some insipid ball.” Her gaze narrowed, suggesting that she was not as far gone as he’d hoped. “I’m randy, and I want to fuck.”
“You cannot always have what you want, Cherise.” He flicked a speck from his trousers. “Not with me, at any rate. You would do well to remember that.”
“I do remember,” she said sultrily. “I remember everything about our time together.”
He gave a cool nod. “Longmere was too easy on you. That will not be the case with me.”
“I want you to be hard on me, lover. Very hard. But I would hate for you to be jealous.” Her shiver said otherwise. “Longmere, God rest his soul, was never my lover.”
“Then how did he come to introduce you to the Devil’s Bliss?”
“We met through art.” Holding Ben’s gaze, she sat up and untied her robe. The material slithered off her, and, naked, she sprawled back onto the mattress in a come-hither pose. “I saw one of Longmere’s paintings: a portrait of a beautiful woman that far surpassed his other work. When I asked him about his progress, he credited it to a devilish new muse he’d found, and I couldn’t resist. You know I am game to try anything once.”
Cherise coyly touched herself. No doubt she thought it was an alluring show. As long as she kept her hands to herself and answered his questions, Ben didn’t give a damn what she did.
Then, with a stab of unease, he thought of Livy. While he couldn’t give a farthing about Cherise’s performance, would Livy consider this a betrayal? His chest tightening, he wondered how he could explain to his little innocent that Cherise’s antics meant nothing and left him entirely unmoved. He might as well have been watching grass grow.
Self-disgust roiled in his gut. If he hadn’t been such a degenerate in the past, he wouldn’t be where he was
