We took Dash’s orange convertible to Soren’s mansion in Citrine Hills. Considering what we’d all heard about the billionaire, we figured he would appreciate the pop of colour more than the grey sports car I drove.
The gate guards hassled us, not letting us pass easily, but when Dash abruptly claimed we were here to threaten Soren’s business, they stalled. One call later, and the gate was opening before us, letting us down the lit drive.
This place was extravagant, but I didn’t focus on the darkened grounds or the finishings. My mind was on a single track—getting Soren to fix the chaos that he’d put into motion.
By any means necessary.
Including manipulating the billionaire who had been blackmailing Leighton for years.
Soren’s assistant was waiting outside on the front steps, wearing a terse expression. She didn’t take us inside the mansion, instead gesturing for us to follow her down a path around the back of the house. Grasshoppers chirped in the dark of midnight, and beyond the glow of the pathway lights it was difficult to see.
There was a hedge maze beside Soren’s custom-shaped pool, and she navigated it with ease while I did all I could to remember the route. This was a secluded place on the property, hidden from any passing cars on the distant road, especially with the late hour.
She stopped after winding through to the centre of the maze, stepping off to the side to let us pass.
Soren was sitting at a table full of pastries with a creme puff in his hand and a dangerous glint in his blue eyes.
Eyes that we all knew weren’t really blue. They were gold, and he was hiding them for our benefit because he thought we didn’t know his secret. He was soon going to discover we knew more than that. We knew all his secrets, thanks to Leighton’s extensive research.
“Dash Loranger,” Soren said cheerily. “I hear you’re here to threaten me.”
Dash grinned, and his expression was more feral than Soren’s. If there was one thing my packmate did not possess, it was subtlety. In the past I’d trailed him around New Oxford to prevent him from showing this side of himself, but for this I was embracing it.
I probably should have embraced it all along. It was who he was.
“Absolutely. You see, Leighton is in a bit of trouble, and you’re going to fix it.”
Soren’s eyebrows rose up, vanishing under messily chopped purple bangs. He popped the creme puff into his mouth and stood. His posture stayed casual, his weight resting mostly on one leg.
“Leighton is my employee, but if she’s gotten herself into trouble, that’s her problem.”
“She’s not your employee,” I said. His gaze swivelled from Dash to me. “You’re blackmailing her. In my opinion, there’s a difference.”
His eyebrows drew together briefly before he smoothed out his expression again. “I’m doing no such thing.”
Dash laughed, crossing the grassy area to snag a pastry from the tower. I followed behind, keeping one eye on our host.
“Look, you’re used to going up against people who don’t have much money,” Dash said. “That’s not me. My family’s fortune is mine to play with. If you pay someone off to hide the fact that you’re gold pack, I’ll pay them more to expose the proof that you are. We could both go broke that way.”
He tapped his foot, his impatience already showing. The sooner we got Soren to admit defeat, the sooner we could save Leighton. The man had contacts upon contacts, and plenty of them weren’t against getting on the wrong side of the law. Dash knew people, but not the kind of people who could get Leighton out of Tobias Connolly’s grasp fast enough for Kiara.
“You want to start a war with me and go broke because of Leighton Winston?” Soren asked.
He had his eyes narrowed on Dash.
“Absolutely. But you could stop it easily. We just need her back from the Connollys in one piece.”
“I don’t respond to threats.”
It was my turn to laugh. From my messenger bag, I grabbed a stack of freshly printed pages full of decoded text. Stepping up to the dessert table, I tossed them down.
“You’ll respond to this one,” I said. “Did you think Leighton was stupid enough to have nothing on you?”
Soren picked up the papers warily, flipping through the pages.
“Turks and Caicos. Greece. Nepal. Canary Islands.” I listed off destinations from the papers he was now holding. “All of your emergency holdings are in those documents. You think you have an escape plan? You think you can vanish somewhere quiet if things go poorly for you? Leighton made sure that you wouldn’t be able to live the high life somewhere else. The authorities will be seeing those documents, and then you’ll have nowhere to go.”
“It’s the Cayman Islands, not the Canary Islands,” Soren corrected.
