His Passion (3 page)

I clutched the steering wheel, banishing the nerves that threatened to cut through the facade that I was just going to have a rational discussion with a criminal. And not just any criminal. The stories of people who called Lars out and lived long enough to tell anyone...it was clear they were kept alive to strike the fear of God into anyone foolish enough to mess with him. They spoke of a man dressed in a three piece suit, everything perfectly tailored to the massive physique that made lesser men scramble for cover. Eyes the color of money. Greed. Pure evil.

“Why did you agree to help me?”

Cole hadn't spoken a word since Frederic answered his question, disappearing into himself. Barely blinking when I told the driver his services weren't necessary. Looking straight ahead like he saw some future and wasn't only resigned to it, but welcomed the bloodiness of it.

“That's a fair question.” I let a few moments pass, the GPS’ British accent brightly ushering us toward the French restaurant Lars owned and used as a front for his illegal activities. “I started asking myself 'why?' the moment I walked out of the cabin and you were still breathing.”

“Here we go,” Cole shook his head, regretting his question. “Why did I even ask?”

I bared my teeth. “It's not like that-”

“I'll never get anything from you besides regret. You wish I was dead, I wish I was dead. It's the goddamn circle of life,” he said bitterly. “But maybe the reason I'm not is because my sister needs me. And you've done enough. I can take it from here.”

“Are you done being dramatic? If so, I'd like to answer your question,” I spat out the words. The anger in me wanted to grant his request; pull to the curb and let him out. I'd done my Good Samaritan deed and then some. I refused to let him think that he knew me or allow him to cement me into the monster that had nearly killed him.

My next words seemed lodged in my throat. I choked on them, wanting to let it go. Knowing as difficult as it was to say aloud, it didn't compare to the agony of keeping it inside.

I felt the animosity; his and mine. It poisoned the air, turning my lips into a scowl. I saw the way his fingers twitched, his legs shaking like he was in the throes of something too sick and painful to fight.

I inhaled sharply, taking in the toxicity before I exhaled and rolled the window down the slightest crack. Letting the light in.

Fuck it.

“The easy answer would be that I...owe you one.” My scowl deepened, that sentence a hard pill to swallow. “You helped my wife when I couldn't. So now, I help you—and we're square. Or as close to square as you and I will ever be.” I paused, relief flooding me when the GPS announced we were minutes from our destination. There was part of me that felt like my nails were being removed, one by one, and sharing this with him would only intensify the pain. But there was an even bigger part that wanted to clear the air. Needed to. “I'm here because I saw how broken you were. How hard it must have been to come to me for help, after all that's happened. But you put it aside and you did what needed to be done for your sister. I'm here for the brother that I saw in those moments, when nothing else mattered but family. I'm here for the brother I'd hoped to build some sort of a relationship with.”

I didn't realize I was wincing until Cole cleared his throat and I relaxed. A semi didn't crash into us. A meteor didn't wipe out Paris. The world didn't implode because I gave Cole a glimpse of the stupid, pathetic hope I'd held when we first met.

He looked down at his fists, clenching and unclenching them, avoiding my gaze. “Jacob, I-”

“Looks like we're here,” I interrupted, ending the conversation before we did something truly ridiculous like cry or shake hands. I eased into the parking space and killed the engine abruptly, hoping he took it as a sign that we were done talking about our feelings. We met each other's gaze and nothing needed to be said.

We were going inside and we weren't leaving without Brittany's location.

I'm not sure what I expected when I walked into the restaurant, but it was nearly identical to any of the number of formal, uptight restaurants I'd been to. The hostess wore a crisp black dress that clung to her like her smile when she took in my suit. She furrowed her brow like I looked familiar, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. I could practically hear the wheels turning in her head. The smile broadened as she brought a hand to her mouth.

“You're Jacob Whitmore!”

I played up the charm, easing a smile across my lips. “The one and only.”

Cole was given a quick once over and instantly forgotten. “I love your show!” She flipped her guestbook shut and ushered us into the dining room. “Right this way.”

The money hung in the room like a pretentious cologne that demanded to be inhaled, to be noticed, whether you wanted to notice it or not. The chandelier hung heavy from the ceiling, making everything sparkle and shine from the pearls around the women's necks to the men's cuff links. Crystal, silver, and staff in black suits and black dresses faded in the sea of people who barely acknowledged their existence. These things existed in my world. The world of wealth.

I guess I'd expected an obvious tell-tale sign that it was Eichmann's base of operations. A burly man near the door. Scantily dressed women with gaudy jewels. Smoke and blood flowing beneath the stench of food. Patrons eyes darting about like at any moment the police would storm through the doors, bullets cutting through the classical music that wafted from the quartet in the center of the room.

Both Cole and I were tense, preparing ourselves for something real beneath the charade. When we turned down a darkened hallway, my pulse quickened.
Here we go.

We stopped in front of an oversized, intricate set of double doors. It was ivory with gold overlays and bronze handles. She twisted the handle slowly, reverently, and pulled the door open. The room had a dull, ominous glow and the smoke that had been missing in the dining room now overwhelmed me. When I peered closer I realized it wasn't a room at all. It was a landing, with a stairwell that led underground.

I glanced at the hostess and realized the smile on her face hadn't budged from the moment she's applied it.

“After you, Mr. Whitmore.”

There was only one way to go.

Forward.

I tightened my tie as I descended, cracking my neck as adrenaline kicked in...just as the bass started thumping around us.

All the things I'd looked for were draped around this room in abundance. Women in various stages of undress, either puffing on cigarettes, or sipping from cocktail glasses. Strobe lights blinded and trance music screeched over the classical music that whispered upstairs. There were a few beefed up men dancing in the crowd of gyrating women, but most of them were gathered on the far wall. Cole found my eyes as we followed our hostess. It was pretty obvious that we wouldn't have to ask for a meeting with Lars.

The hostess added an extra twist to her walk as we drew closer, a man standing like the gatekeeper in front of a back, curtained area. “Wait right here.”

She leaned in to whisper something to a man that looked right past her to us. The growl he aimed in our direction probably made most shrink away, or at least hope they had their affairs in order.

We didn’t even flinch.

The hostess beckoned us with a finger and we went into the belly of the beast. While the dance floor was a place to lose yourself, this was a place that required both eyes to be open. Two men stood in the room and after one barked an order in French, the ones on the dance floor filed in behind us. Every man had a gun in his grasp and a look on his face that said he was dying to use it. The only man that was unarmed sat in a chair, the oversized, luxe, design of it was meant to let everyone know that this was his domain and here, he was king.

A woman was curled up in his lap like a kitten, naked from head to toe, gazing up at him with a mix of adoration and fear. He gestured at one of the men and he pulled her from him, shoving her into an unmarked, silver door. He returned to his post, unblinking.

The only thing that distinguished Lars from his muscular goons was his suit. It was a three piece suit, the fabric tailored to his massive frame. It was meant to give him an air of sophistication, but it just intensified the roughness of his features. He had a round, fierce chin and a jaw covered in salt and pepper scruff. It was intensified by a thick nose with nostrils that flared as he took in Cole and I. His green eyes glimmered as he sat back and chuckled.

“Who is this, Monique?” The snarl of a smile on his lips told me he knew exactly who we were.

“Jacob Whitmore and Cole Sommers,” she said sweetly before turning to me and winking. “I really do love your show.” She sauntered back the way we came without another word.

“The billionaire and the brother,” Lars mused, his accent thick and rounding every word. “I knew it was a good idea to keep that dumb kid breathing. How else would I meet Jacob Whitmore?”

Laughter rippled around the room and I clenched my jaw. “I'm sorry, did someone say something funny?” Lars smile disappeared. Good riddance. I didn't have the time or interest in playing games. “If you know who we are, then you know why we're here.”

Lars ran a hand through his slicked back hair, then brought his glass to his lips. He savored the drink, like we had all the time in the world. He lowered it back to the table and a woman in a black bikini scurried over to replace it.

“For the girl, I assume. The blonde?”

“Her name,” Cole seethed. “Is Brittany.”

“She's no one and nothing,” Lars said coolly. “Once she was paid for, she became little more than a hole that makes me money.” He held out his hands in a gesture of non combativeness. Like he hadn't just reduced a human being to nothing. “I am a businessman. For the right price, I can sell her to you.”

“You son of a bitch!” I rushed forward, the sounds of guns being cocked in my direction little more than white noise as I stormed toward Lars. I only stopped when I felt a barrel pressed against my back.

Lars just laughed, a bellowing thing that just intensified my hatred for the man. This was all some sick game to him. The buying and selling of humans was nothing to laugh about.

He was pure evil.

He clapped his hands together. “Now that I've made it clear that my men will gladly riddle your Armani with bullet holes, let's talk numbers.”

I burned holes into the bastard's skull. I could see him tallying up the zeroes...and then there was something else.

Four loud pops.

Screaming rose above the hypnotic whine of the music. I felt a hollowness as the pressure against my back disappeared.

I blinked.

Unmoving.

I looked down at my chest, expecting blood to be oozing from my wounds.

But I wasn't shot.

I was unharmed.

I whirled around and saw Cole holding the smoking gun, his eyes trained on the throne. On Lars.

Lars' eyes were no longer filled with the power his money, women, and men with guns afforded him.

He was terrified.

Cole advanced until the barrel of his gun was pressed against Lars' forehead. The humbled man cried out, the heat from the bullets Cole had fired branding his skin.

“You have m-made a mistake!” Lars stuttered. “Do you know who I am? Do you know what I'll do to you? To your bitch sister?”

My mouth was agape. The man had some brass ones, holding onto the last shreds of his authority while Cole held a swift end in the palm of his hands.

“What I know is that you're a despicable human being. And I know that unless you want me to pull the trigger and splatter your brains on the wall, you'll tell me where my sister is.”

S
uddenly, I had the overwhelming urge to write. I'd been living off of adrenaline from the moment we'd walked through the doors of the restaurant, a slow build that crescendoed the moment I felt all the guns in the room pointed at me. And just in case I couldn't grasp the severity of the situation, there had been one pressed directly against my spine for good measure.

Cole had taken out four men in less than ten seconds and had been ready to take out Lars if he didn't tell us where Brittany was. When Lars stopped pretending he had any sort of control over the situation and gave us an address, his role wasn't done—Cole had forced the man to his feet and back out to the car with us. He was insurance; increasing the odds of finding Brittany instead of Lars having her moved, or worse, executed.

I twitched with sensory overload, steering us toward one of the infamous 'Eichmann chateaus'. Properties with the most prestigious addresses where atrocities occurred behind closed doors. My stomach rolled with disgust when I thought about how much corruption flowed from those in power down to the likes of Lars Eichmann. How greed could make people turn a blind eye to something as despicable as human trafficking.

Lars had a lot to say, despite the gun Cole had pressed against his side in the backseat. He spat in his native tongue. I was far from fluent in German, but I got the gist of what he was saying.

“You should be grateful you're still breathing at all,” I glared at him through the rear view mirror. “How many women didn't get the same chance to breathe free air before you took away their life?”

Lars set his dull green eyes on me. “You want to make me the villain? Fine. But I only exist and thrive in this world because there are people just as evil. Who crave control. Who crave a woman that can't say no.”

I turned my attention forward, disgusted that I'd even wasted breath on the man. There was no point appealing to his humanity. He had none left.

We pulled up to a wrought iron gate, a security guard stepping from his station to clear us. He gasped when he eyed the backseat. I braced myself for Cole shooting the guy in the head...or ordering me to rush the gate.

But the man practically dropped to the ground, prostrating himself in accented English before he darted back to the station and pressed the button that opened the gate.

I drove forward, ignoring Lars' last ditch effort to keep up the ruse that he was in charge. “You two can still walk away from this. I'll even throw in the girl-”