Keep Me(40)
She stares at me, her earlier excitement nowhere in sight. “Oh, I see.” Her eyes travel over my body, lingering on my clean clothes, and I’m glad that I took the precaution to shower and change earlier.
When she lifts her eyes to meet my gaze, there is a peculiar look on her face. “So did you learn anything useful?” she asks softly. “By interrogating them, I mean?”
“Yes, I did,” I say slowly. It surprises me that she’s curious about this, that she’s not acting as appalled as I would’ve expected. I know she hates Al-Quadar for what they did to Beth, but I still would’ve expected her to cringe at the thought of torture. A smile tugs at my lips as I wonder just how dark my pet is willing to go these days. “Do you want me to tell you about it?”
She surprises me again by nodding. “Yes,” she says quietly, holding my gaze. “Tell me, Julian. I want to know.”
Chapter 13
Nora
I don’t know what demon prompted me to say that, and I hold my breath, waiting for Julian to laugh at me and refuse. He has never been keen on telling me much about his business, and though he has opened up to me since his return, I get the sense that he’s still trying to shield me from the uglier parts of his world.
To my shock, he doesn’t refuse or mock me in any way. Instead he offers me his hand. “All right, my pet,” he says, an enigmatic smile playing on his lips. “If you’d like to learn, come with me. I have some calls to make.”
My heart pounding, I tentatively put my hand in his and let him lead me down the stairs. As we walk toward the small building that serves as Julian’s office, I can’t help wondering if I’m making a mistake. Am I ready to give up the questionable comfort of ignorance and dive head first into the murky cesspool of Julian’s empire? Truthfully, I have no idea.
Yet I don’t stop, don’t tell Julian that I changed my mind . . . because I haven’t. Because deep inside, I know that burying my head in the sand changes nothing. My husband is a dangerous, powerful criminal, and my lack of knowledge about his activities doesn’t alter the fact that I’m dirty by association. By willingly going into his arms every night—by loving him despite everything he’s done—I am implicitly condoning his actions, and I’m not naïve enough to think otherwise. I might have started off as Julian’s victim, but I don’t know if I can claim that dubious distinction anymore. Syringe or not, I went with him knowing full well what he was and what kind of life I was signing up for.
Besides, a dark curiosity is riding me now. I want to know what he learned this morning, what kind of information his brutal methods availed him. I want to know what phone calls he’s planning to make and to whom he’s planning to speak. I want to know everything there is to know about Julian, no matter how much the reality of his life horrifies me.
When we come up to the office building, I see that the door is made of metal. Just like on the island, Julian opens it by submitting to a retina scan—a security measure that no longer surprises me. Given what I now know about the types of weapons Julian’s company produces, his paranoia appears quite justified.
We go inside, and I see that it’s all one big room, with a large oval table near the entrance and a wide desk with a bunch of computer screens at the back. Flatscreen TV monitors line the walls, and there are comfortable-looking leather chairs around the table. Everything seems very high-tech and luxurious. To me, Julian’s office looks like a cross between an executive conference room and some place I imagine the CIA might meet to strategize.
As I stand there, gaping at everything, Julian places his hands on my shoulders from behind. “Welcome to my lair,” he murmurs, his fingers tightening for a brief moment. Then he lets go of me and walks over to sit down behind the desk.
I follow him there, driven by burning curiosity.
There are six computer monitors sitting on the table. Three of them are showing what appears to be a live feed from various surveillance cameras, and two are filled with different charts and blinking numbers. The last computer is the one closest to Julian, and it’s displaying some type of unusual-looking email program.
Intrigued, I take a closer look, trying to figure out what I’m seeing. “Are you monitoring your investments?” I ask, peering at the two computers with the blinking numbers. I’m far from a stock guru, but I’ve seen a couple of movies about Wall Street, and Julian’s setup reminds me of the traders’ desks they had there.
“You could say that.” When I turn to look at him, Julian leans back in his chair and smiles at me. “One of my subsidiaries is a hedge fund of sorts. It dabbles in everything from currencies to oil, with a focus on special situations and geopolitical events. I have some very qualified people running it, but I find that stuff quite interesting and occasionally like to play with it myself.”